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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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  10. Screeching Spasmodically

    Screeching Spasmodically Spasmodic Screecher

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    "How are you holding up? The cold must be something new to you." Adalia, with her breath already fogging before her, drew her robe closer around her body, and barked out a short laugh. "I'm used to the sea breeze, but nothing like this. I suppose I should have brought warmer clothes." She chuckled at her own foolishness and pulled her robes around herself. "Skyrim surely won't be much better. Have you been there before?" As she spoke, she looked over at Lilliana. The girl was keeping up with the rest of the group, making sure to stay close to Adalia and the robed healer, but she was visibly shivering with her arms crossed over her midsection. The storm mage wished she had some magic to warm her, but as it was, she'd have to suffer through like the rest of them. She would make sure Lilliana was nearest the fire, once they set up camp.

    Shivering, the young scribe stared dead ahead, eyes fixated on the broad back of the breton knight. She could feel no pain or fear from most of her companions, and the gnawing sensation of emptiness that filled her chest was beginning to grow more prominent. She knew the sensation wouldn't get worse. It was more a constant, steady presence, rather than a sickness or wound. Or at least, any malady she'd ever read or heard about. The cold didn't help either, and she was surprised none had heard the chattering of her teeth. But with no stopping in sight, and little doubt the others would leave her to die in the cold, she pushed on, clenching her jaw and stuffing her hands into the sleeves of her robes.
     
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  11. Signus

    Signus Active Member

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    While he waited for the nord ranger to answer his question, Orien took in their surroundings. To an outsider, like an elf or the mysterious khajiit woman, it was just all part of the snowy, tree dotted landscape that surrounded the city of Bruma. To Orien, however, every metre held some significance. Namely, it was the exact path the fifth legion had taken on its' way to subjugate Skyrim. Of course, the road was something that the young battlemage had not seen before...so covered with muck, slush, and ice as it was, he couldn't make out the 'paving stones' of the road, but he knew as well as any other what they were. The bones of slain rebels, put in place by the enslaved citizenry of the province. Orien hadn't agreed with slaughtering so many prisoners to pave the road, but the confessors had insisted. It was the will of the emperor, they'd said, and Orien, being a lowly battlemage, had said nothing to stop the executions. Who was he to challenge the wisdom of the immortal emperor?

    As they walked higher and higher into the mountains that bordered Skyrim, towards the pass that would allow them into that lawless country, the battlemage felt a sense of relief growing within him. True, any surviving rebels that had escaped the fate of their comrades would come after him, possibly prioritizing him over the others in the ragtag company of mercenaries. On the other hand, the confessors in Skyrim would likely be too preoccupied 'converting' the populace of the major holds to bother with a single rogue battlemage. As they reached the top of one particularly high hill, not far from the pass, he stopped. Looking back over the great forest, he could just barely make out the city. Tiny specks were all that could be seen of the fifths' encampment. "I'll return some day, brothers. I swear it." He promised solemnly.
     
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    Harkatti: 5 Points (Aww, I can only give 5, but I really like Orien's motivations for going along with the others.) Jan 1, 2019
  12. TheArgonianDrell

    TheArgonianDrell Well-Known Member

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    "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." The imperials question drew Iornath from his quiet introspection. The elven ranger glanced at the man, and his eyes narrowed. While some other, less perceptive person might have missed the cold hunger in his eyes, but he'd dealt with similar creatures before. Resting a hand on the hilt of his sword, he spoke clearly and coldly "I will tell you this once, and only once, monster. Keep your thirst under control, or I will put a permanent end to your wretched existence."

    Rajeem allowed himself to fall back in the group of his fellow mercenaries, losing sight of the dour Iornath as he did so. Honestly, the argonian was not terribly upset by that fact. The elf seemed to have more hatred for the empire than most, and for good reason. Everyone had heard what the imperials had done to Valenwood, but Rajeem had met many wood elves who could care less about the fate of their homeland. Perhaps the elf had lost friends or family in the imperial campaign there? He decided it didn't matter, instead looking to one of the other elves in the group. A dunmer with hands that had been painted or tattooed a solid white, a pair of curved swords at his sides. He'd heard of some people having their hands or other parts of their bodies marked to atone for some past misdeed. Running his fingers along his unbroken horn, he approached the dunmer. "You one of those spiritual types or what?" He drawled, "don't see many mark their hands. A tad bit...obvious."
     
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  13. Harkatti

    Harkatti Sorceress Supreme!

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    Cyrius' eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the poorly veiled threat. The elf was bold, to threaten him so, but the vampire hadn't survived as long as he had by being foolish. He had no doubt he could best the elf in combat, but then, the bosmer wasn't alone. Besides, he had a bow, and he could only assume they knew how to use it.

    So instead, Cyrius smiled thinly, "as you wish. I'll bother you no longer." He made his way to the front of the group, wanting to put as many people between himself and an arrow in the back as possible. There, he settled in step beside the old khajiit who'd been at the tavern. The furred mercenary nodded in greeting. "This one thinks you have had little success in making friends."

    "Hardly!" He scoffed, "all my friends threaten me and sweat profusely. I'd be offended otherwise."

    The khajiit chuckled, before saying "they let their fear form their perceptions. This one has met men who are better suited as monsters, and monsters who are better suited as men."

    Now it was Cyrius' turn to laugh. "I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended."

    The khajiit offered a lightly furred hand, "this one is called Var'Hess. A monster is only a monster if he lets himself become one."

    A genuine smile graced the vampires' face as he shook hands with Var'Hess. "Cyrius Valiel." He continued walking alongside the others, his spirits higher than they had been in a while.

    "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?" The tattooed altmer replied, and Elwyn barely supressed a smile.

    Savage as the other elf might appear, she was no fool. "The confessors, I imagine. Along with every other imperial agent. But I don't think you're with what's left of the dominion. If you'll forgive my presumption, you seem more a freelance killer than a aldmeri agent." She glanced at the strange leather coat the woman wore. It seemed familiar, somehow, but she couldn't place it.
     
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  14. Rafen

    Rafen Active Member

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    Djor hesitated at the imperials seemingly innocent question. The other mans' own response to his initial inquiry was already halting. The mages' lack of a mark meant more than he let on, Djor was sure of it. Then, he couldn't exactly be honest with his own background. At least, not entirely.

    "You are right. Many of my people were enslaved, following the rebellion. Not all of us backed the rebels, however. I was forced to leave my home. It...will be interesting to be back once more." Of course, interesting was the last word he'd use for his return. He hadn't lied to his companion. He had been forced to leave, but for an entirely different reason than he'd implied.
     
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  15. Madrar

    Madrar The Shadow in the Dark.

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    As the mercenary band made their ways out of the bare trees of the great forest, past the foothills leading into the mountains, and towards the Pale Pass, the border crossing into Skyrim, the tops of twin watch towers came into view. Complete with swivelling ballistae, and doubtlessly garrisoned by legionnaires, they stuck out among the surrounding hills and mountain tops.

    Thalien was less concerned with the garrison than he was with the weather. So far, they had been fortunate. But this far north, wintery storms whipped up in an instant, where there were previously clear skies. Already the sun was nearly below the horizon, and it was unlikely they'd make much progress in the dark.

    Looking around, he spied a sheltered alcove, surrounded by trees, and protected by a sheer cliff face. He got the attention of the others, and pointed towards the shelter. "We'll camp there tonight, and make for the pass in the morning. If all goes well, we will be in Falkreath by mid day."
     
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  16. TheShadedOne

    TheShadedOne The Angry One

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    Athara kept quiet for most of the journey, observing her fellows, like any good assassin did. They seemed, for the most part, like typical mercenaries, with only two or three standing out, and the khajiit reminded herself to keep a close eye on them. The robed girl, especially. She looked harmless, and as much as the assassin stared, she couldn't find a single conspicuous ripple or bulge that indicated a hidden blade or similar weapon.

    Of course, if something looked harmless, it almost certainly wasn't. She just couldn't pin it down. As for the others...the apparent healer was interesting, but she sensed a kinship with him, the way he moved, the way he kept an eye on the rest of the group while he spoke to the redguard woman. He was no stranger to fighting, healer or not. It was all very...interesting.

    They moved away from Bruma until the sun was nearly set, and their self-appointed leader selected a sheltered area for them to rest. Her ears perked up at his words, and she stifled a laugh, before glancing to the mans' sidekick and shadow. If shadows carried halberds, and looked like they knew how to use them. As the others set up camp, Athara sidled up to him. "Mid day? Your friend is ambitious, I'll give him that."
     
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  17. Morbidbread

    Morbidbread Fight for the lost

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    Elrasur frowned at the second question about his tattooed hands. He supposed he should have expected it though- as the argonian with a missing horn said: "don't see many mark their hands. A tad bit...obvious." Rather than ignore him, he lifted one hand. "They are a reminder that only I am responsible for my actions. A lesson everyone must learn, and one I learned the hard way. With these tattoos, I shan't forget what I've done."

    He gestured at the argonians' stump of a horn. "And what of that? I have never heard of an argonians' horn falling off by itself. I imagine there is quite a tale to go with it." The dunmer knew his words regarding the markings on his hands were somber, and sought to lighten the mood and perhaps get to know his companions.

    He did not make friends easily, nor did he suddenly expect to, but he did not foresee himself parting company with this particular group any time soon. It would be best to get to know at least one other, besides the khajiit who'd nearly killed him, and the battlemage he'd saved.
     
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    Screeching Spasmodically: 4 Points (Nice to see Elrasur isn't like most assassins. I look forwards to seeing more of him in the future.) Jan 7, 2019
    TheArgonianDrell: 12 Points (Very nice, man. Getting some serious Thane Krios vibes from Elrasur.) Jan 16, 2019
  18. Madrar

    Madrar The Shadow in the Dark.

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    As the company of mercenaries, if they could be called that, began to set up camp, Joren slipped to the edge of the sheltered clearing. While Thalien might have been a natural leader, or at least he was charismatic enough to have others listen to him, he had none of that. He'd seen humanity at its' worst, and he despised them for it.

    So far, he'd seen no indications that this lot would be any different. Except for Vintor, of course. The former paladin had saved his sorry hide more than once, along with Thaliens'. He was grateful for that, even if he couldn't express it in the same way others would. Others saw him as strange at best, and outright feared him at worst. Not that he cared, particularly.

    But he was surprised when he heard the crunch of boots on snow, and heard a womans voice, with the rasping edge of the khajiit, speak near him. "Mid day? Your friend is ambitious, I'll give him that." Joren stared down at the khajiit. She was at least five inches shorter than him, but that was no indication of skill, he knew. The cleverly concealed knives on her belt and the casual, almost careless way she stood indicated that she didn't feel the fear most did when looking at him.

    He felt the corner of mouth curl in the closest thing he could manage to a smile, and asked "You disagree?"
     
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  19. Aethalia

    Aethalia Well-Known Member

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    Kylira smiled at the others altmers' words. Truthful, no doubt, and her kinswoman was perceptive enough to recognize that the assassin owed the dominion little in the way of loyalty. She hunted to avenge her family, and more importantly, to teach the imperials what it was like to be hunted. This little mercenary stint would take time, but time was something Kylira had in abundance. And the imperial ruling families weren't likely to go anywhere. She also noticed that the other elf couldn't take her eyes off the hide coat she wore. Another smile played around the assassins' lips, and she held up the hem of the coat for inspection. "You like it? From the ruling family of Anvil."

    Shortly after, the man leading them called for a halt, informing them that they'd be staying their for the night, and push on to the pass into Skyrim at dawn. He intended to reach Falkreath by mid day. Kylira had never been to Falkreath...never been to Skyrim, for that matter. A dreary land, made all the more dreary by the death and destruction brought about by the imperials when they'd attacked the place. A sneer found its way onto her face, as she set her axe against a wide trunked tree. The foolish nords had been the first to fight the imperials, after the dominion. If the altmer couldn't win against this new empire, what made the nords think they could do any better? "Ah, to the land of cold and fools then. A wonderful place to be...if you want an axe in the face."
     
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  20. TheShadedOne

    TheShadedOne The Angry One

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    To her slight surprise, the shadow spoke to her. With the dark of night on coming, his pale skin and unusually dark eyes were almost enough to unsettle her. But Athara wasn't known for being tremendously patient when it came to conversations. Of course, she knew next to nothing about this man and his companions, their leader and the older khajiit. She shrugged, keeping her posture relaxed, non-threatening. "I just don't see how we'll make it to Falkreath by mid day tomorrow. The border guard might turn us away, and even if they don't there's still a good stretch of forest with all kinds of beasts and bandits lurking inside."
     
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