Hexaflexagon

The Alessian Resurgence

The Argonian known as Numtvee Caynes or as her newfound companions in the Dragon’s Eye knew her as Followed By Night. Night as most ended up calling her not wanting to waste the time saying her full name eyes were focused in the distance towards Falkreath. The Great forest of pines at first was nothing more than a few dotting the pathway here and there. But now it was as if they were entering a sea of pine that stretched out far into the distance. She had known a Nord from Falkreath once. Bled like a stuck pig he did on the side of the Gold Road and he whined like a newborn hatchling looking for its birthmother. He did eventually quite down when Night sunk her blade into his throat they all usually did quiet down after that.

Night had her own share of experiences traveling through the rugged north that was Skyrim. She was not necessarily a fan of the ancestral homeland of the Nords. It was a land she found of constant frost and snow, and when it was not snow it was rain and heavy storms of thunder and lighting. The people were all closed minded thinkers even by Argonian standards and they were dead set in their traditional ways. It was nothing that she didn't expect from the races of Men but it was a bore still the same. Though the social climate of the land might be much different than what it was when she last visited. More people angered and spurred on by the words of Sidonis to come and join his glorious revolution against the races of Mer. And his words did hit home with many it seemed for as they walked the path towards Falkreath it was never without the occasional recruit from the new Alessian Empire, some were old veterans haggard by war and others were young bloods barely old enough to hold a sword yet alone participate in the massacre of an entire people. They came in all shapes and sizes some of them were of Men and others were of Beast such as herself the occasional kinsman walking down the path where Night would give them a knowing look and maybe if they were feeling polite a traditional greeting. But most of the time they just pushed forward to heed the call of Sidonis.

Her breath was visible on the air if only barely and it seemed as if somewhere along the way to Falkreath the northern winds had taken hold and replaced a generally mild cyrodiilic summer. Having just came from spending the past year in the Anequina Badlands where the only thing that did not sweat was the dead, guarding a merchant caravan before the Thalmor contacted her. So the cold winds of the north seemed almost like too much of a good thing for the Argonian mercernary. Though when she came to Cyrodiil the heart of the once glorious empire it seemed as if it was slowly become a vestigial one. The people in chaos and slowly losing territory and men everyday. The one proud imperial legion to her eyes know seemed to be taking anyone with a pulse to prevent the fall of the Empire and Tameril as a whole. It reminded her of the Dunmer and their state after the Argonian Expansion the same hollowed and distant expression on the faces of the peasantry.

As they neared the Falkreath border which was marked by the evidence of the mass exodus of Mer as they fled from Alessian clutches into the “safety” of Cyrodiil. The remains of carts and wagons left on the side of the road where they had broken down, the occasional lose flask or fallen piece of linen. From refugees not caring about things lost just trying their best to get away before the Alessian soldiers came through. Some of the refugees they had passed had given Night looks of anger. Something that was to be expected being what she was and their history with the races of Mer she would expected no love from the people she was hired to save. When they past the mad priest raving on the side of the road, Night payed little attention to him as he chanted about the fires of Oblivion coming to destroy them all. People like that were expected by Night in that retrospect having met the occasional mad doomsayer in her time. Most of them were common in Morrowind mad Dunmer that would come running out of the woods telling how the Tribunal had abandoned them and that the darkness was soon to come and wipe them all out, they would still chant their prophecies of doom as the Argonian soldiers ran their blades through them.

The other small group they had passed the Bosmer refugees trying to escape the reach of Sidonis’ grasp was also familiar to Night. Those displaced by bandits, warlords, or more predominantly in her memory Argonian war parties. They would sit on the side of the road in a state of shock most of them women and children covered in the blood of maybe their sons or brothers or fathers that had tried to defend them and were cut down in response. Their villages burned to the ground and their homes sacked and looted. Sometimes the cries of a child would anger an officer too much. One would be surprised how easily the skull of a Dunmer child is crushed under the clawed foot of one of her kind when the right amount of pressure is applied. It was like an egg.. crush.

Taking a deep breath she tried her best to think of anything else to not allow herself to be caught in the memories of a life she left behind. So she brought her thoughts to that of her traveling companions, the rest of the so called Dragon’s Eye. Volunteers the most of them, maybe some were hired out like her by larger interested parties but still mostly just able bodied warriors with a death wish it seemed. There was the Altmer the one that had the ability to seemingly blind into any crowd not a skill one just learned from playing Conceal and Search as a child. Though how he carried himself presented at least a semblance of experience so she could respect that. Next was the Dunmer, one of the mages the little group had in their midst. Night had a feeling that the Dunmer did not like her or at least did not trust her. She of course could not blame him for such misconceptions for in any other situation she would be gladly running her blade through his pompous behind. Even when they were exiled from their own homeland by a bunch of lizards they were still an arrogant punch it seems.

Next of course was one that would be very hard to forget. The other mage and the one that was as mad as Sheogorath himself. Though judging from their encounter with the wolves earlier on the road.. their was at least a reason they kept him around. Night had no real trouble with him though his mad ramblings did seem to never stop and were always finding new ways to confuse her brain. After that was the Forsworn lass nothing more than a hatchling really. Dressed in garb that was to say... traditional of the Forsworn she drew the eyes of many passerby on the road. Though they for the most part chose not to say anything maybe due to the large great sword strapped to her back and the look about her that she knew how to use it. Night had fought against the Forsworn once part of a band of mercenaries hired out by the nobles of Markarth to deal with a camp of them that had been getting too aggressive of late. They were strong and admirable fighters though they died just the same, some might argue even quicker due to the simple furs they choose to protect themselves with. Then there was the one talking to her, having the general appearance of a Breton did not talk but much like the others seemed to show an air of experience around him. Night couldn't make any other observation really about him just yet though.

Last was the Redguard women who from first looked could be notched down as a experienced warrior. Night like most of her people had developed a begrudging respect for the warriors of Hammerfell, a contingent of them had been hired out by the Dunmer during the later half of the offensive to try and hold the line against Argonia’s advance. They fought better than any of the knife ears ever could. They tore through Argonian lines but their was only so many of them that the Dunmer had hired and they too were eventually overpowered. But they left many dead Argonians in their wake and because of it the Argonian military has developed respect towards the warriors even going as far as to hire out a few of them to go to Black Marsh to help with the training of new recruits. In Argonia respect was made through power and combat the weak got nowhere and the Redguards had shown themselves as far from weak. It was around then that the Redguard women spoke about and Night heard her speak and she was right. Skyrim’s border would soon be upon them and before they reached it they all had to find a way through. Night nodded in agreement as they walked her tail swishing behind her. “Hopefully we all get where we need to go without any unpleasantries from the Alessian’s along the border. I've heard that they are not too fond of outsiders even if they are just traveling through.” Not too found being an understatement with the Empire’s agents explaining to them before they set out that they had sent in spies before and when they were found out they would be returned to the Imperial City in a bag.

Katawa Shoujo: School for the Disabled REBOOT

Ueda was lost in a time and a place far away from the present. To a small inn in Nachikatsuura, that had no place in the world of fancy hospitals and large bills. The ever present warmth radiating from within no matter the coldest winter nights, the smell of his mothers kushikatsu dancing through the air romancing the noses of all that were within. The sound of laughter and absent minded chatter as people gathered in to starve off the cold of the winter nights or to gather in the warmth of the summer evenings. His father’s voice that seemed so deep and powerful when he was younger as it took up the entire room with its presence as he sang old love songs that got everyone to sing along as he played on the piano. And for a moment if only just a moment Ueda was not some strungout addict who was perfectly content on destroying himself slowly a process that still seemed easier than just waiting around to die. No, he was instead just a small little kid again before the hospitals before it all went seemingly downhill too quickly and he was happy and if he could he would have froze that moment forever and be perfectly content sitting in that small forgotten room, playing on a forgotten beauty. But he did not have that choice.

As Ueda continued to play he eventually heard the door open behind him quietly. He figured that it was some sort of teacher or a janitor that had heard him and had come to kick him out of the room. So he did what any reasonable person would do he completely ignored them and progressed. His father had told him the secret about Jazz was that it was all a matter of doing not thinking. It was looser and less structured then if you were playing Chopin or Handel, giving it the unpredictable quality that resonated so deeply with some people for it breathed life and movement. To play with one’s brain was to fail immediately it had to be felt with the heart. And so that was how Ueda played it was not as technical as some and sure there were faults to it at times the tempo jumped about, his finger work was a bit rusty as well as the movement in his own hands had been slowed do the axiata so that his brain wanted his hands to go faster than they could manage anymore. But of course those thoughts of the perfectionist within Ueda would always find something wrong with his own playing even if he did it perfectly. Finishing with a flourish he took a deep breath and found that a small sweat had formed, he having pushed his body farther than he imagined to perform as he did. Wiping his face with his arm, still facing away from his guest is when he heard a familiar voice.

It had an ethereal almost regal quality to it of somebody that had more wisdom than she was letting on. A quality that belonged to only one voice he could remember in recent memory and so he turned his head with a small shake of his head and the smallest of grins as he turned to face his one person audience. And there she was the second year that he had met on the first day.. what was her name? Oh yes Tomo Mizukimura the blind girl that had a strange calling for debating philosophy with strange older men. Her appearance alone dressed in a simple yukata with the grace seemingly the personification of a Yamato nadeshiko made him almost chuckle to himself. Like a princess... Princess yeah that describes her rather well. Ueda mused to himself as he grabbed his own cane which he laid down on the bench next to him and pushed himself up feeling his muscles protest and sharp pains running up and down his body. Blocking them out as he gritted his teeth as he straightened himself up and even though with her being blind it still seemed like the proper thing to do give her a slight bow with his head.

“Ah Mizukimura-san, I was not aware that I would have an audience today. I would have dressed up in one of my suits that I don’t own .” He explained with a grin as he stood by the piano and listened, to the tapping of her cane against the chair and the floors as she approached, mixing with the sounds of the insects outside and the sounds of voices somewhere in the distance as students crossed the campus grounds. “But I thank you for your kind words. And how have the hallowed halls of Yamaku and the plethora of interesting characters treated you on your journey so far?”

Katawa Shoujo: School for the Disabled REBOOT

I think we need to go restrict the production of paper darts through the UN before juju kills all of us.

Katawa Shoujo: School for the Disabled REBOOT

The book of bad juju said
Ah, thank you. For a moment i thought there was a referance i wasn't getting in Ueda's post.

I do not think my post has any thing that might bring forth the lulz. But attacking not really perverts in trees? Always hilarious.

Katawa Shoujo: School for the Disabled REBOOT

How long had he started painting? Only a few minutes ago, an hour, had he been there for the last hundred years, a ghost of memories past? Honestly he did not know and he didn't really care either, that was the troubling part. The people of the cafeteria came and went providing a semi present background noise that was dampened by his headphones. Some watched him work for a little bit having nothing better to do. But they all left eventually after finding out that most of what he did was stand there and just stare intently at a wall for long periods of time and occasionally take a drink of water before deliberately making one stroke and then the process repeated over and over again like clockwork. One might of pondered this process and its greater meaning and they might of seen something in how each of his small movements seemed to be slow and thought out, every crane of his neck, or slight sag of his shoulders as if everything was choreographed into some very interpretive dance. These observations might of held a bit of truth, but in reality Ueda was not thinking at the current moment he was just acting and reacting never thinking just doing. It was the main reason he stilled did the whole “art” thing it helped him forget. Forget that he was dying, forget all those that he had failed, forget that he was slowly destroying himself, forget everything and just focus on the idea that he was slowly giving birth to.

Eventually though he knew that he was not going to get anymore work done at that moment. So he slowly began to pack his supplies back up: neatly, methodically, in total contrast to a man that was anything but. He put all the paints and all the brushes into a duffle bag which he picked up slowly as to not over exert himself and looked once more at the mural. It was nothing you could call Art yet. It was just a few lines a few lines in which he did not have a purpose for yet. The idea, the purpose, the subject it all came later for now it was just an escape. He left the cafeteria at a slow gait and proceed across the grounds and back into the “main building” as it was. He thought about taking the the elevator, but decided against it and he progressed up them and went on his path knowing exactly where he was heading and yet took his time. Not a lot of people were around, it was the weekend and evidently everybody was out doing things, nobody wanted to be inside a place of academic prestige. This was not necessarily a bad thing though, he never liked crowds he prefered to be able to hear himself think.

He eventually came to the art rooms and he entered. Of course they were empty not even Mr. Nomiya was still around. The sun as it slowly made its path towards setting sent small lazy beams through the window and all was peaceful. The smell of paint and clay was ever present in the room as he slowly brought the duffle bag down where he would be able to grab it again later. Unzipping it he brought out his brushes and walked over to the sink and turned it on and began to clean them. It was these routines that helped keep Ueda grounded to his reality. It prevented him from snapping inwardly and kept his thoughts in order. He had grown fond of the art room as he spent his years at the academy. The feel of the penecil shavings that have long been compressed together into a seemingly united layer over the floor, the tables rough with scratches and dried paint. It was all very peaceful and familiar to him. Eventually though he finished and left closing the door behind him.

He walked around in silence until he eventually found himself without knowing in the self dubbed music wing. Which consisted really of only a small number of rooms that happened to have instruments in them. He had found himself a room that he had never seen before, tucked behind a corner and down the hallway right next to the dead end, the only other thing back there being a janitors closet. But for one reason or another he was drawn to the room and so he tried the door. And to his great relief it swung upon with relative ease. The room was about the size of all the other classrooms, for one big difference being the decor. It was mostly posters of music things: Scales, chords, instruments. Though most of them were at the current moment dropping or falling down, as if not just he had never seen this room but the school had forgotten about it. What drew his eye was actually near the back of the room in a corner. It was a Steinway Grand Piano. Not something that you found usually sitting in the music room of a high school. No they belonged in concert halls, or the homes of really rich people. But there it was sitting and beckoning to Ueda to go over. He played the piano for sometime when he was younger, as advised by his physical therapist to keep the strength in his fingers up to speed and he occasionally found himself drawn to playing something. But he had not played for a few months. But the idea of playing such a beautiful instrument was more than he could just sit by and let go at the moment.

And so that was what he did sitting down and brushing a layer of dust that had formed over it as he opened it. He experimentally played a few notes and to his surprise they rang out clear as day. And then he closed his eyes trying to remember a time when he was little. Sitting on his father’s lap as he played on their own little piano nothing as grand as this, but it got the job done. Those were happier memories and he did not get a lot of those. But he prefered not to think about that because if he did for too long he was going to have to distance himself from the world in one way or another and he still needed to pay Toke a visit, so he did not want to use up his dwindling supply. So instead, he give himself another distraction and he began to play and without really deciding on what he was doing, he began to play one of the songs his father used to play. Separating himself from the world as he went along.

Katawa Shoujo: School for the Disabled REBOOT

Double posts! Curse You!
Edit: In other news. Yay 40! and in other other news. The post is up.

Katawa Shoujo: School for the Disabled REBOOT

TimasheTiger said
Clearly tomo needs to swoon over Kyle some more.
Kyle: *winks*

Swoon forever out of his masculinity.

Or if you want better held in emotional issues, I'm finishing up my post for Ueda right around now. And you can always stumble upon him in the music room/area (I'm taking the assumption that they do in fact have one of those. Since we never really get to find out) playing some Bill Evans on the piano because he needs to vent somehow. And since he is running low on drugs so he can't just go into damn the world and it all mode right now.

Ueda: Or you could just leave me alone. That would be nice as well, preferable actually.

The Alessian Resurgence

I cast morally ambiguous Argonian!

---

Blackmarsh Name: Numtvee "Tiv" Caynes
Cyrodiliac Name: Followed By Night
Age: 37
Race: Argonian
Class: Scout
Birthsign: The Steed
Equipment: A simple set of leather armor, a steel longsword, a iron wakizashi.

Talents/Spells/Strengths:
Swift Like The Forest: Due to Her Birthsign as well as spending her early years being trained in Argonian guerrilla tactics Tiv has became efficient in acrobatic endeavors being able to run and jump better then most.
Blessing of the Hist: Due to the nature of their environment, Argonian's such as Tiv are resistant to most poisons and diseases. Living in a swamp that harbors all kinds of dreadful things trying to murder you sometimes has its advantages.
Seasoned Warrior: Having spent most of her Formative years in Argonia's military as they tried to retake the rest of Morrowind. Tiv is no stranger to combat and has learned the ins and outs of combat.
Yer A Lizard Harry!: Being the Lizard Folk that she is Tiv can breath underwater and is as deadly in the water as she is on land.

Weaknesses:
Mistrust of the Beastfolk: Due to her Beastfolk nature, Tiv is looked down upon by the more "civilized" types of Men and Mer. Also being a "backstabbing dirty scale" most find it hard to trust her.
Magic? What Magic?: Having never found any real use for the magical arts the very idea of them being perplexing to her. Tiv is not just a bad mage. She is a terrible one.
The Guilt of War: Murdering innocents: Men, Women, Children, babies all in the name of the resurgence of the homeland.... It finally catches back up to you and not that she likes to admit it but the ghosts of those she has killed haunt her dreams.
Stab first, talk later: In the adorable Argonian fashion Tiv prefers to treat every problem as if it was a nail and she was the hammer. This of course can sometimes lead to more problems then if one just sat down and talked.

Personality:
In short Tiv is an individual hardened by the atrocities and devastation that she witnessed in the campaigns of Morrowind is not to say the most trusting or kind individual. Not a hero by any mark of the imagination doing only good things when the pay is better then the evil option. Willing to kill and injure without a instance of self-doubt or second guessing. Doing anything and everything to survive no matter how unscrupulous or morally wrong.


Background:
Numtvee Caynes or as most would know her now Followed By Night or just Night for short was born in Blackrose during a very auspicious time for Argonia. For the first time in hundreds of years the tribes of Blackmarsh were united into one unified force. Thanks to the cataclysmic event that was the Red Year and the subsequent destruction of Vvardenfell left the Dunmer weak and open to threats. Night Remembered hearing the tales of the brave forces of Argonia that marched from their homes to back the ancestral lend thst the Dunmer hag taken from them long ago. To repay the elves for every Argonian put in chains an elf would fall. But due to the actions of House Redoran, the Conquest was not yet complete. With Argonia only holding claim of the southern lands of Morrowind.

It is in this time that Numtvee Caynes was born or hatched as it may be and would carve her own mark in history. Like all those of able body she was conscripted into Argonia's Military to combat the Dunmer at age 13. By the time she was born, her people were on the offensive once again having been able to solidify their hold on the south and began to push northward. Night was one of many soldiers that participated in the reclaiming of her people's land. The Argonian soldiers felt little love towards their former slavers and massacred any that would not submit to their rule.

Though the defining moment of her military career might of been what was simply called The Rape of Kragenmoor or The Battle For The West. The Argonia Expeditionary Force had been quelling villages and smaller cities throughout the southern portion of the continent. Killing small pockets of resistance that still lingered about. Though one Dunmer stronghold in the East still stood. Kragenmoor Morrowind's border to Cyrodiil and one the cities that would need to be taken. What happened their is considered a tragedy and horror incomprehensible by historians.

After a month of heavy fighting Argonian Sappers were finally able to bring down the gates of the city and break through the Dunmer lines. Due to the heavy casualties suffered to take the city Argonian soldiers were more bloodthirsty then usual And when they sacked the city none were spared. Night bore witness to the events that transpired and would even admit taking part, but years down the line she would be haunted by images of the events that transpired.

An account by esteemed Breton Scholar Fenris Auctellus who was in Kragenmoor to recover books from the old school of the Tribunal during the siege. Goes as following.

""They swept through the city like hungry falcons attacking a flight of doves, or like raging wolves attacking sheep, with loose reins and shameless faces, murdering and spreading terror...beds and cushions made of gold and encrusted with jewels were cut to pieces with knives and torn to shreds. Those hiding were dragged...through the streets and alleys, each of them becoming a plaything...as the population died at the hands of the invaders. One could walk down the highroad leading from the gate across the entire length of the city and never touch the ground once do to the overwhelming amount of bodies, the blood ran up to one's ankles and the fat from Mer Flesh burned long through the night."
Fenris Auctellus, The Conquest of Morrowind, 1st edition

Night ended up staying on till the end of the campaign, when the Dunmer had officially taken Blacklight from the Dunmer and sent the Elven Queen Fleeing to Slotheism. This was twenty odd or so years ago. With Argonia now dealing with crushing the Children of Morrowind and cementing their control throughout the land. While this was occurring off in her homeland Night had spent the last twenty years as a mercenary. Finding no honor in killing b the remnants of fallen kingdom she retired from the military and not wanting to settle down to become a farmer she picked a job that seemed like the natural course of action for her.

Her travels took her far and wide: Being a bodyguard for a prince in Hammerfell, defending a moon sugar trading route in Elsweyr, taking secrets from Alinor and even helping route a warlord in the Wrothgarin moutains. Wherever she needed to go, she would go, and what ever was needed for her to be done, was done as long as the pay was right. No matter the morally right or wrong thing to do.

This was how she would end up join the Dragon's Eye. The Thalmor hired the Argonian Mercenary with a track record leaning heavily on results to join the fight against the Alessians. To destroy them by any means necessary. And since the wealth of the Thalmor treasury was providing her a hefty some of coin. She had no problem with stabbing a few bumbling idiots for the greater good.

Corrected & Connected

Not saying they are being evil. I'm just saying kidnapping people without sending a formal letter of warning to your targets is kind of rude.

Corrected & Connected

Never!!!!!

Though Romania.... I think Romania is the least used Eastern European nation for crazy soviet super villains. Like they are always Eastern German, Russian, Slovakian and the such.