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Sleepless Nights\\ Iron Cages

I kinda want Cam to start swinging, but will see if I sneak a post in before the update.

Sleepless Nights\\ Iron Cages

Oh no, baddies!

Will catch up on the thread today and then start pondering my post.

Decibitus

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~1441 | PARIS | FASHION SHOW VENUE

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Emerging from the arcane globe of shimmering magic that had saved her, Vera darted forward. She had been trapped. She had been slowed. She had to help Lucian. She had to protect Celeste. Cheese boy was no fighter. He was not even a shield. He was a pretty face. Some chiseled abs. And clearly, the brains of a mouse.

She didn't worry about the wizard. She didn't worry about the crashing lights. Edward seemed fine. He was still shouting. Vera decide to take that as a positive sign. The dragon had to be dealt with. The danger had to be ended. Aid couldn't be dispensed to any hapless mortals with a mouthful of jagged teeth looming over Lucian...an maybe Celeste afterwards.

Springing forward, Vera launched herself at the dragon and swung her ebony blade at whatever part of the dragon she could reach first. She needed to strike. She needed to distract. She needed to buy Lucian time. She needed to do something.

Anything.

Sleepless Nights\\ Iron Cages

Cam

"Sure, we wouldn't want our metallic colleague getting lost, now would we?" Cam said, idly patting the wooden box strapped to her right hip. The strange magic of the relic waited and reassured her. Reality could be changed. Reality could be changed and so could she.

The metal suitcase Mel had given them weighed heavily in her left hand. Relics required CATs. Unless you wanted trouble. Unless you wanted reality bending trouble. And she wasn't going to leave it to Honest to carry it. Burning a small amount of vitas, her eyes shifted to those of a cat, deep amber, pupils turned to narrow slits. She was still relaxed, untroubled, but wary, she could feel the hairs rising on the back of her neck. The supernatural was not far. Predictably, given that a relic was in the mix. Mel had said so. And Cam trusted her. More than she trusted Honest, at least. Her ears shifted next. New frequencies of sound washing over her. New smells followed as she made subtle changes to her olfactory system. Surprises would not do. Not now. Not when the prize was worth 2000 kr. That was a lot of food. And a lot of wine.

She'd never liked Littown. She'd never liked carpeting. Gross. Gross all around. Filthy. Dirty. And perfumed with rot. In and out. Get the book and get the money. She wanted it to be easy. She wanted it to be that easy. Just for once, Cam, wanted the credits to come with no strings attached.

Sighing quietly to herself, Cam waved a lazy goodbye to blade wielding girl and Emma, vanishing down the middle passage after Niid.

Sleepless Nights\\ Iron Cages

No worries!

I will be dropping a post in the next day or two, but obviously no rush.

Decibitus

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~1440 | PARIS | FASHION SHOW VENUE

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Seeing the fire rushing towards her, Vera mercifully heard little of Edward's screeching over the roar of flames as they rolled towards her and the invading wisp.

There was no time to swear again. No time to rail against fate or the pink haired girl woman for sending her into the fire. No time to help the wizard. No time to find cheese boy. She didn't bother gasping for air. The fire would soon steal any oxygen. Besides, what need had the already dead for breathing?

Moving unhesitatingly, faster than the nervous system of a still living mortal could ever hope to fire, Vera's right hand dove into the pocket of her suit jacket, retrieving a small piece of paper. Long swirling letters in a fine black ink, formed a great vine of monochromatic flowers. The product of a bored mind and too much time spend listening to another of Sigrun’s classically long briefing. Vera had found it deeply confusing when Sigrun spent minutes explaining that unnamed Reapers had been banned form Paris and the importance of following the "Standard Operating Procedures"...Reapers were professionals, were they not? Surely such things were obvious.

Wasting no time on regulatory thoughts, Vera summoned power from the arcane reservoir that resided within her. She felt a familiar warmth as magic leapt from her fingertips to the piece of paper. Globus invulnerabilitatis the swirling script read. Globe of Invulnerability.

A shield. A way to buy time. Enough time she hoped. She didn't need much. Just a moment. Unwaiting, Vera reached for the gem chained to her arm. She needed her sword. She needed her sword for dragon hunting.

The Elder Scrolls: Endless Night

Given the vibes of the OOC, would something like a wandering apothecarist make sense?

Either way, I'm a big fan of this sort of concept and love me some more serious Elder Scrolls.

Which is to say I'll do some writing.

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Posted a WIP below, although it won't be too long to wrap up, as it's been a minute since I did anything ES, so happy to receive any thoughts or feedback.

Edit: Small Updates

Imare Larethian

Name: Imare Larethian
Race: Altmer
Age: 25
Birthsign: Atronach
Family Origins: Imperial City, Cyrodiil
Appearance:

Placeholder, probably...

A young Altmer of Imperial vintage, Imare posses the slender, graceful build expected of a High Elf. She has prominently pointed ears adorned with tasteful amounts of jewelry and almond-shaped eyes that shine brightly with an amber light. Light skinned for an Altmer, Imare's skin is cast in a pale shade of gold-tinted pink. According to the healer who birthed her, Imare's distinct appearance is the result of her deep connection to the sign of her birth and the unmistakable mark that the Atronach has left on her very spirit.

Time spent on the road, several years spent traversing the provinces of Tamriel, have sharpened some of the softness that once defined Imare's form and provided her with the agile shape earned chiefly by the well-traveled.

A wandering apothecary, Imare wears clothing intended for long journeys. Donning thick leather boots, a pair of wool breeches, a sturdy belt, a shirt woven from kreshweed fiber, and an ample cloak with a hood. Favoring hues of green and blue, she has seen that plenty of discreet pouches and pockets have been added to her clothing.

---

Personality: No fighter or battle mage forged in the heart of battle, Imare is a studious alchemist seeking only to peacefully ply her trade across Tamriel. Imare is not a hero, certainly not by her own measure. She has no aspirations for greatness. No ambitions to change the world. And no desire to attract undue notice. A small garden to tend too. A quaint country cottage covered in green resting next to a calm stream of clear water. And life in a peaceful, secluded valley are all that she dreams of...or so she tells herself in the long, dark hours of the night.

Mousy, Imare is cautious when conversing about all matters save alchemy, trade, botany, or zoology. Somehow she is able to adopt a different persona when engaged in mercantile matters, channeling an unexpected confidence and poise from deep within. Adept at haggling and striking fruitful agreements, Imare is softly, subtly persuasive. She is the the sort of merchant able to gently convince a customer to pay just a bit more for something that they already need or want, without leaving them remorseful and racked with bitterness afterwards.

Gentle by nature, Imare abhors violence, showing little interest in weapons, armor or anything approaching physical conflict. Polite games of Five Card Wisp or leisurely sessions of Cross Stones, a popular High Elf board game, represent the greatest extremes of Imare's competitiveness. However, for all her decency and grace, Imare wants to live, she wants to see another sunrise, and she wants to eat another sweet roll.

---

History:

VERY WIP...

Beneath the fading winter light of Masser and Secunda, on a day when the Imperial City lay shrouded in a thick layer of frost, Imare Larethian was born, in the one hundred and and eighty eight year of the fourth era, sheltered under the sign of the Atronach.

She was the youngest and seventh child of an exceedingly fruitful Altmer union. Her mother, Viriniel, was a civil servant, an Imperial Bailiff. Her father, Teldigaran, was yet another civil servant, an Imperial tax collector. Simple, humble High Elves of the middle class. Not nobles, but proud civil servants. Owners of a modest house in the Elven Gardens District.

Loyal citizens of the Empire, the Larethian family was the respectable sort of Imperial family viewed kindly by most. Placed in an awkward position by the recent conflict with the Aldmeri Dominion and the tense peace that has followed. Open with their love and support for the Empire and their dismay at what their distant cousins in the Summerset Isle had become.

Raised in a family of wizards that hailed from an immeasurably long line of wizards with only the occasional necromancer to be found
unlike her siblings, Imare showed little natural talent for magic
capable spellcaster, with a deep reservoir of magic, afflicted as many, born under the sign of the Atronach, Imare found she did not recover unaided from spellcasting, finding herself drained of energy after casting a spell and long in her recovery
attaining a substantial command of the school of Alteration only through long, laborious hours of study

stubbornly persisted in her magical studies, despite frequent bouts of feinting
considered to be frail and poor in health, Imare found solace in reading, particularly the books of her long dead maternal grandfather, a noted botanist
despite her lengthy studies, she often went into the countryside to look for plants, despite the fearful response of her parents and loud admonishments from her older siblings

a friend of her father, the wealthy Redguard merchant, Dorian Rackham, noticed Imare's interest in botany and gave her the run of his sizable garden
aloof, if not fully disowned from her much more respectable family, Imare eventually found work tending the botanical gardens in the Arboretum District, in the southeast district of the Imperial City. Helped to cultivate the gardens sheltering the statues of the Divines.

secured an apprenticeship with a noted Bosmer botanist, Glaurilas Oakthorn
a master alchemist responsible for much of the elaborate greenery surrounding the Imperial Palace, Glaurilas taught Imare what it truly meant to be an alchemist
diligently toiling in the Green Emperor Way, no matter the hour or weather,

desiring to forge her own way, stake her own claim, Imare opened an apothecary in the Market District, specializing in the acquisition of rare alchemical ingredients and boutique potions

modest success, the unfortunate loss of a large shipment of potions to bandits, left Imare teetering on the edge of financial ruin
approached by friends of distant friends, unfamiliar acquaintances that offered to make introductions to people willing and able to help someone in her unfortunate position
in short order found herself a member of the thieves guild



fencing stolen goods
trading in illegal substances
engaged in the Skooma trade, if peripherally (from her perspective), refining moonsugar into Skooma at the behest of her superiors within the Thieves Guild
providing poisons to members of the Thieves Guild and select, previously vetted customers, never fatal, at her own insistence
any moral doubts she had about her dealings, quickly silenced by the coin she made and the books /alchemical ingredients she could purchase
rose in the ranks, reaching the respectable rank of Cat Burglar within the Thieves' Guild, less for her talents as a thief and more for her skills brewing potions and poisons as needed

it all fell apart after a job
a job, like so many others before it, unremarkable from Imare's point of view
her contact with the thieves guild requested a potion to paralyze and drain the fatigue of a particular target
brief kidnapping, a mere message to a Lord Amminus Carvain, a noble with too many delinquent debts and too little interest in calling in the required favors to pay off these debts
Imare does not know what went wrong
she calculated correctly
she mixed perfectly
her poison shouldn't have killed the young Imperial noblewoman, the daughter of Lord Carvain, but it did

no way to trace it to her, no signatures in the work, many alchemists could have created the poison, though few in the Imperial City would
it didn't matter, Imare knew, she had known from the moment the grim news had reached her, she was a murderer, she was a murder and that was all that mattered
sold her shop to a friend, packed up the small number of possessions that she kept, and began to travel
wrote only a brief letter to her family
said few goodbyes, ensuring only that her superiors in the Thieves' Guild would not feel unduly slighted

spent several years traveling across Tamriel, chiefly Cyrodiil, serving as a traveling alchemist and apothecarist
never staying in one place for very long

felt something calling her, pulling her towards Anvil, a city she had visited before

Biggest Regret: Although she will never willingly speak the words out lout or even at a whisper, Imare's greatest regret is her critical role in the poisoning of the much celebrated Lady Severa Carvain. The young Imperial woman's death weighs heavily on Imare's conscience and no matter what stories she tries tells herself Imare has yet to soften the guilt that she feels.

Imare‘s Goal: Imare has but one long chain of desire. To travel far away. To start a new life. To bury herself in her work. To make coin, good coin, bartering her wares. And to forget. To forget that she dealt in illicit goods, creating substances addictive in nature, spilling Skooma, refined from the purest moonsugar, onto the streets. To forget that she consorted with the thieves guild hiding in the Imperial City, selling her soul for mere Septims. To forget that she killed a young woman. To forget that she is a murderer. And to forget that she is a coward. A coward unwilling to say no. A coward unwilling to admit her guilt. A coward unwilling to challenge her associates. A coward unwilling to share with her friends. A coward unwilling to face her family. And a coward unwilling to say goodbye to her beloved.

---

Skills:

Expert:

Alchemy - Imare is a dedicated and gifted student of the mundane appearing arcane art of alchemy. Potions, poisons, and all manner of strange brews are within her scope of knowledge and ability to create with even the most limited ingredients and tools. The Altmer mage is a collector of recipes and complex formulas, recording all that she discovers in the hopes of furthering the study of alchemy. A pragmatic alchemist bristling with unexpected creativity, Imare views alchemy as an art and science with boundless potential, performing what she calls field experiments when the opportunity presents itself.

Adept:

Speech - Commanding the charm required to succeed in business, Imare softly weaves persuasion into her words and being. Time spent bartering alchemical ingredients and fencing stolen goods in equal measure, has provided Imare with a deep understanding of all manners of commerce regardless of any potential legal issues.

Alteration - Uninterested in violence, the school of Alteration appealed to Imare from the day she began to study the arcane arts. To learn the nature of the physical world. To learn all the possibilities. To change patterns and to make things not what they should be...but what they could be entranced the young alchemist. In her travels across Tamriel, Imare has not failed to notice more practical applications of Alteration.

Novice:

Pickpocket - The product of time spent as a member of the Thieves Guild, despite her arcane vocation Imare has learned the basics of lightening the pockets of strangers.
Sneak - Keen to avoid conflict and familiar with the value of discretion, Imare has as a firm grasp of the essential aspects of moving clandestinely.

Spells:
- Alteration: Ironflesh, Open, Magelight, Telekinesis, Transmute, and Waterbreathing.

Equipment:
- A fine leather backpack, enchanted with a feather spell, to allow Imare to carry a respectable amount of alchemical ingredients and potions. Imare keeps a bedroll tied to her backpack and a rolled up length of tarp suitable for use as a small tent or makeshift storefront.
- A collection of alchemical apparatus (Mortar and Pestle Alembic, Calcinator, Retort) carefully stored in a satchel intended to be worn on the hip.
- An Iron Knife, a tool rather than a weapon.
- A sharpened set of metal Shears, ideal for clipping leaves or flowers.
Misc. Possessions:
- Imare records her alchemical recipes and formulas in a thick journal bound with netch leather. Frustrating any uninvited readers, Imare writes in her journal in an unknown script and strange language of her own creation.

If possible I would like to inquire on the nature of the Synod / College of Whispers as pertains to this RP? Do one or both still exist and are they the chief providers of magical training? If not, what other institutions would train a mage instead?

Sleepless Nights\\ Iron Cages

Cam

Surrounded by Mel's books, Cam felt oddly content. Mel's room was like the den of some wild animal. At least that's what Cam thought. She had heard stories about forests. Passed down recollections of encounters with faded creatures such as wolves, bears, and one of her personal favorites, the apex predator known as the Adélie penguin. It saddened Cam that she would likely never have a chance to see one of the 1,700 pound, eight foot, razor beaked hunter gliding through the water like a sleek torpedo of death.

She found her thoughts flowed freely under Mel's roof and in her messy room. It had the soft, pleasant smells of familiarity and comfort. It was safe. It was a home, of sorts, a shelter at least. Good. More than good. Better than they could hope for. Sensing an unwelcome mixture of affection and embarrassment, Cam busied herself with adjusting the formal vest she wore. It was a gift she contended. And it had been, in a manner of speaking.

Leaning lazily against a bookcase she had deemed stronger than the rest, Cam had listened to Mel's impromptu briefing. Four cleaners was a good number. Not too many, not too few. Yasu. Niid. Emma. Familiar faces. Reliable faces. Cleaners she trusted. As much as one cleaner could trust another cleaner, of course.

400 crowns was not bad. 1600 crowns on top of that was very good. Cam was not a greedy creature. She prided her on this. She was a reformed criminal. Nominally, of course. A thief was always a thief. She had not forgotten everything. Only that which bothered her. Only that which hurt. She could change. She could be whoever and whatever she wanted.

Cam. Careful, reliable Cam was good for now. Tomorrow? Well, that was tomorrow. She could be a cat, prowling the city. She could fly, she could be a crow again...or perhaps a magpie soaring over the city.

Electing to focus on mere pragmatics, Cam broached a different topic from her younger comrades, "Will you be providing us with a CAT for the relic? I would prefer not to ask Honest if we could borrow one from her again..."

Decibitus

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~1436 | PARIS | FASHION SHOW VENUE

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"Гавно," Vera cursed, her eyes locked on the scene unfolding in front of her. She heard Lucian's desperate plea for help. She wasn't sure what was happening. They were faced with many sudden problems. Deeply unwelcome problems. The skeletal dragon. The ghosts. Lucian. Beautiful, thoughtless, and utterly guileless, Lucian. He'd have to have turned tangible to grab the cheese. It was a mistake. Gluttony was a grave sin, for good reason. Too much vodka, too much cheese, or too many sexual partners. It was all the same in the end.

The living weren't supposed to see Reapers. The living weren't suppose to know the Reapers. Vera remembered the presentation that the HR representative had given. Corporate buzzwords swirled through her head. Ethical violations. Nepotism. Favoritism. Conflict of Interest. And a most terrifying combination of words forged into an iron clad sentence that Vera could not help but interpret as a dire threat: "Suspected violations of company policy will result in swift investigation by the Assurance & Compliance Services Department".

Vera recognized that she needed to act. She needed to act before Lucian did exactly the sort of thing a man incapable of resisting a dairy product would do.

"Something is wrong, cheese boy, perhaps it is time we leave with your old friend. A dragon, a fucking dragon, and three...three ghosts is exactly the sort of trouble the annoying one told us to watch out for. The time of waiting has passed. The time of acting is now. It is time for us to step...in."

Vera moved closer to Lucian, readying herself to shield the two models. She knew animals. She knew how they thought. She knew how they reacted. She would not throw the first punch. She would not provoke the dragon. Strange forces were at work. Strange forces Vera did not like. To see spirits so brazen. To see a dragon or some creature made to look like one. To have Lucien made by the living. None of that had been the plan. None of that had been expected. Considering these facts, Vera made no effort to fade into the realm of the visible, she had no interest in shocking any watchers. And assuming a tangible form was foolish without knowing what would come next.

"Let us walk to the exit, Lucian, slowly. I will be beside you. Take care your companion does not get lost like our wizard," Vera said, gently nodding towards Lucian, willing his ethereal neurons to work, to perform, and to inspire a thoughtful reaction for once.

Translations

Гавно = Gavno = Shit

Sleepless Nights\\ Iron Cages

Yay!

I'll try to toss up a post later this evening.