Dervish

Mass Effect: Wanted

Pepperm1nts said
Dervish, your proud is showing..

No, that's just my manhood.

Mass Effect: Wanted

Alrighty, we fired through one and most of a second rotation in pretty quick pace! Nicely done, gang.

So far we just need Sunny D, Vivid, and Halo to reply and I'll be able to set us up for some awesome excitement. What what.

Seriously glad you all showed up for this, you're fantastic writers, you have good characters, and a drive to post. We're gonna go far, me thinks. Then BioWare will buy the adaptation and totally make a game based off of this because damn we're pretty.

Totally.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Finally caught up on reading! :D

Seriously, fantastic stuff from the Egypt and Soul department. From everyone, really. This RP hasn't been this lively in some time, and honestly, I'm very excited to be riding this wave!

Also, hai Nyxie! I know I haven't replied to your musings here yet, but I have been reading and am glad you're back and shiz. :D I hope for moar Thyra goodness.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Also, PRISON BREAAAAAAAK!

Voltaire, Imma get something up for Blade probably tomorrow, you special snowflake you.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Hegathe, Prisoner’s Block…

“Zave-” Came the cut off cry from somewhere above, momentarily capturing Zaveed’s attention long enough to have his guard falter just enough to have the narrow edge of the scimitar bite along his arm. The khajiit hissed out in surprise and anger, half at himself and at the man who had the audacity to lay steel to him, and to whomever had caused Reigenleif to cry out to him. She wouldn’t have done that unless she were in trouble.

He wasn’t losing another person he cared for, not to oppressive, faceless bastards. Imperial Praetorians or dwemer employed city guards, both were not going to exact their tolls on him. He’d served his life faithfully to another man’s cause, 21 of the past 23 years in the crew of a corsair captain who had abducted him as a child and forced him into service. What had once been pride in his identity, a dashing brigand who answered to no one had become more and more jaded the further he got away from that old crew and aspects of his former life came seeping in like a leak in the bulkhead. The friends he had met in the two years since the Iron Reaper sunk beneath the Eastmarch waves had been truer companions and lovers than any he had ever known. He would die for any one of them.

He would also kill.

Bellowing out in rage, Zaveed pressed the attack on his assailants, forcing the man who had cut him back in a flurry of blows, his two blades outpacing his one. The jovial defensive fighter gave way to a feral, aggressive and hateful khajiit who wanted nothing more than for this man to die bleeding out in several pieces. The man tried to counter back with a well-timed thrust, exposing his arm. Zaveed’s short sword lashed out, parrying the blow across the Redguard’s torso, and Zaveed’s dagger plunged into the now exposed arm. The guard cried out in pain, especially as Zaveed removed the dagger and swept the man across the thighs with his sword, cutting deeply into his exposed flesh. He turned to raise his sword in defence to go after his second foe only to find a group of prisoners, armed with weapons from what had to have been the warren’s office, unleashing fury upon the hapless guard, taking out weeks, if not months, of abuse out on the man in a flurry of hasty, poorly timed blows. Zaveed took the opportunity to drive the point of his sword through the back of the guard’s knees, leaving him at the mercy of his former prisoners. He noticed others running around the catwalks, hastily unlocking cells and handing weapons off to the fittest of the guards. Eleyna had done her job well, then. Zaveed didn’t even spare his first foe a glance as his sword lashed out, removing the man’s head.

The khajiit bounded up the steps to the landing, heedless of the blood running down his arm. He found Eleyna tending to Reigenleif’s wounds, the Nord prone with her eyes shut. “No, no, no…” Zaveed said, hurrying to her side and lifting her back up into a semi-sitting position, his other arm across her torso. He could hear her breathing, but it didn’t look good. He looked desperately at Eleyna. “We need to get her to help. Now.” He said, lifting the Nord woman in his arms. He spoke to her prone form, trying to be reassuring without knowing if she could hear them. “You can’t die. We’d only just met.” He chuckled weakly, looking towards the stairwell ascending to the daylight above. “I’m not letting you die because I led you to this piece of shit city. I’ve taken many things, but your life will not be one of them. Please… do not let go.” He pleaded, standing and looking back at the assembling prisoners. “There’s no time to waste!” He shouted down at them. “What you do with your liberty is your own accord, but unless you arm yourselves now and act, then they will storm down here and kill all of us! We risked our lives for you, do us the same kindness and help us escape. It is up to you all to fight and rise up against these bastards, to reclaim your lives! Set this damn city on fire!”

The prisoners roared back affirmation, vengeance in their hearts. Soon, a few more who had no weapons were collecting them and armour from the fallen guards, and the group gathered at the base of the stairwell, 12 in all. They clearly weren’t numbered by capacity, as it turned out. An older looking Nord approached the trio with a respectful nod. “You’ve done us a great kindness, the three of you. I don’t know who you are, but your efforts will not go to waste. I promise. Word of what you have done will spread, I will see to that myself.” He paused. “What shall we call you?”

“Zaveed, Eleyna, and Reigenleif.” The khajiit said. Whether or not he was taking a chance on revealing their names to the man mattered little at that point; honesty met loyalty quite often. The man nodded and smiled. “Nice names for nice people. I should like to see you all again, after this is done.” He gestured to himself. “Torir.” The Nord turned to the others, his voice booming like a seasoned officer. “Alright, you bastards! We were locked up and treated worse than dogs, and we’ve been given our damn chance to show them that we’ll fight like Talos-damned dogs. I don’t know about you, but I think these dwemer-fucking shits need to learn that their masters can’t save them! Rise up! Rise up and reclaim what is yours! We’re taking our fucking city back!” he bellowed, ending with a fierce Nordic war cry. The other prisoners, including those who looked so infirm they could not walk, roared out in a cheer that was positively deafening in the enclosed caverns of the prison. It most have sounded terrifying to anyone who might have been waiting above, like the gates of Oblivion had opened and Mehrunes Dagon himself was coming for them. The Nord took position at the front, giving Zaveed one final nod. “If we should go to Sovngard today, brothers and sisters, the first round is on me! FORWARD!” he bellowed, charging up the stone steps and out of sight. Most of the others were right at his heels.

A group of six remained, walking over to the group. The chatted quickly among themselves before a nod of agreement went out. “We’ll keep you safe and hopefully keep some attention off you if you run into troubles. We’re not really fighters, but well… first time for everything, right? I’d rather die free than at the Governor’s amusement.”
As the group headed up the stairs, Zaveed walking sideways to keep Reigenleif from hitting her head on the narrow passage, the sounds of battle loomed up ahead. As they reached the cottage’s main floor, bodies already lay across the floor, a few of the prisoners among them, but surprisingly most of the casualties were the guards, who seemed to be pushed back by a deceptively well-equipped group of prisoners who outnumbered the reinforcements. Zaveed briefly caught a glimpse of the Nord he had spoken to caving in a man’s skull with laughter before he moved out of sight. He turned to Eleyna and the others.

“Shall we?”

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Marassa post is up.

TO THE SEA, LADS.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Eastern Hammerfell, North of Rihad…

Marassa reacted before she recognized what had been lobbed at the encirclement around her. Her sword was held at the ready and she had pivoted to face the threat, observing the angle of the javelin and working out that by its shallow incline, it likely was at the end of the thrower’s range. Her eyes scanned upwards for the assailant and was surprised when she saw Cub sauntering towards her, his face hard in a way she was immediately unfamiliar with; the orc always seemed to have a child-like wonder to him, an innocent that tempered his violent outbursts. What stepped before her and the others was not anything like the Cub Marassa knew, and she felt as uneasy and shocked as Marion felt.

The Redguard woman placed a hand over her mouth, staring at the javelins in recognition. When Cub spoke, it further drove the suspicion that something was horribly amiss. Marassa had never heard him speak like that, and she could not recall a time he put a man out of his misery. The thought of him being found coming out of the sea crossed her mind, the uncharacteristic action of the usually lovable orc. The khajiit paused, her frown cementing. Had she absolved Cub of suspicion on account of his open loyalty to her brother? He had always been so vocal with his intentions and his actions never conflicted with that, so what had she missed? As she stared at the orc, it occurred to her that past travelling for a few months with him, she perhaps did not know him at all. The man before her was a stranger.
And it was very unnerving.

However, this was not the time to let divisions become known. She could square aware her unease with Cub later; right now, leaving intact was priority. When Cub regarded the Breton man and asked him if he was Moon Shadow, she all but decided that he must have suffered head trauma. Whatever in Oblivion Moon Shadow was, or why Cub thought this Burkswallow was him was irrelevant, if odd.

Marion called her men off, pain spread across her normally fair features, and Harding was soon called over by one of her men looking at the spoils from the fallen man hunters. Marassa glanced at Cub before turning her attention back to Burkswallow. “He’s had a trying week, he isn’t quite himself.” She said as a way of apology for Cub’s behaviour, although Burkswallow seemed to take it in stride. The khajiit glanced at Burkswallow’s list but did not reach out to inspect it. “You’re here of your own validation, but at the behest of the Thieves Guild.” Marassa stated, staring down Burkswallow. “Either you have a different opinion of what doing things on your own accord means, or you’ve been pressed to do someone else’s dirty work. I particularly do not care.” She looked at the pirates, in particular a pair who were making a corpse do obscene things like an overlarge puppet. “My brother is always looking for people to join his silly causes. It doesn’t surprise me he roped you into it, as well.” Her gaze returned to the Breton. “If it is your aim to return back to Zaveed as soon as possible, then we have a common objective. If not, then my companions and I will find our own way. I do not care what the pirate woman says, although a ship is a welcome change from walking or riding. I’ve been doing that since Senchal.”

Movement caught the khajiit’s eye, and she espied Hralvar walking back to the camp, not in fetters or chains, but on his own accord, talking with the argonian priest he had been fighting with the day prior. It felt like a rare victory in days that had exceedingly few; her companions returned unscathed and now had what was potentially access to wherever Zaveed was hiding.

Only a few hours later, Marassa, Cub, Hralvar, Burkswallow and his companions were back on Captain Felicia Harding’s vessel, leaving their grieving captors with several dead, but perhaps a few more days of freedom. Maybe they would recover, maybe they would not. Harding had watched her crew make off with no small amount of gold, provisions, and as a boon, the finely crafted dwemer weapons they had taken from their fallen adversaries. While she regretted the deaths of five of her crew, it was a part of the job and she’d make those numbers back the next time they made port. Her mind lingered on Burkswallow’s warnings about the dwemer capability. Perhaps he was right and she needed to commit resources to stemming that tide, but tangling herself in a war that was not her plight was asking to lose everything, and Felicia Harding was a very sore loser. Regardless, she had all the way to Wayrest to figure it out, and the Corsair’s Republic would have some inkling of what other crews decided to do. Pirates were often independent and self-serving bastards, but in time of great peril, it wasn’t uncommon for them to band together.

The Breton woman leaned on the bannister forward of the wheel, staring down at the various groups on deck enjoying their evening meal as the sun’s last minutes of light kissed the horizon, bathing the sea with a brilliant hue of red and purple. Her crew, men and women of all races and creeds who fought under her flag and often died at her command, those who shared in her spoils and stories and drank with her in times of good, and times of bad sat in their social circles, drinking grog and eating dinner, a catch of fresh sea bass, corn from the mainland, and bread. Her eyes lingered on the group of visitors near the bow, an unlikely lot. In particular, the khajiit who had eaten wordlessly and reserved herself to staring at the approaching horizons, as if restless for the journey to end. If Zaveed’s words were to be trusted, and Harding often knew them to be, Marassa was a very focused woman who had a difficult time easing off from her goals. Unlike some of the others, her armour remained draped to her form, a sign she did not trust the company she kept aboard the ship.

A crewmember approached Harding, handing her a goblet of unspecified booze, from the scent a mead of sorts. The sensation of the Nordic scents combined with the khajiit’s armour took Harding back with a smile. A cat who fancied herself a Nord? Preposterous.

Still, the Breton woman had to smile as she raised her flagon to the back of the khajiit in wordless tribute, and she too turned her own gaze to the approaching horizon. It wouldn’t be long until she’d have that lot dumped off near Hegathe to find Zaveed and their other friends. It wouldn’t be long until she was going to have to give Burkswallow an answer to why he ventured aboard. Bugger.

A wicked smile crossed her features. There was more than one place to discuss business, and there were few rules, especially among pirates, that said you couldn’t mingle pleasure with it. Her cabin, after all, was plenty spacious enough for two. She’d even be finished her own drink by the time she dragged him off to extract Burkswallow’s payment for his voyage.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

WittyReference said
You know, this is the first time in a long time I've actually been anxious to keep going. Dervs, I take it the Marassa post you're working on will include the housekeeping "And they all got on the boat" stuff?

I can move us along to that, yessir!

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Oh no Soul, you linked the chugggg chugggg chugggg song? D:

Mass Effect: Wanted

Sixsmith said
Damn it, it sounded so much better when I thought she was a narcissistic slut.

If it helps, you can always pretend it's her maiden name or something.

Or the name of her cat.