ROLEPLAYING COMPETITION AT TESSOURCE.NET
I've decided to kick start the roleplaying forums before the release of Oblivion with this exclusive TESSource.net only competition open to all forum members (new and old). Please read on for more information on how to join in. This should be fun for everyone involved so even if you don't win, you'll have had a good time!


The Prize For The Winner
A collector's edition of The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion bought for you and delivered free, hopefully on launch day (supplier and country dependent). People resident in the United States will have the game bought from and delivered by Amazon, as will residents from the UK and those countries in the EU who can receive deliveries from Amazon. If you are from a country that Amazon cannot deliver to then we will have to negotiate a way of ordering the game from a local online supplier for you. There is no cash alternative.

There will only be one winner.


Competition Start /End Date
The competition starts when you start. It is open as of now and participants may enter at any time up until the 14th of March, two days before the end of the competition.

This competition will end on the 16th of March 2006 at midnight, GMT (5 hours ahead of EST). Judgement will take place on the 17th and the winner informed by forum PM. The winner will obviously need to provide me with a delivery address to send the game to.


Details On The Competition
Malchik has written up a fictional situation within Cyrodiil, the province that Oblivion takes place in. Competitors will roleplay a single character through the fictional story with other competitors however they see fit, so long as they do not break the ground rules of either the forums or the competition. Competitors will then be individually judged based on their imaginative writing and roleplaying skills and a winner announced.

The settings and advancement in storyline will be provided by Malchik who will be playing the conventional role as the "Dungeon Master" of this competition. Players should not make the setting, that is Malchik's job. Instead players should roleplay within the setting they have been given and interact with each other between the interim of Malchik's updates. Malchik will update the setting and situation several times a day and roleplayers should try to keep up with the updates so they don't try and roleplay a situation that people have already moved on from. While you obviously aren't expected to be roleplaying 24/7 and involved with all the updates you should try and join in as much as possible and make sure you are not "out-of-synch" with the rest of the roleplayers. This means making sure you read through all the new posts in this thread before making a post of your own.

Obviously we realise people have school, jobs and other things to be doing and so people shall not be penalised for being inactive for too long. However there is a minimum amount of commitment required in this competition and players will need to have made a minimum of 6 posts in this thread to be in with a chance of winning.

Roleplaying Judgement Criteria

• Players should roleplay in the third person, that is you should not use "I" but instead your character's name when you wish to make an action.
• You will be judged largely on your ability to roleplay within the fictional world. Things the judges are looking for include how creative you are, how well you can roleplay with other characters, how your character adapts to changes in the environment and how well you develop and adapt on your character's attitudes, feelings and personality.
• The level of detail you go into will be assessed where those people who barely scratch the surface, or those people who go far too deep into describing things may lose favour with the judges!
• Your conduct and adherance to generally accepted roleplaying rules will be noted. Things like power posing and changing the setting will be heavily frowned upon. If roleplayers go too far and continue to disrupt the competition then they will be banned from the competition.
• Your grammar and spelling is extremely important and will also be judged. Use proper paragraphing and grammar in the appropriate places. Use capitals after a full-stop and use proper spacing after commas. Completely illiterate people, or people hoping to speak in l337 will be banned from this competition. If English is not your first language then please state so when you start roleplaying so we can be a little more lenient on you.
• There is to be absolutely no "uber-roleplaying". A definition of uber-roleplaying is making up bastard swords that can annihilate whole armies, or spells that can cause armaggedon. You are a normal person with normal spells and abilities. No one person is greater than or the master of any other person.

It is highly recommended that you read through this forum's tips and suggestions for roleplaying here and here.

You should roleplay a character as though the character were from an Elder Scrolls game and stick to the "canon" of the Elder Scrolls series. This means no making up fictional towns and cities, new races or, for example, claiming you are the emperor. However you can go into as much detail as you like about your characters past endeavours and history, just keep it realistic.

All the roleplaying should be kept to this thread alone. If players want to converse with each other outside of this roleplaying competition then they should do so OUTSIDE of this thread. This thread should be for roleplaying only.


The Judges And Excluded People
Unfortunately winning this competition is not open to TESSource staff or moderators to avoid any favouritism claims. However, these people excluded CAN roleplay within this thread and join in, but they will not be judged and not given the chance to win the prize.

The judges will be those people that are excluded from the competition as TESSource staff and moderators with the final say of the winner left down to Malchik, Roleplaying Game Master and coordinator and Dark0ne, TESSource owner and competition runner.

Rumours have reached all parts of the Empire. A rift to Oblivion has opened in the province of Cyrodiil and monsters are pouring through causing destruction and death. The Imperial guard is hard stretched to contain the outbreak and need all the help they can get. Enquiries at your local town hall, tavern or village gossip will give you the following information.

Those with the character to face death and attempt to win are collecting in one of three places.

The Tavern 'The Drunken Alit' in the Imperial City is one of the filthiest dives in the empire. It had been the haunt of lowlife, criminals and riff-raff for years. Now a charismatic and beautiful young female wood-elf called Fairgoth is stirring them up, pointing out that even their livelihood is put at risk if so many are killed and pointing out that there are rich pickings to be had off corpses.

A little way outside Kvatch, in a ruined abbey of some grandeur, the Altmer mage Esquisite has found her laboratory a similar collection point. She has not chosen this. She is by nature a loner and extremely arrogant but like it or not fate has chosen her and she must help such magic users who come her way and of course any others who end up there by chance.

Finally in the mountains north of Bruma a Nord fighter, Fygge Ropemuscles, has a motley collection of mercenaries camped beside a small stream. Interestingly, considering Fygge is a bad-tempered, one-eyed, drunkard, some of his mercenaries are seen to be wearing the very fine hand-crafted armour associated with Paladin Knights.

By chance each of these three 'leaders' has been granted the magical skill to teleport others close to the rift. As yet the precise location of the rift is unknown. The rumours conflict on this point.

Each potential candidate to help in the fight must first be interviewed by the leader they choose to report to. They must initially explain who they are, why they want to help, why they chose that particular starting point and what they think they can do to help. This should be the first post made by each player. Within the post must be made clear; your name, race, gender, age, skills, armoury (magic or otherwise) and costume. A description of a historical feat of daring to convince the 'leader' that you are suitable would not go amiss but they will get bored if you give them a story the length of War and Peace and throw you out.

Once you have made your first post please interact with others who join up until you are advised of your departure time to the front. This will not be for a day or two as each leader will want to teleport a group rather than individuals. Teleporting forces one by one could be too dangerous. Who knows what they will be facing? If you are there alone, have a look round and describe (as you see it) the tavern, the abbey ruin or the mountain scenery.

Dur-Coath, after hearing the rumors of rifts in cryrodiil from a drunk Imperial in Vivec, made his way to Cryrodiil province to see if there was any way he could stem the tide of evil that would pour from these rifts.

Makeing sure to stock up on supplies, potions, lockpicks ( while not a lowly thief, one never knows when these things will come in handy), even a couple of tools to repaire his glass greaves and cuirass, since such armor is hard to come by and he does spend so much time in the woods he so loves. Dur-Coath pulls the dark green cloak over his armor and the hood over his blond hair and pointed ears. As he leaves the store he looks over his shoulder to the owner and flips a coin to the kind high elf and a frendly smile, never know when you'll be back agine so best to stay on friendly terms with those that help you.

After much searching and listening to both commoners and creatures, Dur-Coath decides his best chances of getting to the bottom of this problem is the Nord fighter Fygge Ropemuscles in the moutain country north of Bruma. Fygge sounded like the type to hire a Bosmer with few question, if not a few racial slurs. Oh well that is what one gets for being one of the shortest races in the world, of cource Dur-Coath has ended his share of raciest slime at the end of his Daedric tanto.

Makeing his way up to were the camp was at was childs-play. Not wanting to be seen at first Dur-Coath waited till nightfall and sliped past the camp guards and silently made his way to were Fygge's tent was soppose to be at. Keeping to dark areas and trusting more to his barefeet to see by then his eyes Dur-Coath finds a spot up in a tree were he can listen to others plea to let Fygge take them in.

Dur-Coath's plan was to listen to a few "interviews" and then make his case based on what he heard.

A large burning pile of wood, once a galleon, floats into Cryrodiil. The ship struggles to stay a-float, but reaches the coast. Only one man leaves the wreck, and continues onward. Abandoning the ship, as if he had no connection to it.

The man, had no fixed name, but was known to be called Zow, and looked to be in his late twenties. Zow had named himself so, due to the fact that he doe's not believe in trust, and normally catches attention (a sense of hiding his identity). He is a Red Guard, but has obnormally pure white hair, that is spiked upwards. Another obnormal feature is his left eye being yellow, whilst his right eye is grey. He is self sufficient, in that he is able to repair his own armor and weaponry, and is able to heal critical wounds with some minor Restoration. He relies heavily on stealth. So that he does not carry too much weight, he wears light armor; a dark, and fabric based armor. As if taken from a Dark Brotherhood Assassin, and modified himself. He also carries a large container on his back, filled with supplies, and potions stolen from those he killed. And food from animals he hunted.

Zow carries on within the woods and reaches the mountains. He keeps a low profile, and using stealth he passes by a large band of mercenaries. He stops for a moment to observe what they are doing. After 'spying' for several hours he learns about rifts to Oblivion. He also learns about an Imperical City, where one of the mercenaries had come from. This meant a chance for money, Zow had been recently low on money, from his previous encouters before entering Cryrodiil.

As night fell, he took the opertunity to leave, and search for this city. On the way he would hunt animals with his rather large Long Bow, savering the bones for crafting arrows. He kept a Daedric spear attached to the container on his back, but was only used in situations rendering the Long Bow a disadvantage.

Zow finally aproached the Imperial City, and within site of the city, were the site of poeple. He hid his face with a hood and large scarf he fashioned around his mouth, and goggles around his eyes and continued deeper into the city. Not long after getting deeper into the city, did he hear loud rantings from a nearby tavern. Out of curiousity he entered the tavern, named The Drunken Alit.

Many lowlife criminals crowded the tavern, but he ventured on trying to figure out the stir. He found a young female Wood Elf, rallying the criminals. This did not interest him, for Zow trusted women the least. He was on his way out, until the Wood Elf mottered the probality of riches. Intrigued, he turned around, maybe he could make some needed money here, or if not then at least steal from the possible corspes that filled the tavern. Maybe even the Wood Elf herself. In the far back of the tavern, he would listen on, and make a decision based on what this Elf had in mind. He would blend in the crowd, keeping a low profile.

Erunanion pushed open the door of the Drunken Alit, and recoiled slightly as a wave of stale sweat, smoke, and that sweet, particular odour of skooma hit him. His Dark Elven eyes instantly adjusted to the dank interior; he avoided looking at the filthy floor as he walked to the bar. An observer, had he not been drunk, would have noted Erunanion's gait, and overall demeanor, suggested that he was familiar with this bar; although in truth he had never entered it before.

Erunanion looked the typical ranger. His netch leather cuirass and greaves were dyed a deep brown; a large green cloak was tied with strips of leather on top of his small pack, which contained a worn mail coat, few potions he had made himself, a tiny all-purpose knife, a fishing line, and one or two other trinkets over little value. A plain steel longsword banged against a drunken Breton's back as he moved to the bar, but Erunanion did not stop and the drunk did not stir. Slung at his left side was a quiver full of long ash arrows; the soot-painted staff the Dark Elf carried in his right hand, which he used to gently propel a raving Nord out of his path, was clearly a longbow. The way he carried himself suggested he knew how to use his weapons, and gave pause to the casual thieves in the tavern.

When Erunanion reached the bar, he placed his hand on the stained wood to lean forward and order a drink. Slowly, a look of utter disgust came over his handsome but aging features, which were not marred by any sign of scar or pox. Taking his hand off the bar, he wiped his hand on his leather-covered chest, then leaned forward again to get the attention of the pretty young Wood Elf, who he had been told was named Fairgoth, at the other end of the bar.

Erunanion had come to the seeking employment. In the course of his 52 years he had been all over the Empire, but most recently he had returned from the country of Morrowind, which had not been greatly profitable for him. A friend in the Imperial City had gotten in touch with him, teling him of the rifts that were opening up all over Cyrodiil. So Erunanion had abandoned his ventures in Morrowind and returned to the Imperial City, and thence to the tavern of the barkeep Fairgoth, who (he'd been told) was trying to rally people to the defense of the provinces.

While he waited at the bar, Erunanion turned and made a critical pass over the other occupants of the bar. Most were drunkards or brawlers, neither of which interested him. His green elven eyes noticed a shadowy figure hugging the back wall of the tavern. Tempting fate slightly, he inclined his head in the shadow's direction, and waited to see if there would be any response.

Erunanion listened to the background noise that was identical throughout every bar, tavern and drinking house throughout the Empire, and waited to catch the attention of Fairgoth.

[NOTE: I wrote this before the above post was posted. I think it can still fit if Esquisite's laboratory was hidden under the ruins (my initial assumption) and not too many people were present there.]

Anyone with a good view over the abbey --- and a sharp eye; say one of the birds flying overhead --- would, perhaps, be able to make out a thin figure darting quickly from one wall to the next. Anyone watching closely would notice that this figure wasn't necessarily keeping to the darkest areas under the shadows of half-standing walls, but was rather keeping to one side of the walls, every so often stopping to listen and scan the old, broken rubble of the abbey; his eyes stopping for longer on the more overgrown or shadowed areas. Thus any such observer with a moderate degree of intelligence, of which there were none that could be seen, would deduce that this Kajiit was afraid of being followed, and was either looking for a place to hide or looking for some hidden object.

Semink, this Kajiit, had until recently been working at one of the farms near to Kvatch as a labourer. His recent employer, or master as the servants called him, was a mean Imperial, and despite slavery having been abolished in the Empire, treated his farm labourers little better than slaves. Indeed, another of his servants who had been watching over the "masters" flocks, who had been unfortunate enough to have lost an animal for an unknown reason, had been whipped severely and left without water or food for a couple of days as a "lesson". Thus it was that when Semink had recently been watching his "masters" flocks, when a large pack of wolves, hungry from the little food available at this time of year, had attacked the flock killing several of the animals before Semink could drive them off, Semink had run off into the forests for fear of being killed by his master.

Since then, Semink had been running for his life, and was hungry, having decided not to risk being found while hunting deer. So, when travelling through a patch of forest far enough from Kvatch for there to be few people about, he had spied an abandoned-looking hut, he had cautiously approached, and no one being visible, had entered the hut to search for food. It immediately became apparent that the hut had been used in the last few days, by a large male Nord from the smell, and thus Semink had not dared stay for more than a few seconds. However, before snatching a slightly stale loaf of bread and a lump of dried meat, Semink noticed a note fixed to the wall. Semink did not read it all, but read the phrases "gone to abbey", "mage will teleport", "warriors wanted". After leaving the hut, Semink thought over these phrases and deduced that there was likely a mage who had a laboratory at an abbey, and was looking for warriors.

The next day, after travelling further from Kvatch, Semink had spied some ruins, and quickly realised they must be the abbey mentioned in the note. Curious, he came nearer. Just then he was surprised to hear, from the general direction of Kvatch and the hut he had found the note in, a horse cantering in his direction. Instantly Semink had an unjustified hunch that someone was after him, and, guessing from the note that somewhere in this ruin was the mage's laboratory, decided to seek it out with the hope that he might be able to hide there and, if he was lucky, be teleported away from the Kvatch area by the mage.

He decided later that maybe this was an unwise decision, and resolved not to make such rash decisions in the future. But this was only after he'd met Esquisite.

An old wizard was travelling by horse towards Kvatch. When he arrived there, he went into a shop. A few minutes later, his pockets seem slightly heavier, as if they were filled with potions. The wizard was dressed in a black robe which looked very clean, almost unrealistic, how clean it was. He was also wearing shoes which were of the same material, which were just as clean as the robe. The wizard didn't talk, so only by looking at his face you could see he was a Dark Elf.

Except for a robe filled with potions and scrolls, shoes and a horse, a wand was the only thing this wizard seemed to have. This wand was covered with daedric symbols, although it wasn't a daedric wand. It had a magic glow, coming from a blue crystal on the top of it. It was obvious that this wizard had been practising the arcane arts for years and years already. He looked capable of casting spells of any school of magic.

The wizard's name is Bradas Sorethi. He is a shy, yet wise wizard. While wandering along the dirty roads in the city of Kvatch it looked like he was thinking about something very hard. He had no intention of getting involved into anything and he only talked to mages, to exchange tips and spells. If he did talk to anyone else, he would do that if it was absolutely necessarily to talk.

It was pure luck, or bad luck, that Bradas Sorethi overheared a conversation between two Orcs talking about how a group of mages was gathering at a ruin just outside Kvatch. Hoping for some kind of wizard convention, Bradas Sorethi got back on his horse and went there.

There were more people around, although they weren't recognisable. They could be both mage, thief, warrior, or anything in between. There was someone sneaking around, watching everybody, trying not to be seen. The person looked like a Khajiit, but Bradas Sorethi wasn't sure about that. As he, or she, noticed that Bradas Sorethi was watching him or her, he quickly ran away.

The abbey looked like a ruin indeed. Although there were stairs in a corner, leading down, to an underground cavern. Bradas Sorethi was about to go downstairs. He heard people mixing things and talking there. That would be a laboratory then, Bradas Sorethi explained to himself. Before he could go down, an Altmer female, called Esquisite came to him. She was obviously a mage, so Bradas Sorethi had no trouble with talking to her.

After a quick conversation Bradas Sorethi found out what was going on. This wasn't a wizard convention. This was about a rift opened somewhere in the imperial city, spawning terrible monsters. This seemed like a good chance to learn more about Oblivion, because there are only a few people who have been in Oblivion, and even fewer who lived to tell. Although Bradas Sorethi wasn't the person who would like to fight in teams, or fight at all, he did have enough experience in the arcane arts to do so. Travelling with this group would probably be his only chance to get into Oblivion and reveal it's dark secrets..

Bradas Sorethi totally forgot about the laboratory, since something more interesting came to his mind now. He climbed up a rock, sit down on the edge and started thinking....

-|| RPG UPDATE ONE ||-

Dur-Coath

A massive nearly naked Nord appears under the tree. "No point in cowering away like a scared kitten, Bosmer. And why have you come here? Most of your kind have gone to the Drunken Alit in Cyrodiil City where they can rob and lie to their heart's content. Maybe you're not like that, eh? So you think you can join as a fighter? Tell me something you have done in the past to convince me you can fight."

Although loud and smelling strongly of alcohol there is no suggestion he has any dislike of wood elves. You can tell he needs to be convinced you are up to the task ahead of you.

Zow

Fairgoth seems to see through your disguise. "You look and wait, Redguard. That may be what you do best until you catch us at our weakest. But here we work together and if you cannot do so there will be nothing for you. All loot will be held collectively until the fight is over and apportioned among all those who survive. If you cannot abide by those rules, leave now. If you think by agreeing you will fool me, learn that any who flout these rules will be disposed of by the others. Now give me a good reason why you might be of some use to me?"

Erunanion

Fairgoth looks you up and down. "You choose me over Fygge the warrior and yet you seem more of a fighter to look at you. Explain to me what you think you can bring to our select band of the country's finest thieves, assassins and murderers?"

Zow and Erunanion hear both conversations. Her eyes seem to cast a spell on you both and both are drawn to her side. She is indeed very beautiful. Spell or not, you are infatuauted with her. Her acceptance of you is suddenly all that matters. You will have to explain why she should allow you to join her and show her you are worthy of her trust. You rack your brains to find a true story that should impress her.

Trebbits, Semink, Bradas

You are all three teleported into the laboratory where Esquisite is looking at you with a jaundiced eye.

"Of course you don't all see the same things! I didn't create all those illusion spells to fool people for no reason! Goodness me what a rag-bag lot you are! Well, don't just stand there open mouthed. What can you do for me that you want me to let you in?"

She looks at each in turn. To Trebbits she says; "Some minor skills maybe. Or are you hiding something?" To Semink, with a sigh "Khajiit do not use magic. So what exactly will you be able to do?" Finally she looks at Bradas. "I think I have heard of you. The Wizard who avoids trouble at all costs. Much help you will be in this crisis."

She shakes her head. "Well perhaps fate has chosen you as it seems to have chosen me. But I need to hear from your own lips something you have done that will make me feel you can help."

She looks at Semink. "It doesn't have to be anything involving bravery. Cleverness is just as important here."

Each of you knows they must make a case for inclusion in her party.

Xristo was tired...

...tired of the fawning, sycophantic crowds of followers that besieged the gates of his manor on the isle of Morrowind. So much had changed since his adventures there... and on the cold isle of Solstheim and in the city of Mournhold. Several years had passed since fame and glory had settled like a sable mantle on his battle-worn imperial shoulders, tales of his adventures had grown with each telling and now everyone saw him as some kind of omnipotent being who would cure all ills, settle all quarrels, judge all disputes between embittered neighbours...

But no, Xristo was still the same Imperial who had woken, many years ago, on a pitching caravel on it's way to a strange port only to be given a strange mission by a strange old man. That he had bested many enemies was not due to any divine powers, but more to the many years of hardships and hard endeavour that had brought him to that fateful juncture. He was still Xristo the Imperial. A warrior? Yes. A noble? Through his deeds maybe. A captain of trade and commerce? Well, perhaps he had learnt something along the road. Yet deep in his heart, he yearned for his earlier, unfettered life before he had been falsely imprisoned and put on that fateful sea voyage.

Songs in his name meant nothing to him. A campfire, a flask of good Cyrodiil brandy, a fresh kill roasting over the flames... that was his life. He would help any he met on his travels, that was certain, and he would judge others fairly by their actions and words - and not simply because they came petitioning to his door. but to answer to every petty whim - well, this was just too much.

It was time for new adventures!

Then, one day, news reached Morrowind of monsters pouring through a strange rift in the province of Cyrodiil, bringing with them death and destruction to the land. The news told also of several forces gathering to defeat this new evil.

"What!" bellowed Xristo, "Cyrodiil threatened? No more of my favourite brandy to be had? I must help stop this!" Any cause was a good cause, for the right reasons... and this was as good a reason as any.

Monsters? No call for extravagant equipment. Xristo chose his favourite weapons - dagger, shortsword, longsword, longbow and put on his favourite light armour. He would have preferred to take all Daedric equipment, but, as he knew, sometimes the best was too much, so he settled for the lighter netch leather armour and his reliable Nordic weapons. He would rely on his combat skills to battle "mere" monsters and, besides, better weapons and armour could always be bought or won in fair combat.

After many days of travel, he reached Cyrodiil and discovered that three leaders had already started collecting forces to advance on the new enemy. Maybe it was not too late to join forces with one of them, but which group to join? A wood-elf as leader? A mage? A Nord? Xristo would just as soon have entered battle alone, but the rumours had told of many monsters and it would be best to have trustworthy comrades fighting at his side. Not trusting elven folk or mages as far as he could throw a guar, Xristo chose to join the mercenary forces gathering around the Nord, Fygge Ropemuscle. Nords were good, solid fighters and mercenaries... well, mercenaries were just that. Make a friend of one, however, and you would always have a good sword at your side.

Never being one to skulk in the shadows, he strode boldly into Fygge's camp...

"Ho, Fygge! I hear there's monsters threatening to cut me off from my brandy. My sword is yours..."

*OOC - Darkone has been very kind and made an Off topic thread for this found HERE so my future OCC comments will be made there and I hope this will better help to keep the story thread limited to only story. - /OOC*

LOCATION: The Abby

His map rustled in his hands as he tried to hold it open to figure out where he had ended up. Before he could get it straight and steady enough to read however, the winds tore the parchment from it's own worn corners leaving him standing there with only two small fragments in each hand. Trebbits eyes simply followed the flitting paper as it lifted and swirled and vanished into the dark. Holding his small travel lantern in his teeth still he let out a small curse under his breath.

He knew what he was going to do was risky enough without the constant blunders he seemed always to be a part of. Impersonating a great hero in order to raise ones own stature just seemed like a good idea to him, and worth the efforts. If things continued as they always seemed to for the barely nineteen year old Breton however, it would be a short trip. Trebbits had studied the fine crafts of illusion for a long time though and had the utmost confidence in his ability to pull off the fraud. Once he had been accepted to face the hordes that were rumored to be threatening the very Empire itself he could drop the illusion and stand for himself, this had settled in his mind as he had made his way to the old abbey outside Kvatch.

He hoped that the stories he had heard about Esquisite were true, and that she would be to distracted, with having people in her space, to notice or even look for trickery on the part of those seeking to become fighters for the cause. His thoughts regained themselves and he let go of the last pieces of the map and took the lantern from his mouth. Adjusting his grey cloak and shifting his left arm to once again take hold of his staff that had been tucked between his elbow and ribs, he continued down the small trail he had been following, his padded leather boots kicking up small swirls of dust with each step only to be carried away like his map had been.

In short order Trebbits happened upon some ruins, stones lay about shattered walls and behind those rose the brken remains of what must have once been the grand abbey. Somewhere within this ruin he new he would find Esquisite. He began fumbling his way through the outer wall rubble and went to the left side of the ancient structure. Halfway down he came to what had obviously once been a small tower and as he climbed down from the stones that had collected between the tower and the wall he found himself looking at a gate in the wall with a single guard standing on the outside of the wall looking right back at him. His thoughts for a moment were confused as to why this guard would be standing outside the wall and gate when clearly the abbey was inside them and the broken walls were of no purpose. But even as he thought these things he saw a very faint shimmer, Illusion! of course the labratory he was seeking was being hidden outside the abbey by illusion, using the abbey's presence as a distraction to would be visitors. His confidence restored Trebbits made sure his own illusion was firmly in place and approached the small gate.

"What is your business with the the abbey?" inquired the guard.
"My name is Sentri Thoresson, I have traveled from the far reaches of the Morrowind Province where I have most recently been known for aiding the great Gerun, a warrior of the Imperial Army who had dealings with the Nerevarine to whom I was also of service. My business is merely to provide now my services to the great Esquisite as her humble servant of magic in fighting the hordes that come from Oblivion!" he lied. A small trickle of sweat slowly traversed the hair on the back of his neck as he awaited a response from the Guard.

Before the lying Trebbits could get an answer he felt an odd sensation as if it had all happened before and he was going through the motions again. And sure enough he found he had already met Esquisite. He could recall exactly what she said to him too. Strange the workings of this mage. She had to be very powerful. But he had to explain himself to her just like the other two he was with.

Tiramir's thin fingers ran over the laboratories stone door, feeling the soft murmur of arcane power etched into the granite, before he knocked. Waiting but a moment for an answer, it swung open, revealing a lithe Altmer staring down a long nose at him. With a look that would curdle milk she demanded, "Now what is a Breton novice doing outside my laboratory at this time of night?"
Drawing himself up, as he placidly smoothed the creases on his robes, Tiramir bowed low, if not merely to hide his sneer. "Forgiving my untimely arrival Mage Esquisite, but I am here in reference to the Oblivion rifts. I found this news... fascinating, and I was hoping to investigate." Frowning, Esquisite scoffed "And what makes you think I shall enlist in the aid of you. I am in no need of an apprentice." Gently forcing his way through the door Tiramir smothered his angry retort, "begging your pardon, but my experiences and skills are far past that of an apprentice. Perhaps you have heard of the quelling of the Telvanni rogues in Vvanderfell - an act I was responsible for." Shutting the stone portal with a wave of her hand, the doors ominous groan echoed through the expansive lab. Beakers containing various Daedra parts and bizarre plants lined the shelves. A sniveling Scamp shuffled inside its cage from the dark corner. So she has a familiar... Tiramir smiled pathetic hag. "No, I am not aware of your imaginative tales, Breton, nor do I think these stories you weave would entertain the most gullible of children." Quelling his fury, Tiramir strolled amongst the shelves and desks. His black velvet robe collected no dust as it glided over the cold stone floor, but as he approached one of the stands the night blue opal at his chest throbbed. Gazing down upon the pedestal he saw an innocuous leather bound tome sitting there complacently. "You’d best not touch that, lest you wish to have a Dremora ripping out your heart," the elf called. Hovering his hand a hairs breadth from the cover, he sensed the coursing powers of Conjuration held within. "Yes Altmer, I am very interested in this investigation..."

Semink, still feeling nervous, found it rather a shock to find himself suddenly along with others in what was clearly a mage's laboratory. His nervous response was to run, but he curbed it just in time.

After listening to Esquisite's short introduction, he starts to think.

She created illusions... for what purpose? Was she guiding me here? It didn't sound like she wanted me... but she could be hiding something...

He realises that now he's here, he can't just leave. Aside from the fact that these are mages, it sounds like he could be useful.
"I guess, since you're all mages, you probably already know how I got here, so I don't need to explain that. But if you're wanting to attack the daedra, you'll need to know what you're up against. Mages can fight powerfully, but even so, don't you need to know what spells to prepare? I know you could just use illusion to do some scouting, but it would take you some time. I can be fast and stealthy, and I have good ears and a good nose, which are sometimes better than your detection spells, because I don't need to stop to concentrate.

I don't pretend to be a better scout than you all the time, but I think we could work well as a team; you could cast invisibility on me if necessary. But overall I think I can be quite useful.

As for some clever tricks, when I was young, little more than a kitten, one of my tribe's scouts reported that some Imperial warriors were on their way to attack my tribe. I didn't fight that day, but while our warriors were preparing for a combat, I and several other young Kajiit went and made some traps on the route the Imperials were coming along. Two of the traps I designed and made with another Kajiit caught and wounded an Imperial.

I'm also good at hunting deer and other animals; I can hunt with a bow or with traps, and occasionally I've killed deer by sneaking up and pouncing, which is not an easy thing to do since they're usually alert and run fast.

I also managed to put a rope across a river once without getting wet. *Grins* First, I tied a monkey's fist knot in the end of the rope with a stone inside to make a lump on the end of a good size. Then I climbed some trees to get as far over the river as possible and threw the end of the rope at a branch on the other side in a way that the rope wound round the branch and the weighted end held it there. Then after tying the other end I crawled across the rope (that was scary because I can't swim wery well and don't much like getting wet) and tied the other end properly for other people.

Bradas was about to ask Esquisite how that illusion spell worked, but changed his mind remembering her temper.

While Esquisite walked away Bradas started to think what he had gotten himself into. Although he isn’t that talkative, he couldn’t resist whispering "What’s with her?" to Trebbits. Esquisite turned around looking slightly angry. Then she walked up the stairs, out of the laboratory. Did she hear that?

Bradas started to look around the laboratory. What is this Esquisite hiding for them? Why is she using illusion spells to hide the laboratory? What's her story in this? Hundreds of questions fly through Bradas his head.

Since they still had time to kill before they would leave, Bradas and the others started looking around the laboratory, which looked different to each one of them.

Bradas saw a dark laboratory, with apparatus spread in the different rooms. Ingredients were nicely sorted out in jars, and the potions were sorted in two chests: poisonous potions and restore potions. The poisonous potions chest seemed to be full, while the restore potions chest was nearly empty. To kill some time Bradas started to make some potions which could be useful in the future with his own ingredients. Every now and then he looked up to see what the others were doing, but he was concentrating on the apparatus to much to really notice anything.

Darkness. The soft rumbling of rocks falling some distance away. The panicking hoofs of a nearby deer fleeing. His own footsteps resonating against the rocky walls of the canyon. This was the world as Ril-Toka knew it. Blindness was his fate, and he had long learnt to accept it.

The memory of a few days earlier kept playing through his head as he made his way over the rocky path that leads up the mountain. He was staying in Bruma's tavern, enjoying the simple sounds of life that he had been doing without for many weeks: the pouring of ale, the singing of the patrons, the clattering of armour as the guard made his round. As usual the locals were sharing tall tales of what they heard of the outside world. The many stories about what happened in the distance province of Morrowind always did well at the tavern tables, but they were becoming old news by now and it was only with half an ear that Ril-Toka listened to it.

A High Elf with a soft, gentle voice began a new tale though. A tale that had apparantly never been heard before, as the patrons fell silent and listened intently to what this new speaker had to say. The story concerned Oblivion, and a rift into our world allowing Daedra and other beings to cross over from Oblivion. The story ended with a warning of doom and destruction, and that there was still hope through three groups of loosely banded individuals, all working to stop the impeding disaster. After a few moments of stunned silence the crowd began applauding, believing it all to be a fantastic story and no more than that.

Ril-Toka could not help but smile wearily at this display of ignorance - having studied the arcane realm before his.. incident, he knew that such a thing, should it happen, meant chaos would rule the lands of Tamriel once more. It all seemed to add up - the Emperor's failing health, the reports of strange creatures being sighted all over the empire.. something was definitely amiss in the world. The consequence of that being all too clear, Ril-Toka decided to approach the man, who had stepped down from his seat, insulted that none took his warning to heart.

"Altmer?"
"Khajit.." - venom dripped from the word, and Ril-Toka could vividly imagine the expression of disgust on the Altmer's face, the usual reaction to a blind, robed Khajit.
"Your story.. it was fascinating."
"No need for flattering... what is it you want?"
"I need to know - who are these three groups you speak of?"
"How peculiar... a blind Khajit who believes me while all the others can not see the truth in my words. Very peculiar indeed..." the Altmer muttered to himself before answering: "The groups I speak of are gathered in three distinct places, with three distinct leaders if you can call them that. The first is located in the Imperial City, and consists mostly of a persons of ill repute, led by a beautiful Bosmer woman. The second group can be found near Kvatch led by a Mage, who if you ask me is not quite up to this task. The others are nearest to here, in the mountains to the north. They're an odd bunch of warriors of all kinds and if you ask me stand the best chance against these monsters. Why do you seek to know this, Khajit?"
"Please, do call me Ril-Toka.. During my studies I have learned a few things about the Oblivion and those that dwell within it. Those things coincide with what you told me know, and it seems that dark times lie ahead of us."
"Dark times indeed, Ril-Toka. You can call me Eleason.. for now. You say that you studied the arcane realms.. perhaps your knowledge of these things can be of use in our quest to put a stop to this madness. I have little more to tell then what I told these fools.. if you feel up to it, seek out Fygge Ropemuscles - the leader up north. He'll be able to tell you more."

(OOC: I hope it's OK for Ril-Toka to join a group that's not designed for his class? If not, DM can whisk him away to the Mages group)

With little more on him than his Mages Robes, his staff, a limited variety of potions and scrolls Ril-Toka neared the end of the canyon. Suddenly a loud booming voice from above him bellowed "Halt, by the order of Fygge Ropemuscles! What is your business here?". Ril-Toka spread his arms open wide, only holding his staff in one, to show his being unarmed. "I seek this Ropemuscles you speak of. I know of your quest to seek out the rift to Oblivion, and humbly offer my services as a Healer and scolar.".

The voice from above responded "I don't know what you are thinking, but how could you possible be of help to us, blind one?".

Ril-Toka had already expected this, and clenched his fist. Although he knew it would cost him most of his mana reserves, the words started flowing past his lips. Ancient words, understood only by few. Slowly but surely the golden threads of magica began forming in his mind, weaving together to form an image of the canyon in his mind. Almost radiating with red threads glowing in in the weaving, he could see a Redguard armed with a crossbow. His left hand slowly turned toward the sentry and he started casting a second and third spell effect through his Vision. These spells were far more common, and he could see the fear in the eyes of the Redguard as slowly the vines of paralysis wound itself around his ankles, his crossbow levitating in front of him with the tip of the bolt only inches away from his forehead.

"Need I prove my point further, Redguard? It only takes two words for telekinesis to pull the trigger..."

Suddenly the crossbow fell to the floor and the guard was free to move again. "You may pass... please. Leave me be!".

Ril-Toka knew that draining his magica like this had been a dangerous move - the best he could do for the next few days would be a simple Light spell, which ironically enough would serve him little. But it had been worth it, as he took the first step of a set of winding stairs leading up to the encampment.

(OOC:
Cheat-Sheet:

Character: Ril-Toka
Race: Khajit
Class: Mage / Warlock
Starting point: Mountains north of Bruma
Weakness: Blind - can temporarily alleviate this using a Vision spell, however, this drains his magical reserves very rapidly.
Strength: Strong magician - often underestimated due to blindness. Can't cast ranged spells without invoking Vision.
)

In some narrow doorway of a grimy back alley in the Imperial City, an eye blinked open. Two eyes would have blinked open but this face only featured one. A rough netch leather eye-patch shielded the masses from the gruesome hole where the other eye should have been. The rest of the face contorted in agony and the unfortunate owner, a nord by the name of Throl, groaned a long deep groan.

The memories came back.

There had been 10 of them.... or possibly 5..... okay, probably less than that but Throl had been drunk, very drunk and two or three people giving him the beating of a life time, which, he admitted, he probably deserved, felt like an imperial regiment had just marched over his unconscious body. He vaguely remembered something about a knife.

He heaved himself up using his right arm and his left stump to examine himself in a puddle. Although he couldn't see it in the puddle, he was tall, the angle made him look like a midget, making him laugh. He was still drunk. Six foot and eight inches of heavily scarred nord stretched so that one huge palm was planted against one wall and his back against the other and he could really feel the joints creaking. He turned toward one end of the alley and could see the harsh light of midday bouncing of the highly polished ornamental blade of some nobleman or another. Reality snapped back into place.

He could feel his belt was missing and his sword with it, fetchers. He'd had it since his days in the legion and no other weapon had felt right since he'd held it, but he was no longer a warrior. Put in rank with a sword and shield he'd fail miserably but he could fight. He was good at noticing when a man's sensitive area was in line with his kicking arc and there would never be a hesitation to give a fellow drunk the old Whiterun kiss.

It would turn up in the pub

Right now his heavily braided beard was laced with vomit and his clothes were torn up quite a bit, making him look homeless. In all fairness he was, but he felt at home in The Drunken Alit. You could see anything, buy anything and say anything there and the majority of people would be too drunk to care or notice. Yes the beer was terrible, yes he was kicked out frequently (which is no easy feat for even the most professional drunkards) and yes his visits there brought him close to death most nights but when the oppurtunity to try and find some kind of employment presented itself he realised he has no idea where he was.

Yes he had fallen far from Sergeant in Arms Throl Throlson

He stumbled around the corner into the familiar greasy atmosphere of what was quite easily the pub equivalent of oblivion itself. He needed a drink to lubricate his thoughts, for a drink he needed money and for money he needed someone who would be distracted from the stump long enough for him to liberate them of their purse. He noticed a particularly wealthy looking female woodelf and queitly wandered over.

[NOTE: English is not my first language. I'll double check all my postings, but forgive me if I make some mistakes.]

Duke of Rondam was very interested in magic, although he never practiced it. Not that he didn't want to - he just wasn't born and raised that way. Not able to fulfill his dreams of casting even most simple spell, Duke of Rondam wanted his only son and heir, Ismail, to become a great mage one day. Having a financial power, he gathered a lot of mages to his small island to teach his son.

But young Ismail was not interested in magic like his father and was a poor student, learning how to cast only a couple of basic spells. His Nordic blood was eager for adventure, not for reading books and making potions. So whenever there was some kind of expedition to the nearest coast, young Ismail traveled with them. Once, when expedition was getting back to Rondam, they couldn't find the island they left. It looked like it never existed! Only thing they found was a great vortex on the same place where island used to be according to the maps. It must have been that secret magical experiment that his father was preparing with all the mages went wrong. Horribly wrong. What did those stupid mages do!

Yesterday an heir to a Duke of Rondam, today not even having a place to sleep. Ismail Rondam's only possessions were his wonderfully crafted Rondam chainmail, sword and large shield, some gold and his pride. He was on his own. No one seemed to remember his once powerful father. Getting together for couple of months, he decided to become adventurer and restore the glory of Rondam, although it didn't exist anymore.

Traveling and adventuring for couple of years he found his way to a mountains north of Bruma. He heard that a Nord there is gathering a group of adventurers for some great adventure and decided to find him. Maybe there he will restore the name of Rondam and show all the people who Ismail Rondam is. Near a small stream in the mountains he saw a colorful group of adventurers. Maybe they know where he can find this Nord he was hearing about.

Dur-Coath looks down at the nord and wounders if there is such a thing as a thin nord, probably not, they would be mistaken for a Bosmer.

With the speed and agility that has made his race admired Dur-Coath does a backflip and before he comes to a landing behind the nord he pulls his Tanto out, and as he lands he thrusts the blade between the nords legs, with the blade faceing up,makeing sure to leave as little space between the blade and the nords skin as possible.

Fighting down the urge to puke from the alcohol stench he puts on his best "tough guy"voice, which isn't much he knows. " If I want to get drunk I'll go to a tavern. But were your heading I asume there will be more fighting then drinking." knowing he had proven his point with the blade he resheths it and flips over the nord to land without a sound in front of him, and is a bit disapointed when Fygge shows no sign of being dizzy from all the movement, 'must not be as drunk as I thought' Dur-Coath thinks. " Not all Bosmer are theives, I have fought orcs,Lichs,Werewolves, a couple of vampires, and many others. My services are yours if you are truely what others are saying. in the two days that I have been here I have seen only the Imperial and a blind Kajit come to this camp, so I have to wonder if YOU are more then just what you smell to be. If you are what I think you are then I would be honored to fight at your side. Not to mention that at the least I could train your so called guards to spot a bull netch before it enters the camp" Dur-Coath glares at Fygge as he waits for the not-so-drunk nord to respond.

As he atempts to stare down a Nord that is almost three times the size he is he sees that everyone in the entire camp gather round and watch in amusement. He sees the two adventures as well as a new Nord that wasnt here yesterday. in a hartbeat he has a plan of excape if things go badly. Other then Fygge the only other person in the camp that looks even remotely capable is the Nord that joined himself up with this sorry band. So getting out of the camp in one piece shouldn't be a problem. But Dur-Coath hopes the Nord will let him join, time is short and he doesn't know if he would have the time or the chance to hunt down one of the other rumored leaders.

[OOC: English is not my first language; this is somewhat the sequel of a story I wrote a long time ago and you can find it here http://shadowblades.tripod.com/Darak_17.htm and here http://shadowblades.tripod.com/Darak_18.htm ]

Darak awoke, sweating. A nightmare! He hadn't experienced such dreams since a long, long time. And this one was very vivid: he had seen many bizarre and frightening creatures during his previous voyages, but this was nothing like it: horny, scaled demons that bore no resemblance with humans at all, blood dripping from their claws, human limbs still lingering in their fangs... they were swarming through the woods and plains of Cyrodiil, killing and destroying everything in their path!

He was still shaking when he realized there was something else... in fact, there wasn't: the barrier! That accursed forcefield that had been helding him captive for many a year... he could sense its presence no longer! Darak stood in the middle of the cavern that had been his home and prison, his mouth agape in wonder. His gilded cage: everything he wanted, everything but freedom. But now...
He rushed towards the entrance and he was out. He was right: the barrier was no more... but why? No, it was no time to stop and think: he had to act as quickly as he could, run away before his jailer could come back. He dressed, put some food in his purses and grabbed his old faithful sword. A minute later he was out again, in the heart of Dragontail Mountain, a scenic dale with a crystalline lake glimmering in the light of stars and moons.
He paused, pondering the direction, but the answer came by itself: a voice in his head, like a message for those mind keen enough to receive it. "Quick, brave soul! We need you in Cyrodiil! Tell me your name so that I may teleport you here". What a stroke of luck: he was looking for a way to flee as fast as he could, and here it was!
"Darak" he answered without further thinking.
Then there was a flash of bright light and everything became unnaturally white.

After a moment he was able to see once again. He carefully inspected the surroundings: several high libraries and shelves were lined by ruined walls, overrun here and there by thick vines. Everything here smelled old, from dusty books to murky alchemy ingredients, from the carved ceiling to... that borious Altmer behind the desk!

Darak's face twisted in an expression of plain dislike, and so did his host.
The Altmer stood up from his chair, his velvet robe embroidered with gold floating around her, pacing slowly towards him.
"My arcane summoning didn't work as I expected, I reckon", she started, looking arrogantly at Darak.
"Don't worry: I'll be on my way at once!" Darak replied spinning on his heels.
He took two steps... and then he could no longer move. The Altmer walked around him in circles, her lips curved in a malicious grin.
"There, there... a Dunmer. I cannot imagine a single reason why my ritual would summon someone with the likes of you. Magic sometimes is unpredictable... but it never fails, as you are now experiencing... when used by a skillful wizard, of course. So, what puzzles me is why are you here. You've got some basic instruction in magic, a mere student, I guess. But even your race might hide some potential. I already know your name, but I want more informations. Speak up!" she paused and then stared at him, the smile on her face widening "Oh, I'm sorry: you can't! Let me release your mouth and let's see if your answers please me."

Darak took a difficult breath: it was like he had a boulder on his chest; he eyed at the Altmer, until she walked behind his back. He'd rather tell her nothing, but considering the undoubted powers of the wizard, this could prove fatal. Reluctantly he did as he was asked, trying not to give away crucial information about himself.
"I am Darak Shadowblade, a Dunmer from Morrowind. I'm skilled both with blades and magic, though I've been unable to practice both for a long time and now I am a bit... rusty. I've been away for a while and I've got nothing but myself and what I'm carrying."
"I see: that certainly suits one of your race" said the Altmer appearing from behind his left shoulder, "And what were you doing in Dragontail Mountain then?"
Darak did not answer.
"Indulge my inquisitiveness and I might free you, Dunmer."
"I... encountered a dragon."
"Nonsense! There are no dragons in Tamriel!"
"Believe what you will. I just hope you'll be able to tell it yourself, when you meet it."
"Hold your tongue, arrogant punk. Now I will free you, but I order you to behave yourself. Others have responded to the calling and I must attend to them. You will wait out of this room until I call you again."
Then the Altmer snapped his fingers and Darak was able to move again: he inspired deeply and, without looking at the wizard, strode out of the chamber, trying to appear more confident than he actually was.

Ralaith slinked into the pub unnoticed--just the way he liked it. The dark lighting was near perfect for his beat-up Dark Brotherhood armor. As a Dunmer used to shadowy hangouts, he found the place rather suiting. He only hoped that the job would pay well.

Eyeing the clientele casually from his perch at the bar, Ralaith spotted a small group of people gathered around one rather stunning female. 'This must be Fairgoth,' he thought to himself, 'I must find out more about her.' He tossed back the last half of his pint of ale and placed a silver coin on the counter.

Silently, Ralaith made his way over to about four feet behind the elf. Listening to what she was telling the other...recruits... he thought he had a tale that could impress her enough to be accepted.

"Fairgoth," he said, barely above a whisper, for Ralaith was never one for loud speaking, "I hear you are looking for fools to run an errand. While not a fool, I believe I may be of use. My name is Ralaith."

Noticing the doubting smirk on Fairgoth's face, Ralaith grinned inwardly. Oh yes, she had heard of him, she just didn't know it yet.

He flipped his long, unbound, light-gray hair over his shoulder. "Disbelieving me already? You know of me. Yes, indeed you do. Perhaps you have heard that the Grandmaster of the Morag Tong has died recently. Not even his top officers could figure it out, for he was in great health, and at the top of his game. Ah yes, the assassination was a work of art, truly it was. Poison was not an option, as all his food is checked. Neither was sniping, as that would have been too easily detectable afterward, although I daresay I could have thrown one of my ebony darts completely unnoticed. No, the secret was in his own habits. The man had become paranoid beyond all reasonability. All his clothes were checked, as were his food and drink. He even had his jewelry checked for forgeries once a week to find any replacements that may have been made. But that was the key. For he did not wear his rings at night, for he claimed that the metal would too easily conduct a shock spell into his system. Stealing the ruby-encrusted band was the easy part, and having a friend enchant rather simple as well. Since the jewels glittered, the sparkle of the spell was never noticed. The subtle health drain, while small, quickly took care of him.”

“Wondering how this will help? Every being has its weaknesses, even the Daedra, who are overly arrogant. My specialty is exploiting those weaknesses. Plus, I am an expert marksman with my hand-made ebony darts, and you will find no better scout in the land.”

“Now, are you going to accept the privilege of hiring me, or shall I take my services elsewhere? And if I am, could you kindly advise me as to somewhere that I might find fitting? The Morag Tong will not accept me—I am to “honorless” for their tastes, and I wore out my welcome with the Dark Brotherhood long ago when I shamed their leader in a duel.”

Bowing after his speech, which was much more than he normally spoke, Ralaith waited for her reply.

-|| RPG UPDATE TWO ||-

All would be defenders against the invaders from Oblivion suddenly hear a strange voice in their heads.

For you to be selected to help you must tell the leaders of one specific event in your past that demonstrates your effectiveness. One or two have done this must most are relying on displays of skill and power. We do not doubt your abilities as individuals but we seriously question your ability to be part of a team. So choose your example wisely. Each of you will at some point in your lives have been forced to fight with others or to help others even if only for the sake of mutual survival. You do not have to like your comrades but you will have to trust them as they must know they can trust you in return.

Those selected will move on in two to three days time. So tell your stories and talk to your companions. Learn what it is about them that you can support and show them why they should support you. Train with them if they will let you. Drink with them if they are of a mind to drink. This must be a team and you must show you can be part of it."

Those with Fygge can see he is as eager to be moving on as you are but the words make sense. You are all strangers to each other. You have a little time to change that and realise that to go with others and to succeed you must learn of them. And somehow you know you will become very famous if you succeed.

Fairgoth has something about her that inspires such devotion in any she looks at that you cannot but do as she asks. Talk to your companions, tell them and her your bravest tales. You will do it for her and if she chooses you you will succeed! And somehow you know you will become very rich if you succeed.

In the ruined abbey, slowly each of you realises that nothing of what you see is actually there and you all see different things. Does the mage Esquisite really exist? All you can be certain of is that your companions are real. But something very powerful is assessing you carefully. You have been told to learn of your companions and let them learn of you. Somehow you know that immense power can become yours if you succeed.

LOCATION: The Abby

His mind slowly wrapped around the words coming from the woman standing before him and two others, one an average sized Khajiit and the other a dark elf in clothing even darker. Trebbits listened as the Khajiit introduced himself to the lady first, and realized that she had first addressed him but seeing the pause Semink had been ready to fill the gap in time. Trebbits was grateful for this and would have to remember to thank the Khajiit for his quick mind in covering the lapse Trebbits had made.

Seminks story was brief but it held some interesting and albeit useful information, a trapper and skilled Bowman that could provide well for them should they wind up in a situation where they would not have the pleasure of civilized foods. But there was more then the skills he mentioned, of this Trebbits was certain, and one had been displayed even now. He was quick of mind and caught detail of things that Trebbits himself had missed. Yes indeed He must make sure to befriend this Khajiit regardless of the outcome of this 'interview'

Now his mind was clear of the brief fog that had clouded it but before he could give a response to Esquisite the old dark elf began talking even as Semink was forming the last word of his story. "What's with her," the dark elf asked Trebbits?

But again before Trebbits could even respond to the elf this arrogant or senile old man began to grab items from the counters and hauled out ingredients from his pack to begin mixing potions. Now Trebbits hadn't been alive long this is true, but in his neck of the woods you didn't just stroll into someplace and begin using things in it as though they were your own. What nerve. The man was either very skilled to support his confidence in his actions or very senile, of which Trebbit could not be certain, but he would definitely have to keep an eye on this one.

Trebbits turned back to Esquisite, "I apologize for my delay and hope you can forgive me, It was a long night of travel for me in coming to this place and the suddenness and strangeness of my immediate situation simply left me a little off balance." Was that a faint shimmer? Trebbits had been looking into the eyes of Esquisite to make sure his illusioned mask was not slipping, if they saw he was merely a teenager he would never be able to pull off the Sentri Thoresson act he had started. But as he had watched her eyes there had been an ever so quick flutter between seeing her there and not, he was almost certain of it. Indeed Illusion had been used outside the confines of this place there was even better chance it was still in place within. If this were true he was sunk for surely one of this kind of power would see through his much lower class illusion of looking as he did.

"Please let me also apologize for trying such trickery as I have on one such as yourself. I am not who I said I was at your gate as I am sure you well know." He must have looked like a fool to the others because he no longer spoke to the form in front of him but instead slowly turned while speaking and looked in a more upward direction. "Please forgive my feeble attempt Mistress Esquisite, but you see I am seeking my own story for my life yet none will give me this chance to make it what I wish it to be. My father thinks me a fool for spending time with magic, my mother wished herself a girl child and has always treated me as her wish. I have met many people who sought their own stories and indeed have I helped a few of them to gain what they sought."

He stopped turning in place and looked to the other two in the room with him, and continued. "I am sure that each of us who have come to you have individual skills that as you have said are mundane in themselves and very likely of little use to you when viewed on their own merits, but if I may be so bold as to say that even in the world of magic it is always true that the more powerful one wishes to make a potion or spell the more one must put into it. So I humbly submit that you are correct in assessing us as you have but give us a chance to show you our true power when combined properly into the potion you wish to make for your attack on the hordes. Let us have time to share with each other those things that make us unique and in turn can be combined to make us something formidable as well."

He wasn't sure why but he felt compelled to get down on one knee, and drop his head forward when he finished with, "I, Trebbits of Kaldravndal, though I may not have ever done anything you would know about, humbly request your considerations not only for myself but to be combined with those of Semink and the old elf, so that together we can help you write your glory chapter of your life's tale."

"Ouch." Got out of Gnaag's mouth as he fell down on the hard surface of the tavern's stable. But he has to run very quickly if he wants to survive. The innkeeper was madly shouting for help. Gnaag didn't waited until taverner succeded. He saw a horse. Nice filly was standing beside him. It had a very nice saddle. One jump and Gnaag felt the comfortable leather under him.

He get off the pursuers just five minutes after. They will never realize how could he disappear on the plain meadow. He got back to the main road. Maybe in the next village he will success. But it wasn't fated to him. As he passed the group of armed men, he glanced walls of an impressive city. He was a stranger in these land and he didn't knew the local language well (like me and my english ... author). If he did he could catch the words of armed group talking about the Imperial City.

He was impressed but suddenly he was snatched out of his thinking by brutal outcry: "There he is! Catch the thief." Just one glance backwards and he found out, that his chasers was still on his track. Gnaag started extreme sprint for life. He reached the walls quite early. The horse was perfect. He fortunately saw a comic sign of tavern "The Drunken Alit". Gnaag observed a chance of disappearence. As fast as it was possible he got inside it and rushed into the well-looking young wood-elf girl.

He was impressed the second time this day. Quickly he begged for pardon a tried to start the conversation. But he was interupted by her voice asking him whether he was also volunteer. In front of door there were still voices of his pursuers. Gnaag nodded without doubts. She put him into the queue and faded away into the crowd.

Only now he found out that he still didn't know what he volunteered for. But anything was better than two years in prison for the theft...

Bradas Sorethi is not the person you can fool with an illusion spell. Although he did not know what everything looked like normally, he did know that this was an illusion. How far all this was an illusion, was still unknown for him. The only people he could trust are the ones that arrived here like him. Bradas was forced to get out of his shy character and start talking. They had to work together as a team, or everything would go wrong.

Bradas went outside the laboratory, and placed a purple stone on the ground. This was a memory stone, anyone who touches it can either deposit one of their stories in it, or hear the one of someone else. Bradas used a complicated spell so only the companions would be able to touch the stone. .

And so, after placing the stone and done the accessing isues, Bradas touched the stone and started whispering one of his stories.

"What day it was, i don't recall. But i was walking along Tel Fyr, a telvanni tower in morrowind. These things look like oversized mushrooms. A famous wizard was known to be inside, so i visited him. Knowing he is a collector of dwemer items, i brought him a bag of dwemer coins. However, he refused those. "If you really want to learn something from me" Divayth Fyr said, "You will have to help me with my study for the cure of corprus"

And so i went inside the Corprusarium, a cavern full of corprus victims, a terrible disease spread by Dagoth Ur, a villian not important in this story. I started by investigating corprus weepings, which is sort of the "flesh" of corprus beasts. I examined it, and knew that it would drain your Fatigue and Willpower, and strangely enough fortify your Luck and restore your Health. Couldn't hold myself from smiling while thinking "corprus beasts are lucky".

I made a potion which did exactly the opposite of the previously mentioned effects. I made two of them, i gave one to a corprus beast and i kept myself. The corprus beast rotten flesh seemed to get slightly less, so i think it was effective. I went back to Divayth Fyr and told him my findings. He was impressed. "Although this is not the complete medicine, it's certainly going to help me finding it." Divayth Fyr said.

A few months later, i went back to Tel Fyr. Divayth Fyr told me that the potion he developed worked one this one person, but that it didn't work at anyone else. But he was very happy that it worked one someone. So he learned me a very special spell, which i might share with you later. And so i had helped the old wizard with the corprus cure, although i don't think he told anyone that someone helped him."

And so the story was deposited into the stone. It would only be a matter of time before the others would do the same. With a complicated spell Bradas made sure that Esquisite would not hear the part of the special spell, only the companions could hear that. There are a few things you shouldn't tell to everybody, in this case it telling a tempered female of who's intentions are unknown the unique spell he had learned. Before Bradas left he placed a note next to the stone, to explain what it was.

Now Esquisite could listen to the story while Bradas was talking calmy, something he would not be able to do in front of her, being... well.. her. This could make it easier for others as well, and they could learn something about each other, except for Esquisite knowing all about us and we still find each other strangers.

LOCATION: The Abby

Once again just as he had done before, the dark elf began moving around and muttering under his breath before Trebbits had even completed his speech to the would be leader of their future if fortune shined on them at least. This time though the elf was not speaking to anyone particularly but instead had busied himself yet again with some object on a counter. He had also scrawled out something on a parchment and left it beside what appeared to be some stone that had a glow about it. Trebbits got up from his knee and looked to the old elf, what on earth was this guy thinking. Right about that time the dark one looked directly at him and made a small motion as if to say come look at this.

Trebbits decided long ago that curiosity was something he would embrace regardless of the cost it often came with and so went over to where the man stood. He picked up the note that had been written down and read it over.

After reading it he set the note back down and again looked to the old man, that from the signature on the note went by the name Bradas. So he knew this was an illusion, that must be why he had no trouble making himself at home with the equipment in the lab. No sense wasting time playing a game if you knew the deck was stacked. Smart guy. Indeed the plea Trebbits had made was beginning to make more and more sense even to him and he could not hide the fact that he was excited they would indeed be chosen.

"I appreciate your concerns Bradas, but youth grants me the boon of being straight forward and though part of me does agree with your thinking of caution, the other part... the stronger part, simply throws caution to the wind in hopes of finding my true path of life. Thus far this practice has treated me well and I hope that it will treat me well this time also. So thank you for the opportunity of a cautious step but as you already know I have passed it by."

Trebbits turned to Semink, "Since my truth is revealed might I also thank you for trying to cover for me when I was asked to respond by the illusion of Esquisite and did not. Many thanx for supporting me even while you did not know me. I owe you a favor in kind." Trebbits nodded thoughtfully to the Khajiit and then took some more time to look around the room trying hard to spy what was and was not illusion in this strange place.

She hadn't liked it, not one bit.

It was 2 days ago when Father Greland the had come to her with a task. Marissa Kea'rol bowed deeply as the elder informed her of the rumors in the Imperial City. Gates to Oblivion he said, or was it Oblivion Gates that the cryer had said? He shook his head disregarding the fact. "Men were dying by the legions and the destruction would only spread if something wasn't done." "But Father" she protested, "Surely there are more experienced healers than her." She had only been at the church for 3 seasons since returning from her pilgramage to Marrowind. She was not eager to set out again so soon. "Im afraid there is still that skyracer flu still ravaging the village and Dougl'as was much needed here." She soon found herself that night on a trade caravan bound towards Imperial City. Father Greland had given her everything in the temple's coffer as well as several potions. She still had her bow and quiver she had brought back to Crydill, but all of her arrows were gone. She'd lost them all in the woods while practicing, something she did when she was bored or angry. Right now she wished she had some.

She sat in the back with the wagons supplies and trade goods. The notice Greland had given her was splayed out infront of her as she read it for the 20th time. 3 Leaders where gathering heroes to help with the gates. A Nord, a Altermer Mage, and a Altmer. She bit her lip as she thought of the possibilities.

Walking into into a camp of Mercenaries didn't sound like a good idea to her. She just couldn't trust anyone that did things solely for money. Besides Nords, and especially Nordic Mercenaries weren't too keen on having women in the ranks. She thought it might be more interesting that way, but disregarded the thought.

She had heard the name Esquisite before of course. A female wizard that very much liked the solitude of her labratory. There were rumors of course that she experimented on men that wandered into her dungeon. Of course the tale had painted her as a striveled up old hag, with finger nails like daggers. But no one questioned her endowment with the arcane arts.

She had never been to 'The Drunken Alit' and wondered why gather at a tavern. The notice had mentioned criminals and riff-raff as the major attendies. She'd probably end up getting herself killed or worse raped by some drunken guarface who couldn't take no for an answer.

Marissa wasn't a spectacular beauty, but she still managed to turn some heads when she walked down a street. Her hair was black and shoulder length, it framed her slender face. Her eyes where the color of blood, she hated that. Marissa had seen alot of it, especially in Marrowind. She wore a cream colored clergy robe that had long since faded to some version of yellow. The robe was frayed at the bottom and exposed her dark grey legs. A pair of worn dirt stained shoes fit snuggly about her feet. Underneath the robe she wore a blue shirt which may have been at one point of fine quality. It still held it's minor armor enchantment though. Deep inside her robe a ring resided, one in which she did not wear. It was not magical in any way, nore did it fetch some fancy price. But it did be long to him, she clutched at the pocket now. It had been in Marrowind when he had given it to her. The wagon stopped suddenly, throwing her back into reality. She turned and saw two Breland's holding crossbows. They were very near Kvatch and the first guard asked if they were here for the summons. The driver laughed bitterly and said "I'd sooner tangle with my ex-wife than wander anywhere near those gates."

Marissa jumped down from the wagon and fetched her things quickly from the back. She thanked the driver as she walked pasted him and stopped a few feet short of the first guard. "I am here to serve Crydill" she said a little nervous of the crossbows. They looked at her skeptively, and the second guard noticed her empty quiver. He leaned over and wispered to the first. "I used them, had to kill some bandits on the way here." She lied. The wagon was moving past them now, the driver still laughing uproariously. Although still doubtful the two sentries let her pass, she wandered towards the temple. It must have been a beautiful site when it was still standing she mused. Time and war had done there jobs well though, now it was barely recognizable. All around her the sounds of preperation were going on. Metal armor clanging, swords being sharpened, and wizards pouring over there books. If it weren't for this gate business she might have mistaken this for a fair, or competition going on. She continued up the knoll and several Dunmer and Altmers passed her discussing a particular form of fireball that was usefull against trolls and goblinoids. As she neared the temple she noticed several symbols on a coblestone near the stairway leading down. It was of her order, she sighed again at the loss.

OOC
Marissa Krea'Rol
Female
Dunmer
42 Years old
Cleric
Items -
320 Septim
2 Healing Potions
1 Cure Major Fatigue
1 Regular Restore Strength
1 Shirt with Armor Enchantment - Leather Armor Equivilent AC
1 Longbow - No Arrows
2 Flasks of Water, 5 small parcels of food, 1 knife, 2 candles, several sheets of paper and ink.
1 Set of extra travelling clothes
1 ring - Non-Magical, of no value except to her.

The snow fell silently down onto his face and long beard, Ulf loved it - "ha ha ha", he laughed childishly - and he opened his mouth to taste the drink of the frost goddess, while dancing around a glade with his long arms stretched towards the sky. "Thank you your grace, thank you!", his eyes curled around as he regained his way and smilingly confirmed his tracks would be covered soon, leaving them no chance to find him, today. Suddenly raising his old gnarled wooden staff he yelled:
"Damn you Dagon! Damn you for my misery!" A ball of frost powerfully shot out from the end of his staff with a trajectory of eternity, towards the sun. He hated it; it was like a big mocking sign following him around. If only he hadn't done it, if only they had been stopped by some adult before it got out of hand, his hand. "It wasn't my doing... He did it... but why?!” Ulf kept rambling to himself when he came across a stream in the snow.

While drinking and filling his only waterskin (the rest were for other, more refined drinks) he heard horses downstream. Imperials, mercenaries of the north, bandits? He didn't want to find out; he would rather keep to his solitary ways and keeping the risks of being caught at a low. Now though, he had no choice. He rubbed his cheaplooking silver amulet with his long old fingers. Wolves had cornered him in the mountains 2 nights ago; he was hurt but had survived because of wits and magic alone. His clothes were ragged and he needed supplies badly - he had to take the chance.

Cackling he put his hood back over his head "Noo... I didn't do it".

In a brisk pace for a man as old as Ulf, he strode towards the noisy horses and soon smells of cooked and dried fish were in his nostrils, leading his legs almost without the need for his old eyes to pay attention. He pulled out a small vial, which he emptied quickly. Better be a bit prepared, to be on the safe side.

His fur boots were kicking up snow, portions of it covering his ragged dirty brownish cloak and fur pants, when he followed the stream around a bend and saw horses and men close by. Not bandits for sure... too clean, almost too clean for being mercenaries too... unless. "Hmm I heard of these men", Ulf told himself and the nearby trees and shrub, recalling a conversation between two townsfolk outside a staple he had hid and slept in. Knights aye?!
Maybe his fate was bound with theirs. If they indeed, as the townsmen had spoken about, were campaigning to go to one of the rifts, maybe there was a chance for him to get even with the Lord of destruction. Ulf poured a mouthfull from another skin; the drink stung then warmed him all the way down.

Two of the knights attending some of the horses by the stream noticed him and looked rather startled. One of them called to someone nearby, while the other made sure his sword was by his waist and ready. They were tall and wore beutiful hand-crafted armour which shone in the morning sun and forced his eyes towards something else. Ulf felt his heart drop, when a big muscular nord, his own kind, joined the two knights and peered with his working eye in Ulf's direction. Maybe he is looking for me... maybe he has been sent by the chieftain. "Better tell as little as possible, but still show a sign of well wishes", he mumbled to himself as he took another mouthfull of the skin and hid it in his cloak.

"Greetings brother of the north and noble knights of shining armour, be not alert since I come not during the night with a dagger drawn, nor is my intent dark as those under the command of the dark lord from beyond the rift!", Ulf boomed in the deepest possible voice he could muster while giving a false and ugly smile of dark teeth.

Seeing no particular relaxation in the tension of the knights and the nord, he continued in a lower leaner voice as he moved closer.

"I am Ulf, born a nord by a nord; by chance I have come to you after being assailed by vicious wolves in the mountains". Ulf suddenly realised he forgot to remove his hood, a well known source of terror to civilians and even men and women of valor. Removing it he continued:
"Have faith in this old man my good men of valor, for I tell the truth. I came here to find much needed supplies, but a thought has entered my mind that maybe I am bound to be here and partake in your wellknown noble campaign. Getting even with... with my consience and do what is right is important to me. Thus I offer you my old hands of somewhat magic ability and my staff that sent those wolves to their timely deaths - if you are indeed those of whom I speak."

Before Fygge could speak, Ulf spoke again as he came so close to the party that they had no trouble deciding where the bad smell came from:

"I know what you think my fellow nord, who must be Fygge", Ulf smiled grimly and bowed his head slightly. "Where are my axe and the strong arm that wields it?" - pulling up his staff in his right arm he boomed: "Long has this staff leant its powers to me and together with my, for a nord, unusual arcane profiancy many an evil being has been smothered into crystals of ice". Seeing a flicker of fear in the eyes of the knights, he ended with adding:

"Those wolves did not want to only fiest on my flesh! Two nearby farmer families had long endured their sport of killing and eating the livestock animals - alas even the eldest daughter of one family was lost to the foul creatures! So, might not my skills find good use among the hardened fighters even if my hand is old and my axe buried with my family?"

Ulf looked up on the big nord searching for any hint of a smile. Has he recognised me?

OOC
: Ulf
: Male Nord Mage
: 57-59 years old
: The Atronach (sign)
: Alchemy, Alteration, Conjuration, Destruction, Illusion, Mysticism, Hand to Hand

: Armoury
Staff of frost
Amulet of foul intellect (plus to intelligence, minus to personality)

: Costume
Fur boots, pants and shirt in lesser condition.
Cloak with hood, brown, ragged.
Iron belt with snake


: Ulf Vilhelmsbane (he never tells his full name) - he got it when he killed the local chieftain’s son in his village at a young age. Has since then lived on the run or away from Skyrim. The bounty on his head is only in his head by now... not in the real world, where he has been thought dead for long and things moved on. He has no contact with his family or anyone else. His ugly apperance and smell makes people leave him alone but also fortificates a lonely old mans beginning insanity from the long periods of solitary.
Thinks he was setup and framed by Mehrunes Dagon himself, by the god altering his fireball spell to impossible high levels when he would not want it. That is how Vilhelm died. In a dangerous kid’s game, they were playing with magic one day, both being born in the sign of the Atronach, they had fun practising spell absorbtion of some of the more harmfull spells. Alas, from the hands of Ulf came the devastating fireball that instantly killed Vilhelm - immediately leaving Ulf an outlaw and a fugitive to be.

: Advantages
Incredible intellect and willpower and some strength.
Very skilled in magic, especially frost and destruction (which he don't like using though... because of the beforementioned incident and others like it)

: Disadvantagees
Rambles, talks to himself, changes character, hates fire (weakness to), have nightmares, drinks, sometimes almost insane and does things out of insanity.

OOC- Holy hellfire this has drawn a crowd and a half! I don't envy you as a DM Malchik./OOC

Erunanion, with great difficulty, tore his eyes away from Fairgoth's visage. To his eyes, which had seen many a fair face, she was utterly captivating. He knew that he would hurl himself into Oblivion and confront all the hordes of the underworld to see her illuminating smile play across her face. Still looking away, and feeling like a dumb-struck teenager, he tried to focus himself on her question. Rallying himself, he raised his head and looked into her deep, knowing eyes.

"I come to offer a sword in aid to those who would rather use a dagger. You are correct in your appraisal, I am a fighter of no mean ability. But Fygge will have all the warriors and heroes he wants - I go where I am needed."
"Thieves and assassins may well congregate in this place, but I choose not to stand in the shadows when danger threatens. And you, my lady, require Elves such as I." Erunanion now seemed to be addressing the people surrounding him rather than the landlady in front of him. "This band of pick-pockets and murderers may well be good at the silent cut, the stealthy kill; but in Oblivion there is darkness that you would do well to stay out of, and fire to blind you to those that are better off nameless."

Erunanion looked into the middle-distance for a moment. "I have journeyed from the land of Morrowind in the North, where I stood against such creatures many times. And yet I bear no scars as evidence of this. And some would question this. Are my skills with blade and bow so fearsome that I could venture past the Ghostgate to the very gateway into Dagoth Ur's citadel? Am I of such stout heart that I could face down the magic and strength of an Ash Vampire? My answer: Yes."
He smiled at his immodesty. "But it helps to have companions. I have led Men and Elves and Orcs into battle against foes more powerful than each of us, but combined we have smote them all. I can hold men in line against the creatures of fire and darkness that we shall face, even criminals such as these."

"I can stand before that fire and darkness and fight hard and long, given a good sword and a half-chance. And you, my lady, need me." His last words were spoken as a mere whisper, his eyes locked with those of Fairgoth.

Suddenly, quick as a whippet, Erunanion side-stepped the Bosmer and drew his sword, a flash of silver in the dark taverm, pointed at a swaying Nord who was standing close behind Fairgoth. This close to her the fragance of her hair beguiled him, but he forced these thoughts from his mind as he bellowed in challenge - "Why would a Nord, even a drunken Nord, not recognise a call to arms when he hears one? Many dealings have I had with your brothers in the North, and none do I know who would skulk and steal from a woman offering the chance of a good fight!" He reversed his sword, and rammed it home into the fleece-lined scabbard. "Come, put thoughts of petty theft from your mind, and join us in a fight worthy of a Nord! All of you!" - he shouted at the drunken rabble. "Prove that even thieves can fight as well as any warrior of Fygge's!"

Erunanion, his face a mask of anger but his eyes twinkling with enjoyment, stood tall next to Fairgoth and looked at the people who drew closer to her.

After some thinking Bradas came to the conclusion Trebbits was right.

"Why be careful? Even if the illusion spell here is casted by Esquisite, what is the worst thing she can do? After we go in Oblivion, she will turn against us?Then it would still be one against... With how many are we here anyway? I should have more contact with everyone.. Information can be placed inside the memory stone, so if i check it regularly i should get to know everyone a bit. "

Bradas sneaked behind a rock and there started to practise the spell he was taught by Divayth Fyr. Illusion isn't his best school of magic and the spell is very complicated. But in the situation they are going to be in, it's bound to come in handy.

LOCATION: The Abby

Trebbits had taken in some of the rooms decor and when concentrating very hard could see flickers in almost all that was there. This began his thought process, and he came to a conclusion of something that at last made a great deal of sense. Thinking he would share the information with Bradas and Semink he turned round to look for them only to find that Semink appeared to be the only one there. Now his thoughts again got mixed up and then yet another easy solution presented itself.

"Semink, I think I have figured out why the illusions are in place." Trebbits waited while Semink turned his attention from what he was doing to him. "I think the stories of Esquisite must in fact be true that she much prefers solitude to having large throngs of people around her and so she has created individual instances where she can keep the numbers she is dealing with down a little and walk among them unnoticed listening to them as they meet first with one or two of each other and then later will bring them together as a group to address them at once with the decision she finally makes for her party to venture to the rifts."

Trebbits saw Semink was taking a breath to speak but quickly added, "For example I think maybe you and I were the only ones in this room and that Bradas may have actually been Esquisite in disguise, take for example this stone into which we can whisper our stories so she could review them later, and of course no Bradas in the room with us now, just you and I. What do you think good sir? Possible?" Trebbits was smiling ear to ear thinking he had figured out what was really going on, then remembered how quickly Semink had thought to cover for his earlier delay in response. "Of course I am but a youth with a wild imagination so perhaps you know better what might be happening?"

Trebbits was truly excited now at what was happening and he would surely have to remember the details of this for his journals that he kept of all the interesting stories he cam across. Perhaps he could even get Semink to browse his stories sometime when they were in a better position to do so and not left standing in the dank lab room... or wherever they actually were.

Still stareing the huge Nord down Dur-Coath heard the strange sound in his head. And in the corner of his eyes he saw that the new arivals were also reacting to something only they could hear. 'damn, I hate it when I hear strange voices in my head, that means the gods have a invested intrest in this. And that means major trouble'

'Well theres nothing like the present' Dur-Coath thought. "Fygge, I'm sure even you have heard of the city of Vivec?" when the Nord nodded with more then alittle of anger in his eyes Dur-Coath continued. "Well a few months ago the Ordinators, thats the local athorites if you didn't know, were haveing some trouble with a bunch of warriors that were looking to claim Vivec as their own now that the local god was dead. I figure I help them out since I visit the city often whenever I'm on the island."
"Now that was a fun fight. there were fifty Ordinators plus me. Aginst seventy-five warriors. The warriors tried to ignore me at first, I am a Bosmer after all, but after I took out three of them in as many seconds I got their attention. Hehe they must have thought I was some Daedra from Oblivion itself, for after I killed ten of their numbers and me not even with a scratch they had fear in their eyes. In the end I claimed fifteen of their numbers total and loss three of the Ordinators. I am now a offical Ordinator, the first non-Dunmer if I remember correctly."

"I can work with a group, or alone, whichever is needed at the time, I dont ask for much, I'm not in this for money. I'm in this to stop the rifts from tearing everything apart. Now am I apart of this group or do you go off without me to your deaths?"

OOC: a lot of posts here. I'm hoping the reason for this is that it's Sunday, because I doubt I'll be making more than about two posts a day during the week (lectures and work)

In reply to Trebbits, Semink said:
"Sorry I didn't answer you earlier. I wasn't intentionally covering for you, but I'm glad I helped. As for the Illusions in this place, I can see that this laboratory is a fairly dark place. However, it doesn't look like normal darkness to me... my Kajiit eyes could normally see well in this level of light, but here I can't. Besides that, I can't, like you, see what are illusions and what are not. I guessed there might be some illusions in this place, but not that everything was an illusion.
"As for whether Bradas or Esquisite or even you are real I cannot be sure. You, however, I think I will choose to trust, because you seem to have nothing to hide. As for Bradas, he smells real, unlike Esquisite."

One thing that most illusions didn't hide --- most likely because most mages didn't have Kajiit noses --- was smell. Ever since arriving in this laboratory, Semink had been able to smell what smelled like, well, this was his best description:
A large number of people of many races; many sweating bodies; a burning smell from furnices; the smell of fresh meats being dried and salted for preservation; smells of baking; and many more besides.

Telling this to Trebbits, he agreed that much of Trebbits theory was probably right.
"I don't know how much trust we can put in anyone, but I suggest we work as a team. As mysterious as Bradas is, I suggest we give him a reasonable amount of trust unless he gives us reason not to.
"Now, shall we head out of this laboratory and see if this illusion still prevents us seeing anyone else? I could do with a bow and some arrows myself, and, who knows, you might find a useful magical item. Since I came with no money I hope they'll equip any chosen adventurers for free."

Semink started towards the exit of this laboratory...

[OOC]Yep, a lot of posts. I don't think I'll be able to win the contest, but it's been a while since I've been in a good RP. I just hope that it doesn't get to the point where I have to read for an hour just to catch up.[/OOC]

Now that Ralaith had a moment to wait, the elf, Fairgoth, caught his attention fully. She was captivating, alright. It had been a long time since Ralaith had known an elf of such enrapturing qualities, for he didn't meet many in his line of work. Somehow, he knew that she was unavailable in that respect. Still, he had a feeling that he, as well as most of the other males who joined, whether elf or not, would be hard-pressed to avoid trying to catch her attentions.

Another dark elf standing nearby, apparently another who chose to attempt the impossible--to defy the Daedra, and a ranger by the look of him, called out a challenge to a nearby Nord. This made Ralaith laugh out loud, which was, considering the look of the other elf, probably a bad move. When the ranger turned to look at him, Ralaith had to respond quickly before he got himself into another foolish bar brawl, one which he would most likely lose--while he was good with his twin longknives, he wasn't good enough to defeat a ranger like this Dunmer.

"Hold, friend, I meant no offense, it is just that most of the patrons of this rather shabby establishment, if they are not here as guards to Fairgoth, though she can probably handle herself, who are just acting drunk, are actually so knocked-up on the foul ale that they need to hold on to their drinks to keep from falling over. They cannot understand you enough to see that you are not Vivec himself. If you'd like to insight followers, do it out in the streets, or at the local Warrior's guild. But I daresay that you are the only Warrior who will come to the Alit. Those who come here will come to work with those of their own kind, those who they are comfortable around. In other words, scoundrels, thieves, murderers, scalawags, and any other kind of riff-raff you can think of. We can be ourselves around each other, we respect each other. While we may not always agree, and sometimes attempt to kill one another, we do know that each of us will probably need others at some point. This is one of those times. We also know that some situations require a leader to guide us. Fairgoth, as I understand it, is here to set us on our way, not to come with us, so we will need to choose among ourselves. Perhaps you are the leader, but perhaps not. There are not yet enough here to tell. All I know is that speaking to drunken Nords about fighting as well as seasoned soldiers is not going to accomplish much--they are as likely to knock themselves out as punch you in trying to prove that they can fight."

As he finished, Ralaith wondered why he was being so talkative today. It wasn't his style. Then he looked over and saw Fairgoth looking at him. There was something about her, something not completely natural. Still, he couldn't help but try to impress her.

Gnaag was trying to become familiar with the matter of thing. That wasn't very difficult, because everybody was chatting about it. The outbreak of Oblivion monsters in Cyrodiil. He wasn't very keen of it as he disliked the brutal force. His just one weapon was his dagger, he stole once from a noble. It was decorated with some nice gems. But he failed in this case. The stones were fake. The dagger was absolutely worthless. But yet he kept it. Firstly because he couldn't sell it, but also because he liked it.

He looked over the entire group of people inside the pub. Everybody has at least some kind of armor. Only he was exception. Dressed in the common pants and shirt he looked like poor farmer among noble warriors. Gnaag didn't mind it very much because he knew about his qualities himself.

He got thirsty. He turned to the bar and ordered a tankard of weak beer. No one was about to join him, so he let his thoughts flew through his mind.

The atmosphere in the pub evoked him a memory on one warm summer evening in the Camlorn pub "The awake pilgrim". There he found a place to sleep after the day of "hard work". He was sitting behind the bar when a notoric brawler called Darn started to tease him by pointing at Gnaag's height. Gnaag tried to act like he didn't noticed him, because as Breton he was got used to similar fools. But Darn was obsessive, so he accepts the brawler's game and carefully answered provocateur's offences. Fortunately Darn was extremely drunk so he fell asleep after a few minutes. Darn's friends got him into his room. Gnaag left the hall few minutes after them. The early next morning he had a new nice belt with Darn's pouch hanged on it.

Gnaag was awaken from his daydream by the lack of beer in tankard. But he couldn't order another one. There were no money in his purse left. His time came. He looked through the crowd and found suitable chair. He stepped on it and started his performation.

"Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen. My name isn't important, but if some pretty ones would know it I am not againts the fun. So I am Gnaag, the Bard, and I am going to tell you an old story about the 'pretty rose' princess Fair. She was grown into the royal family far far away. She was the beautiest girl in the land. But that fact wasn't hidden from the bad dragoon Horgon, who liked to eat fresh flesh of young nice girls, usualy maidens, but it wasn't the main condition..."

"My english might be a bit rusty"

"Frog in Tree" is he's name, but they call him Frog for short. He's standing silently infront of the village shaman, awaiting the outcome of the divination spell she's cast.

After what feels like a hour she speaks barely audioble in the native Argonian tounge "They cannot lie, (he always wonderd who they were) YOU have to go into the world and seek out this evil! For it threatens even our race. You have proven yourself with spear and claw. You are the one we have choosen. You have to leave and not come back till it's done!

Is that all? No clues.

Donning his chainmail cuirass, and backpack of provisions he sets out. At the gate the guard hands him a steel spear (iron rusts to quick in the swamp).

With the sun warming his darkgreen scaly hide he heads to the Imperial City, someone should know something, if what he's heard is true of the city.

Before entering the city Frog hides his backpack with a invisibility spell (no need to attract attention) and wanders into the market square. Tasting the air with his black tounge he marvels at the cosmos of smells these mammals tend to generate. He soon find, to his delight, that barring his two inch fangs tend to unnerve the general population. Suddenly he hears a voice in his head, "Seek out The Drunken Alit." Is the shaman guiding him or is it someone else? Grabbing a imperial boy by the shoulder he hisses in his ear "Where is the The Drunken Alit warm blood" The trembling boy points down a ally. Releasing him he starts toward the The Drunken Alit wondering how such a cowardly race could rule the world.

Opening the door he stands in the doorway allowing his sences to adjust to the din. He sees the wood elf looking quite out of place and start towards her, shouldering the drunken patrons out of his way, barring his fangs at any who should try to resist.

A couple of feet away from Fairgoth he suddenly stops, is this magic, how can she be attractive? While standing there a sudden urge prompt Frog to step forward and tell this tale.

We were hunting near the border when we heard a cry for help. Normally we do not interfere in the affairs of the "warm bloods", but this day I decided against reason to go have a look and appon crossing the ridge we saw a merchant wagon overturned next to the road. Some goblins had a girl tied to a stake and were busy gathering firewood. The rest of the merchant party were tied to a sledge behind the horses and it were clear that they were to be taken to the goblin camp as evening sport. The girl were to be offerd to one of thier gods.

We counted 40 goblins, while not that many there were only 3 of us and we would've turned away had not a old man crawled out of the bushes asking me for a weapon so that he could free his family.This display of courage so moved me that I gave him my belt dagger and together we waded into the goblins, slaying them all within a few minutes. Afterwards he gave me this chainmail cuirtass - it's got a special enchantment, it repairs itself over time.

Having told her, Frog stands there wondering why he told her all this.

"Hah! A fine swaggering band of gypsies, tramps and thieves! Bosmer, Nord and Khajit! All in it for the money, are we?"

Xristo studied the rag-tag band of adventurers gathering around the Nord, Fygge. "Well met, fellow adventurers, for I am here for no better reason. I have not come to restore a family name, like Ismail here. Nor have I come blind, as our 'friend' Ril-Toka - nice piece of mage-work there, friend. Perhaps I can learn some new tricks, although I do prefer the cut of good Daedric weapons..."

He paused and gazed around the gathered adventurers; "That was some neat play there, Dur-Coath, your skill with the tanto matches your skill with your tongue! You may have had your point at Fygge's family jewels, but you should never trust a Nord to be easy meat... you may have been below his belt, brave Bosmer, but his guards' bows were aimed at your heart and head."

Xristo had seen two big Nord warriors in the shadows, watching for trouble.

"So, Fygge, you want proof of our abilities? What of yours? What makes you our leader... other than the purse from which you promise to pay us? From what I see already of this merry band of adventurers, boasting of past deeds is not our manner. We are here simply for the rewards, be these cash or family honour or magic. You hold the purse strings (for how long, friend?) so you can dictate who joins you on this little adventure..."

Though he had brought only simple armour and weapons, Xristo also carried some more "interesting" pieces of equipment in his pack. Nothing special, of course, but some useful trading goods, gold, lockpicks... the kind of stuff no adventurer should leave home with. Though he held very little of magic, a few potions and spells were tucked away inside, hidden under his quiver of daedric arrows. No, now was not the time to reveal all his skills. Fygge was a "straight up" Nord simply leading his group of adventurers into glory. He wanted facts, not fiction, and would choose his troop carefully...

"This is more a troupe than a troop, good Nord." he said, looking at the motley crew gathered before Fygge, "You need someone who will cover his allies' backs, not some adventurer who is only after personal gain. I see at least four good fighters who will survive the adventures ahead, but you? What do we know of your prowess? Let us spar to prove my skills, for no story I would tell will suffice to prove my abilities. Words mean nothing - only deeds!"

Xristo raised his sheathed longsword in challenge...

-|| RPG ANNOUNCEMENT ||-

For those of you who haven't noticed I have made an off-topic and clarification area for this roleplaying thread which can be found here. Feel free to use it as you see fit.

Similarly apologies for the forum-downtime/errors earlier, silly thing didn't like some of the changes I made. All fixed now!

Happy roleplaying all!

(English isn't my native language, so please excuse orthographical errors, messed up grammar, unintelligible sentence structures and the likes.)

Approaching Fygge's encampment

It had been three days ago when Wulfgar had regained hope that his journey would not end as an utter failure. A fortnight had passed already since he had spent his last coins of gold on a piece of stale bread, some cooked meat and a mug of beer. Since then he had been forced to live off the things he could find in the wilderness - nothing more than the water he had found in ponds and the few berries and roots he was able to recognize. While he was familiar with the flora and fauna of Skyrim, he had been forced to realize that his environment became increasingly uncommon the farther he got from his home. Certainly, he would have been easily able to live off deer or rabbit meat, if only he had had a bow and arrows; and then he would still have had to learn how to use that weapon.
Just as the wilderness had put on an outfit different from Skyrim, the weather had left its usual course. When he had been on his way southwards, he had been wondering about the irritated looks he had received from other travellers, until he had learnt what warmth was. All his clothing was made to let the bearer endure the cold winters and freezing seawinds of his home country, and were made from rabbits' or bears' fur which was probably the most unsuitable clothing for travelling on the plains in full sunshine. Some of his clothing he had already sold during his travels, but most of it he was still carrying with him: a pair of heavy leather boots and similar pants, a piece of Nordic chainmail he had crafted with his own hands during his apprenticeship, a leather vest, a waterskin, a small pouch with edible roots - his assets of the last resort -, a silver war axe at his side and a round shield, made from oak and wrapped in grey cloth, on his back. Wulfgar was happy that he could at least return into the mountains, where the weather was not as warm and uncomfortable, although this did not help to still his hunger.
After the first week without regular food he had been desperate enough to ponder whether he should commit some minor crime in order to get arrested - from what he had heard, he would have been better off in an Imperial prison than alone in the wilderness. But Wulfgar had hesitated, and his upbringing had not been the only reason. Certainly, theft and trickery were crimes despised by anyone among his tribe, and punishment for such a crime was severe. But Wulfgar had learned that these views were not universal and there were people who thought quite differently about that matter. No, it was rather the fact that he was the one responsible for his own miserable condition, and he would accept his punishment as fate saw fit.
Two years had passed since he had fled from his own tribe. Their village had been attacked by werewolves, and this would have been the first time that Wulfgar would have fought with his tribesmen - only a month before he