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Private {18+} Ascension

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

  1. Rafen

    Rafen Active Member

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    Djor watched the confrontation impassively. He had no real interest in leading the group, and even less of one in a confrontation with the larger group of mercenaries. But the nord in dark warriors garb quickly defused the situation, and once again, they were on the move. The nordic ranger and former soldier fell in, unstringing his bow and setting it in the holster on his back. He rested a hand on the pommel of Wolfstooth, and looked to his right, where an imperial in the robes of a battlemage walked. "It's not common to see an imperial legionnaire among mercenaries. Especially not one dressed as a mage. What brings you here, if I may ask?"
     
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  2. Signus

    Signus Active Member

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    After a short argument between the self elected leader of their group, the nord man who Orien hadn't yet spoken with, the one horned argonian and his companions joined the rest of the group in marching along the road, towards Skyrim. He had no desire to return to that province, especially not since his too recent campaign he'd taken part in with the fifth legion. But while he was still a legionnaire at heart, he'd accepted the contract along with the others. Regicide wasn't something the standard legion soldier participated in, but it would serve the legion, so he was content to play assassin. And of course, the pardon would see him back with the legion, if he could speak with the legate, that was. The Confessors still wanted him, and he wasn't sure they'd recognize a pardon, even if it was from the archon.

    "It's not common to see an imperial legionnaire among mercenaries. Especially not one dressed as a mage. What brings you here, if I may ask?" His thoughts were interrupted by one of the newcomers, a nord carrying an axe, a sword, and a bow, questioned him.

    "I'm not currently assigned to a legion." Orien replied in a guarded tone, wary of giving away too much to a stranger. "Due to a series of ah, unfortunate events. This company of mercenaries is operating in the emperors' interests, and so I am accompanying them. But enough about me. How does a nord come to be here? Many were slain during the Skyrim campaign."
     
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  3. Morbidbread

    Morbidbread Fight for the lost

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    Elrasur fell into his typical thoughtful silence, as he would prefer not to reveal more than absolutely necessary about his past to his companions. They were, after all, mercenaries and scoundrels without match. 'The best the under empire had to offer' as the archon had said, or something to that effect. He listened to the argument between the dark armored warrior and the argonian with a broken horn, though his mind wandered away from the newcomers heated declarations of independence and the self-elected leaders cool threats. Eventually, the decision was made to travel north, following the main road into Skyrim. The homeland of the nords, and the most recent site of an imperial campaign.

    He knew little of the details, but everyone had heard of the aftermath, and the punishment delivered to the surviving peoples of Skyrim. The road of repentance. Made from the bones of fallen rebels, built by the enslaved survivors. The purpose, the officially stated one, anyways, was to allow the nords to redeem themselves in the eyes of their imperial masters. 'Redemption. Something most seek, usually towards the end of their lives.' The thought, and an image of Septimia Cimantus surfacing in his mind. Would she have sought redemption, had she been given the chance? Or would she have carried on her wicked ways until the day she died, either of natural causes, or far more likely, an assassins blade? It mattered little now, of course. Elrasur had ensured justice was served, and doubtless saved many lives in ending the one. A justification he'd used many times, since taking on the mantle of 'the white' and marking his hands. How, he wondered, would he justify the killing of this breton king?
     
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  4. Harkatti

    Harkatti Sorceress Supreme!

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    Elwyn kept her hand near the blade throughout the confrontation. She had no reason to help the nord that was currently leading the mercenaries, but she had even less of a reason to trust the argonian and his band. Strangely, half of the four were mer. An altmer woman, wearing a strange coat over scale armor, and a pale bosmer, who seemed less than pleased with the hold up. After some words were exchanged between the nord and argonian, the four finally fell in with the rest of the mercenary company, and Elwyn found herself besides the tattooed woman. While she was sure their new companions, or for that matter, their current companions couldn't be trusted, she was pleased to see another altmer in Cyrodiil. "It is rare to see one of the altmer these days. Especially in the heart of the empire. What brings you here?"
     
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  5. Aethalia

    Aethalia Well-Known Member

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    Kylira fingered the blade of her axe absentmindedly, eyeing the large group of mercenaries who had only just marched from Bruma. The one horned argonian that had lead them this far, turned in the bandit leaders head, before talking to the apparent leader of the larger band. It wasn't the first time she'd been part of a mercenary company, but decades had passed since she'd last joined one.

    After a heated argument between the lizard and the nord, Kylira and the three others merged with the larger group. As they moved farther from Bruma, another altmer in crimson armour joined her. "It is rare to see one of the altmer these days. Especially in the heart of the empire. What brings you here?"

    The huntress looked at her fellow elf and smiled broadly. "I imagine the same thing you are. An altmer on their own in Cyrodiil? Almost certainly a spy or assassin. But one or two working with a bunch of other races, commonly mercenaries? Who would suspect that?"
     
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  6. Drahkma

    Drahkma Dashing Imperial Officer.

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    Kyros remained silent as the large mercenary band made its' way along the road to Skyrim. A couple of altmer had struck up a conversation, but the vampire knight paid little attention. Instead he sized up the others he traveled with, from the pale, dour faced wood elf, that so contrasted his earless kinsman,to the masked man, or rather at the moment, the crimson winged bird who called himself 'the grim'. Kyros had never met a man who could change into a bird at will. He knew of lycanthropes, of course. He'd slain more than a few in the wilds, but the Grim did not give off the same pungent...odour as they had. He did not seem like a mage, either, but rather an assassin, one who clung to stealth and shadows, before stabbing some poor fool in the back. Kyros snorted derisively at that. However, he knew not to dismiss him as a threat, or the white-handed dunmer. Or the khajiit who walked with an alluring, assured grace.

    He turned his attention to the white-handed one. "I heard you, in the tavern. You seem oddly....spiritual, for an assassin. Or introspective, at least. I can respect a man who recognizes his own limits. But what are you doing on this...journey? I fight for glory and blood. Others for coin, or like me, the joy of combat. But you don't seem to fit either category." The words were not hard in coming, for Kyros was no savage, like the massive orc who seemed to shake with restrained rage, but he didn't put much stock in talking. The only true way to get to know someone, was to fight with or against them. Frankly, the breton vampire didn't care if it was one or the other.
     
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  7. Morbidbread

    Morbidbread Fight for the lost

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    Elrasur glanced up at the towering breton, his eyes taking in the damage to one side of the armor. Clearly, this one was a warrior through and through. There was something else about him too, an ageless hunger in the deep blue of his eyes that sent a chill crawling up Elrasurs' spine. A vampire, then. The dunmer assassins' eyes narrowed, but he made no comment on it. The elf had come across vampires before, of course, but never had he worked with one. Nor had he ever spoken with one. "I wouldn't call myself overly spiritual, no, but I do believe in preserving the lives of innocents. If that means a king or lord must die to end a war, so be it." That wasn't the whole truth, of course. Elrasur. like every one else who wasn't blindly loyal to the emperor, knew this breton king was quite possibly the only one standing between the free people, and a lifetime of slavery under the empire. But life was preferable, even a miserable one, and so the rebels had to be defeated.
     
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  8. Harkatti

    Harkatti Sorceress Supreme!

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    Cyrius glanced at the silent elven bard, and suppressed a smile. It appeared that he'd made the elf a little uncomfortable. "Perhaps I ought to act less the bloodthirsty mercenary, and more the dashing imperial hero." He mused aloud, before chuckling to himself. He felt nothing but scorn those that fashioned themselves 'heroes' in this day and age, but he despised the fool he'd been decades ago more. With a shake of his head, he took his leave of the silent bard, and approached one of the newer members of their merry company. A tall bosmer, too pale to be fully one of the tree lovers, drew his attention. "So, what brings another of the bosmer to this desolate place, on a quest to kill a king? I doubt it's the lovely weather or pleasant people."
     
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  9. Rafen

    Rafen Active Member

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    Caleb remained near the middle of the group, making certain his robes were concealing the armor and weapon beneath it. He knew eventually he'd be found out, but not yet. Not if he could help it. The newcomers two elves, a fellow nord, and an argonian with a broken horn, fell in with the others, all but the argonian seemingly taking the dark armored nords' orders in stride. He surveyed the faces of the mercenaries around him until he saw the familiar braided hair and caramel skin of the storm mage. Adalia, he thought her name was. Like she'd been since the group had met up in the tavern, the young girl was at her side. Making his way to the redguards other side, he smiled and nodded by way of greeting. "How are you holding up? The cold must be something new to you."
     

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