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Private {18+} Ascension

Discussion in 'Active Stories' started by Madrar, Jul 24, 2018.

  1. Screeching Spasmodically

    Screeching Spasmodically Spasmodic Screecher

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    As Adalia waited for the masked man to say something, rather than stare with his eerie purple eyes which seemed to be...glowing? The eyes certainly made her uncomfortable, but she was confident she could blast him with lightning if he tried anything. She glanced at Lilliana, who'd finished her stew and was staring wide eyed up at the man. This, Adalia realized, was all new to the girl. The redguard reached into her coinpurse, and dropped a handful into the girls hand. "Go and get yourself a second helping, dear." Lilliana nodded gratefully, stood and headed for the bar, coins clenched tightly in her hand. A couple of minutes later, a scruffy looking man in robes, with blonde hair that had been cut short.

    "You don't seem like mercenary types. What are you doing in a place like this?" He seemed pleasant enough, but Adalia knew enough about the under empire to not trust strangers who came from nowhere. She snuck a glance at the masked man who still stood nearby, suspicion creeping into the back of her mind. Lilliana might not be the only one wanted by the empire. After all, Adalia was an unregistered mage in the middle of the under empire. Bounty hunters could operate here without any restrictions, and she'd heard that there was a large bounty for her kind throughout the lands of the empire. With that in mind, she answered, "you shouldn't assume. I'm here because of the summons for mercenaries. The girl there," she nodded towards Lilliana, who was on her way back with a steaming bowl, "is my ward. It's not safe for her in the city proper. What about you? You don't look like a-" The flash of crimson robes caught her attention. A dark haired man with pale bronze skin, stood in the doorway with a khajiit and dunmer on either side of him. "Why is there an imperial mage here?" She hissed, turning her face away, hoping she hadn't been spotted.
     
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  2. Madrar

    Madrar The Shadow in the Dark.

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    Thalien scowled; was he truly that easy to read? Still, there was no obvious signs something was going to happen. There was always that risk, of course. Having so many mercenaries, assassins, and general scum in an enclosed area was a sure recipe for blades to be drawn due to some perceived insult. The old bloodstains on the floor, tables, and occasionally the walls, attested to that. However he doubted that the number of killers had anything to do with his unease- in fact he was fairly confident Joren, Vintor, and himself were more than a match for most of the people in the place. He'd received no vision since the one that had lead them to Bruma in the first place.

    Something else had him on edge...something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. "It is nothing." He assured the armoured warrior, before turning to face the door once more. An imperial legionnaire.- no, a battlemage, stepped inside, accompanied by an unlikely pair; a khajiit woman, and a dumner male of the same size, both seemingly lightly armoured. That wasn't what held his attention though. It was the lack of dark brand on the mans' forehead that he found so intriguing, though he had no intention of abandoning his comfortable corner to confront the man.
     
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  3. Morbidbread

    Morbidbread Fight for the lost

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    The battle mage introduced himself as Orien Catus, and asked after their own names. "I am known as Elrasur the white. If I am any good at my chosen profession, you haven't heard of me. I am not...the typical assassin." He revealed, wary of giving away to much to the imperial, even if was different than most of his kind. The table they'd chosen to sit at offered a good view of both the door and those already inside. Most seemed to fit the expectations of what a mercenary looked like; well armored, well armed, and with a poor attitude. However, there were three that stood out, fairly close together. A redguard woman, a nord man in a plain robe, and a young imperial who was heading towards the redguard with a bowl of steaming something.

    Their was tension in the air, but that was to be expected. Such places, especially in the under empire, were almost always ready to explode into violence. The bar owners didn't typically care about who ended up dying in their establishment, so long as the killer paid for the clean up, and repairs, should they be necessary. "Excuse me a moment." He stood and made his way to the bar, waiting until the barkeep, a harassed looking imperial made his way over. The mans' eyes flicked down to the mers' tattooed hands. "What'll it be, pal?" Elrasur dropped a small coin purse between them. "Water. And a little information about this mercenary contract."

    "You're the second to ask for water." The man grumbled, filling a tankard from a keg against the wall. "Information wise, I don't know much. That khajiit over there is the one who brought word of it." He nodded towards a group of men, one of whom was the khajiit in question. "If you've any questions, he's the one to ask." The dunmer assassin thanked the man for his help before returning to the khajiit woman and the imperial he'd arrived with. "It seems the empire has hired a mercenary to bring in more of his kind." He reported, looking to Orien, "do you know what this could be about?"
     
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  4. Signus

    Signus Active Member

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    "An assassin." Orien repeated, not quite as surprised as he should have been. This was the under empire, and it only made sense that the elfs' kind would take shelter here. Though his comment about not being a 'typical' assassin, had him confused. He hadn't had much, any experience with assassins in the past, but as he understood it, there was really only the one kind. Before he could press the dunmer, he excused himself and headed for the bar. Alone with the khajiit woman, he became uncomfortably aware of the stares directed at him. It was no surprise that he would draw more than little hatred among these people. But then, what choice did he have in the matter? Die painfully at the hands of confessors, or die quickly to an assassins blade? He wasn't especially keen on dying, but if offered the choice, he take the second death.The dunmer was back now with information about a mercenary working on behalf of the empire. The elf turned to look at him "do you know what this could be about?" He asked. Orien spread his hands helplessly, "It could be any number of things. I'm a simple battlemage in service of the empire. I wasn't exactly privy to decisions like the hiring of mercenaries."
     
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  5. TheShadedOne

    TheShadedOne The Angry One

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    Athara watched the dunmer handle the large orc fairly easily, doing little more than resting her hands near the hilts of her weapons, and more importantly, near her throwing knives. A flick of the wrist, and the orc would have joined the countless corpses in the under empire. But it didn't come to that. Deciding that facing three opponents where there'd only been one a moment ago, he grumbled and stomped off, deeper into the winding alleys. The imperial, a battle mage without the markings all of his kind seemed to possess, agreed to come with them, and they began to make their way to the most prominent of the taverns in the area, the Maidens' Arms. The three of them made an odd group, even for the under empire, but no one tried to stop them, and they reached the inn, if it could be called that, without incident.

    As soon as they stepped inside, the khajiit wrinkled her nose. She was no stranger to places like this, but she was always taken aback by the unique stench of each place. More than a few stared at their companion, but no blades were drawn on them. Yet. The three found a table with a good view of both the door and the varied scum already inside. The dunmer assassin she'd met at Cimantus' estate introduced himself as Elrasur the White. Not a name she was familiar with, just like the imperials, Orien Catus. "Not that it matters, but I am Athara." She said, leaning back in her seat, getting comfortable. Elrasur excused himself, going to the bar and speaking with the imperial there. The khajiit assassin took the opportunity to take in the more notable figures. A pale breton man with battle marked armour and a large sword, a pair of men in matching dark armour, speaking with a khajiit and a irritable looking imperial. Closer, were a pair of women, one of which was taking pains to avoid looking in their direction, sitting with a nord in plain robes. A masked man in a fox mask stood at their table.

    Elrasur returned, a tankard in one hand containing...Athara sniffed cautiously, 'water?' Strange, but it made certain sense, she supposed. Lowering your guard in this place could get you killed. The dunmer reported that the khajiit she'd seen sitting with the three other men had been hired to bring in mercenaries for the empire, but beyond that, he didn't know much. "You know as much as I do, then." She quipped, glancing at Orien as the dark elf asked him about any information he may have on the job. "It could be any number of things. I'm a simple battlemage in service of the empire. I wasn't exactly privy to decisions like the hiring of mercenaries." At those words, several heads turned to look at them, none of the expressions particularly friendly. She leaned towards him, "I would keep that to yourself, if I were you" she hissed.
     
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  6. Rafen

    Rafen Active Member

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    The redguard with shells woven into her braided hair, revealed that she was in fact a mercenary, and that the young imperial was her ward. Apparently, it wasn't safe for the girl in the city of Bruma itself. Caleb snuck a second glance at her. She seemed plain, unassuming, and frightened. Obviously she was seeing the under empire for the first time, but he couldn't for the life of him figure why the under empire would be safer than the city itself. A fugitive of some sort, then. Whatever her 'crimes' against the empire, she had nothing to fear from him. The redguard, who he was beginning to think was some kind of mage, based on her lack of visible weapons and the multicolored robes, started to say something, before glancing at the door.

    "Why is there an imperial mage here?" The woman hissed, turning her face away from the doorway. Caleb looked past her, and recognized the uniform. Old, powerful hatred stirred in his heart. His fingers itched to draw the blade hidden beneath his robes. With a monumental effort, he stifled the urge. "He doesn't seem like most I've seen. But be on guard. Where one imperial is, more aren't far behind." The healer continue to watch the man as he was joined by an elf and a khajiit, who accompanied him to a table. To Calebs' surprise, the imperial lacked the strange marking most battlemages he'd seen had on their foreheads. On guard now, he settled back in his seat, and kept a vigilant watch on the door.
     
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  7. The_Lost_Foxtrot

    The_Lost_Foxtrot Lord of Shadows

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    Mathias listened to the man and the one whom called herself Adalia talk, "forgive me for not aswering, I am known as The Grimm. And yes, I am answering the call of blades" he introduced himself. Just as the girl, Serana, came back wth a new bolw of soup, a group of three walked through the door. The two first that walked in was a male dumner and a female khajit, both garbed in light armor, possibly assassins while the last on was suprisingly an imperial battlemage. Adalia cursed slightly as she turned away from them, by her robes and reaction, he gueassed thet she was a unregistered mage.

    Mathias hummed slightly as he stepped a little onto the shadows,to cover himself from the newcomers better. the robed man said something about where theres one imperial, there were always more nearby. "I agree With the man, mages from the empire are alway up to no good, better keep an eye on him" he told them as he looked at Serana "you look a little young to be walking in the underempire doing sellsword work, how old are you?" he asked With a curious look in his glowing eyes, a eyebrow raised even of noone could see it.
     
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    #47 The_Lost_Foxtrot, Aug 13, 2018
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  8. Harkatti

    Harkatti Sorceress Supreme!

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    The robed human she'd accompanied to the tavern was gone, Elwyn noticed, taking a good look at the patrons inside. Several, sitting against the far wall seemed familiar with each other, as did a pair of women, one a redguard, the other a young imperial. A heavily armored breton sat by himself, his skin pale, even by human standards. A longsword was at his hip. He was handsome, but there was a predatory glint in his eye...something about the breton was not quite right. Regardless, she would need someone dependable among this den of rogues. The imperial mage that had entered just after Elwyn and her robed companion had her on edge. The two with him didn't seem to be on the empires' payroll, but that was little comfort to her.

    She walked to the table the armored breton had claimed, keeping her hands away from her blades. A fight was the last thing she wanted. The man didn't seem to want company, but he hadn't told her to leave. Not yet, anyways. "Greetings" she motioned to the empty chair across from him. "Do you mind if I sit?" As she waited for his response, her keen elven hearing picked up words from a nearby table. "-of things. I'm a simple battlemage in service of the empire. I wasn't exactly privy to decisions like the hiring of mercenaries." An imperial accent...the mage, then. The khajiit who shared his table hissed at him to keep his voice down. Good advice, Elwyn reflected. No one would be pleased to have a servant of the empire wandering around the under empire. It was
     
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  9. The Seraph

    The Seraph Bringer of Dawn and the Morningstar

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    Uzar began to laugh. Sylandres was not surprised. Few people were willing to help in these times. Suddenly the slate was handed back to Sylandres. He looked up to see Uzar pale and trembling, beginning to eat the soup. Sylandres looked at the slate and saw the orc had written I will help Sylandres decided not to pressure him, and instead asked back, Who were you, before you became a common mercenary? I imagine you were in a stronghold of some kind with that armor. Sylandres handed back the slate and waved over the tavern wench for more mutton.
     
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    #49 The Seraph, Aug 16, 2018
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  10. Morbidbread

    Morbidbread Fight for the lost

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    The mages response was spoken a little too loud, and both Elrasur and Athara glanced about. A few patrons were looking their way, reaching under their cloaks, or resting their hands on the hilts of blades. He wondered if he was about to regret intervening on the imperials' behalf. He had no doubt he could put down a few of the cutthroats, but not all of them. Certainly not if the khajiit decided to cut her losses and run for it. "I would keep that to yourself, if I were you" the woman hissed, and Elrasur nodded his agreement. "My companion is right. Declaring your allegiance in this place is an excellent way to end up dead."

    The imperials' lip curled. "Of course. I forgot this place was nothing but a den of killers and traitors." His words were louder now, a challenge. And people definitely heard. A pair of mercenaries, one, a tall argonian with network of scars covering his face, and a shorter, though no less angry redguard man, approached. The argonian, a grey-scaled brute, snarled something under his breath, revealing a savage mouthful of fangs. "My friend says that imperial needs to be taught a lesson in humility. " Elrasur glanced over his shoulder, noticing the eyes of others on the confrontation. Then he looked to the imperial, Orien. He'd trusted Elrasur to not lead him to his doom; he could not step aside now.

    The assassin stepped forwards, placing himself squarely between Orien and the two disgruntled killers. "He's foolish, I agree, but there's no need for violence. What say I get you and your friend a drink?"

    The two glanced at each other, then the redguard stepped forwards, jabbing a stubby finger into the dunmers' chest. "You know what makes me thirsty? Shutting up imperial fools and their idiot protectors!" The man went for his weapon, a spiked mace, but Elrasur was faster, blades leaving their scabbards in a blur. The redguard fell in a spray of blood, mace tumbling from nerveless fingers. The argonian reached for his own weapon, a steel bladed bardiche, but again, the assassin was faster, blades moving faster than the scaled warrior could react. He too, fell, mortally wounded. Many eyes were on them now, including those of the barkeep, who looked less than pleased to have two fresh corpses in his establishment. Elrasur pulled a coinpurse from his belt, and tossed it to the man. "Sorry about the mess." Blades still drawn, he turned to the rest. None seemed eager to make a move on the imperial now that it was clear he was protected. Without another word, the dark elf cleaned his swords on the tunic of the redguard before retaking his seat.
     
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  11. Snoball

    Snoball One pretty swell dood

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    Salza stands along the wall of the tavern with the utmost of readiness. He was willing to fight his pursuers here, and he would have little choice anyway. Killing them here would be better than anywhere else in the city, that was for certain. No one to question him, as such an act was likely commonplace within Cyrodiil's underworld. Luckily for him, bloodshed is likely avoidable today. Quite a few minutes pass with a few new patrons making their way inside, but it appears as though Oswald's guards have ceased the chase. Salza takes a deep sigh of relief, but not before attracting the attention of one of the tavern-goers.

    "Forgive the intrusion, but it seems you are expecting someone. Or perhaps hiding?"

    Not initially looking in the man's direction, Salza gets briefly startled by the admittedly handsome looking Imperial. He was the rather pale looking fellow the elf had momentarily glanced at in passing before. Salza removes the scarf covering his mouth to speak clearly. He specifically tried to make sure he isn't giving much away, as he is still technically in hiding.

    "H-hiding you say? Of course not. Came down here to get a couple drinks with an old friend. I take it they might have no-showed me however." Sal clears his throat awkwardly. He knows he isn't a fighter like most of the people here, and being a sheep in a den of wolves meant having to lie a bit to appear more tough. Even though there was a good chance the man speaking to him wasn't buying it.

    "A lovely outfit, if I do say so myself."

    "I take it you mean my tunic underneath, yeah? I've yet to meet a connoisseur of fashionable potato sacks. Although your get-up seems much more appropriate for this setting." Sal takes note of the Imperial's slightly blood-stained coat, it probably wasn't even his own blood. Surrounded by all these tough-looking individuals, Salza just had to ask what this gathering of outlandish rouges in the tavern was all about.

    "I'm guessing you're here for the same reason that drew the rest of this crowd?" Salza asks the pale Imperial.
     
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  12. Drahkma

    Drahkma Dashing Imperial Officer.

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    Kyros was left in peace after he'd been so blunt with his fellow vampire. The imperial had insisted on calling him 'brother'. True, in a sense, Kyros mused, but saying so out loud was dangerous, even here. Vampires and others were hunted by the new church, by the same confessors who were so adamant about wiping out those who'd been dedicated to wiping out vampires before the empire had come to power. It was ironic, in a way. Vampire hunters killing vampire hunters to kill vampires. Of course, there was more to it than that, with the emperor being declared a god, but Kyros had no care for that. Had no care for any religion, in fact. He would slay them all the same. That did not mean, however, that he had any desire to be cornered in a dingy tavern. An altmer, the one that had accompanied a robed nord into the tavern, approached his table, greeted him, and asked if she could sit. He narrowed his eyes, but the elf did not seem to want trouble. "As you wish." He gestured to the empty chair across from him.

    "You're another mercenary, yes? A blade for hire, hoping for the empires' scraps?" He couldn't quite keep a sneer from creeping across his features. Before the elf could answer, a commotion broke out closer to the door. An imperial battlemage was causing trouble, insulting the patrons around him. In other words, begging for a dagger in the back. A redguard and argonian decided to take offense, and Kyros started to turn his attention back to the elf, expecting a brutal beating was in the mages' immediate future. So it was quite a shock when the dunmer the mage had been sharing his table with leapt up and cut both men down in an instant. Kyros narrowed his eyes at the flash of white. He'd heard of an assassin bearing tattoos that turned his hands bone white...a defender of the weak, if the rumours were true. A few of the assembled scum retook their seats, grumbling under their breath. They were happy to murder an imperial mage, but now that it was known a skilled fighter guarded him, their eagerness was waning. 'Pathetic', he thought with a sneer.
     
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  13. Thesius

    Thesius The Imperial Paladin

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    "It is nothing." Thalien insisted, and Vintor shrugged. Of course, he didn't believe him for a moment, but there was a warning in the bretons' tone. He had no desire to speak of whatever bothered him, and the former paladin had no intention of pushing the matter. He turned in his seat at the sound of a raised voice spoken with an imperial accent. Not unusual by itself, but its' owner certainly was. An imperial battlemage, spouting some nonsense about everyone in the place be traitors and murderers. 'Not so far from the truth' Vintor thought, amused. However, most of the others seemed to take offence, reaching for blades hidden under cloaks. A pair, a burly argonian and an irritated redguard approached, clearly intent on causing some sort of damage. A dunmer, the same that had been sitting at the table with a khajiit woman, confronted them. The redguard and the elf exchanged words, and both the human and his argonian friend reached for weapons. An instant later, both were dead. "There's something you don't see every day." He muttered to his companions, "An elf standing up for an imperial."
     
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  14. Screeching Spasmodically

    Screeching Spasmodically Spasmodic Screecher

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    The masked man answered that he had come to the tavern for the same reason everyone else seemed to be. It looked like everyone had heard of the summons and the need for mercenaries. Before she could do or say anything else, the imperial mage spoke again, declaring everyone inside traitors and killers. The nearest of the shady characters grew very still, conversation dying down as they turned their attention to the newcomer. 'Here we go...' she thought, her fingers starting to tingle with magical buildup. She fully expected the imperial to meet a sudden and bloody end. What she didn't expect, however, was the dark elf who'd entered with him to step forwards, stopping a pair of rouges, redguard and argonian. They three exchanged words, and two of them reached for their weapons, but the dark elf reacted with stunning speed. In the blink of an eye, the elf had cut down both men. She let the magic disperse with a sigh, and glanced up to see the masked man moving towards Lilliana.

    Lilliana was on her way back to the table with the redguard, what was her name? 'Adalia' , that was it. A nice name, not one heard in the imperial city. Her attention was grabbed by sudden violence. A dunmer in light armor cut down two other men. It was over so quickly Lilliana wouldn't have noticed it, if not for the sudden flash of pleasure from their deaths. A moment of pain, of fear, at the moment of death. It wasn't much, but she still felt the guilt...'feeding off of their pain and fear....despicable.' "you look a little young to be walking in the underempire doing sellsword work, how old are you?" She'd been so lost in her thoughts that she'd nearly run into the masked, purple eyed man. She scowled at him,trying to look intimidating. Of course, she had absolutely nothing to defend herself with. But he didn't know that. Probably.Maybe. "I-I'm old enough!" She insisted, putting some righteous indignity into her voice.

     
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  15. Harkatti

    Harkatti Sorceress Supreme!

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    The armored breton gestured for her to take the seat opposite him, which she did, though she was careful to keep on guard. A place like this, one couldn't be too careful, as the argonian and his redguard friend had just found out, meeting their ends at the blades of a white-handed dunmer. The man sharing the table with her seemed less than amused with the patrons, as they slunk away from the imperial mage they'd been eyeing only moments before. He then transferred his attention, maintaining a disdainful sneer the whole while, to her. "You're another mercenary, yes? A blade for hire, hoping for the empires' scraps?" He was correct, in a sense. There no longer was an aldmeri dominion to fight for, and she'd killed for coin before. However, she had no intention of letting the man talk down to her. He was here the same as she was, and more than likely, for similar reasons. "Yes, though there's little reason to be here otherwise. Are you not here for the same purpose as the rest? For the empires' scraps, as you so eloquently put it?"

    Cyrius chuckled at the mans' response. "I'm sure there's a thriving market for, ah, sack tunics. Skyrim, perhaps. Though I don't think the nords put much stock in fashion, so much as how much protection it'll offer from an axe." The wood elf motioned to Cyrius' coat, that he noticed, had been splattered with blood. 'I suppose it was too much to ask that those idiots die cleanly.' He complained to himself, though the memory of the brief skirmish brought another small smile to his pale lips. "Yes, well, when one spends as much time as I have among the dregs of society, you find yourself wanting to...stand out above the rest."

    "I'm guessing you're here for the same reason that drew the rest of this crowd?" The elf asked.

    "Blood and glory?" Cyrius replied with a smirk, though his attention was beginning to wander. He spotted an altmer woman sitting with his brother of the night. A tickle at the back of his throat reminded him that he had not fed in nearly a day. But his mind went to the blade hidden beneath his coat. The flaying knife he brought out when he wished to gain some...entertainment from his prey. He fantasized about flaying the woman. It might alleviate his boredom. 'She looks like a screamer.' Then again, when the flesh was stripped away and the blood began to flow, they all screamed. His hazel eyes flicked back to the wood elf. "Something along those lines. After all, the empire is known to pay well. When they aren't burning children and executing slaves, that is."
     
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    Drahkma: 17 Points (God, that got dark quick. Cyrius is a little twisted,huh?) Aug 20, 2018
  16. Aethalia

    Aethalia Well-Known Member

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    An abandoned watchtower outside of Bruma.

    The man whimpered, a pitiful, broken sound. "Please! I've done nothin' to you!" All around him, his friends and comrades littered the stone floor of the tower, blood and gore around their still forms. A fire was just beginning to die out in one corner, and on a sturdy wooden table, plates of food and tankards of ale sat abandoned. "I know." His tormentor, an altmer woman in a mix of leather and elven scale armour. Draped around her was a knee length, flesh coloured over coat that pooled around her as she crouched over the victim. The fingers of her gauntlets were shaped into sharp talons, and her right index finger was currently jabbed into the poor fools eye. "It's not fair. But life isn't fair. Tell me what I wish to know, and all this ends."

    "H-h-he swore he'd gut me if I said! "

    "A little late for that, don't you think?" Kylira Arshae said with a thoroughly unpleasant smile.

    The mans remaining eye spilled tears of fear and pain in equal measure. "He didn't give us a location. He just said he had to get out of Cyrodiil. Headed for the Jeralls. That's all I know, I swear it!"

    "I believe you" she murmured, and shoved her talon through the back of the mans eye socket. Withdrawing the digit, she wiped it clean on the corpses fur lined armour, and stood, examining her handiwork. She'd only moved to northern Cyrodiil a short while ago, but already she was finding sport in hunting the bandits and outlaws that dotted the countryside. She hadn't move on to Bruma itself yet, but she had her reasons for doing so. The bounty on one Cassius Ballus had been posted by the empire, and taking her head to them would secure her entrance into the city. And from there, she could get to work.

    Of course, she had to catch Ballus first. She'd ambushed him and his gang in the tower, but the imperial was crafty. He'd gone out a trap door as his fools attempted to corner Kylira. It had not gone in their favour. The information the last living bandit had given her wasn't much to go on, but it was a start. She left the bodies, and stepped out into the chill of northern Cyrodiil, where an undisturbed field of snow covered the ground and frosted the trees. Almost undisturbed, rather. Bootprints lead north, towards the high, snow covered peaks of the Jerall mountains. With a feral grin, the huntress hefted her axe, and left the tower behind.
     
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  17. The_Lost_Foxtrot

    The_Lost_Foxtrot Lord of Shadows

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    Mathias didn't even bat an eye when the dumner killed the two thugs, it was rather common in the underempre for people to end up dead in a taver. Hell, he have killed a lot of filth like them for a long time.

    The cursed young man raised a eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. He could see the nervousness in the girls eyes as she tried to act brave, but since he was in a good mood he decided to play along. The assassin nodded with a chuckle before placing a hand in Serana's head, amusment radiating of off him clear as day. "Of cousre you are, how else does one survive this Place" he told her as he dropped his hand with a grunt. His glowing eyes widened as pain seeped into his body, the illusionist quickly called for a strong drink as he pulled out his medicine. The bar maiden came over with the drink and handed it to the assassin, who poured his little potion into it and took off his mask and Hood again. Mathias chugged it down before sighing tiredly. He turned back to the girl with a small smile, "so, what can you do little one" he choose to tease her, to lighten the mood a little for her.
     
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  18. Rell

    Rell Member

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    Uzar stared at the writing on the slate. The elf had gone from asking for help to asking questions...questions that were too personal for him to answer, even if it had been the better part of a decade since the massacre. Or...had it been a decade? Time was hard to keep track of, in the lucid state he found himself in between murderous rampages. But a simple response, with little details would probably do. 'Yes, I lived in a stronghold. Years ago. Things have changed since then. Obviously.' Angry voices drew his attention to where a pair of men, one human and another a lizard, were getting ready to draw on an dark elf. Before they could even clear their weapons from their sheathes, they were cut down. Uzar snorted in equal parts disgust and amusement. If it had been him, he would have wrung the elfs' neck and been done with it. But he had no reason to kill the elf, and besides, once he started killing, he wasn't sure he could stop. 'What of you?' He wrote. 'Where did you come from?' Finished, he slid the slate back to the elf, and drained the rest of the soup.
     
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  19. TheArgonianDrell

    TheArgonianDrell Well-Known Member

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    The tower was a mess. Perhaps that was somewhat of an understatement, Rajeem Talihd reflected, stepping over a man with a deep wound in his chest. The inhabitants had been bandits, but even for the undisciplined scum, it was clear they hadn't had much of a chance to fight back. Food was untouched at tables, and a fire still burned in the hearth. "What a godsdamn mess." The argonian bounty hunter growled. He crouched down, turning bodies over, searching faces. A bounty had been placed on one Cassius Ballus, the head of a bandit gang, this one, probably. None of them matched the etching of Cassus. That was a bit of a relief- Cassus was wanted alive by the imperials, for what, Rajeem didn't know, and didn't want to know. So long as he got his pay, they could eat the godsdamned fool.

    He turned to the other living creature in the tower, a nord man, a ranger of some sort. He'd partnered with the man shortly before leaving for the region Cassius had been spotted in. It seemed they were not the only one's interested in finding the bandit. A man leaned against a wall, but he was unlike the others. As in one of his eyes had been gouged out. "What do you make of this?" He asked the ranger, "my guess is someone wanted information from him." A sharp whistle from outside drew his attention. Standing from the carnage inside he went to the door, where the third member of their party, an unusually tall wood elf waited. "What is it?"

    Rather than respond, the elf pointed to a pair of foot prints. Two pairs, actually. "Godsdamn it." Rajeem growled, "looks like someone else is after our man."

    "How much are the imperials offering for this particular brand of scum? What makes him special?" The elf, Iornath, asked, examining the tracks. "These-" he pointed to the tracks to the right of the other set. "Are fresher, and made by one lighter than the first. A woman, or an elf, perhaps."

    "So we're already behind." Rajeem idly ran his fingers over the jagged stump of his horn. "We should hurry after them. I'll go fetch the nord." He turned back towards the tower, not hearing a response from the surly elf. He wasn't sure where Iornath had come from, or why he'd offered to team up with Rajeem, but the one thing that was for certain was that he had no love for the empire, or its' servants. Whatever his motivations, they didn't matter to the bounty hunter, so long as he didn't cause any trouble for him. The bounty hunter made his way back to the tower. "Djor. The elf found tracks. Get out here."

    Iornath watched the argonian return to the third member of their group and then back to the tracks, a sneer forming on his thin lips. They may have been hunting the gang leader together, but his own reasons were different. The imperials that wore the uniform of the legion were no less a criminal than the man they hunted now. Whatever the reward, Cassius Ballus would not be returned to Bruma. Except, perhaps, his head.
     
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  20. TheShadedOne

    TheShadedOne The Angry One

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    Athara glanced up at the confrontation, but wasn't really worried about the pair confronting the other assassin. Her lack of concern paid off when Elrasur cut apart the pair of idiots in a hearbeat. Inviting him on to accompany her might have been a good idea after all. The khajiit leaned back, kicking her booted feet up on the table. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she watched him make his way back to their table. "Impressive. You couldn't have just bought them a drink instead?" She growled a chuckle, nodding towards the rest of the mercenaries, who were either looking in their direction with mild interest, or slowly returning to their conversations and drinks.
     
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