Mortarion

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

Sorry for my prolonged absence, but I finally made my post which, hopefully, is good. Again, terribly sorry for having disappeared for so long and for the wait that entailed.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

The knight was surprised by the sudden appearance of his one-time sparring partner and roommate, with the feeling only growing stronger when the giant of a man asked him if everything was alright. "Yes....it's just nerves. Pathetic, isn't it?" Nicademus said, letting out a self-deprecating chuckle. "I've faced them more than once and yet sometimes I feel like I'm still a novice wet behind the ears." The knight continued on, letting out a soft sigh before he shook his head. "Maybe I'm just worried for the villagers here....I've seen enough of the handiwork of Dorcha raiders to not wish such a fate upon my worse enemy." He said, pausing for a second. "Truth is, I don't know why I feel like this. Maybe, deep down, I'm just still a scared kid who's home was just destroyed." He said quietly, more to himself than to Ann-Hasst, before he stood up once more. "I'm sorry to burden you with my musings, it wasn't my intention to go on such a long tirade." The Andred man said, standing up and offering An-Hasst an apologetic smile. "Come, I think I heard the priest in your group....Settione I think is his name?....Well, I think he is calling out for us." He said, motioning for An-Hasst to follow him as Nicademus made his way towards the circle that Settione had inscribed on the ground.

The knight stood in silence as Settione made his invocation to his god, absorbed in his own thoughts before Alice's voice broke through his musings about the upcoming expedition with her question. "Of course." He replied simply, turning to look at the woman. "It's not my intention to put you and your companions through undue risk, furthermore in the eventuality that we saw signs that the Dorcha were amassing for a raid, well, it'd be prudent for us to put an end to their plans before they came into fruition." The knight continued. "I will go and retrieve them at once." Nicademus finished, turning his back towards Alice as he began making his way to the small armoury maintained by the guards.

The knight returned shortly afterwards with the corresponding weapons of each member of the group that would be setting off to check if there were any signs of any potential raid in the nearby future, handing the weapons back to their owners before he turned his attention to do one final check to ensure that he had everything he would need on the upcoming trek on the off chance that they ran into trouble. Satisfied that he had gathered what he needed, and with the other members of the group also ready, the knight set off away from the village and towards their objective. It was strange at first, travelling with other companions, used as he was to wandering alone throughout the Southlands, but it didn't take too long for Nicademus to grow accustomed to the presence of the other members of the group and the knight even found himself softly humming along to Alice's song as they made their way further and further away from the small village. After a while, Nicademus approached Calanon and tapped him on the shoulder lightly. "You know those we travel with better than me, how do you propose we go about searching the area?" The knight asked the elven ranger, falling silent as he waited for an answer from the Wood Elf.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

Ashna to ashes; time to decide what happens to Ashna's dead body. Since she has no return address, we can't simply send her back home. That leaves us with these options.

We can leave her burned body as it is, and:

• Bury it at sea
• Bury it on land, at Jehanna
• Sell it to Synod/College of Whispers (for science)

We can also completely cremate her remains, and:

• Bury them in the sea
• Deposit them at a Jehanna ossuary
• Sell them to an alchemist for money

@Gcold

Tslee will be voting for completely cremating Ashna's remains and then giving her a burial at sea.

Warhammer 40k: Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader RP (Full, for now)

@Jbcool Sorry for my lack of activity man, I haven't posted yet because I wanna finish my CS first but I haven't been too good the last couple of days. I'm still interested and will try to get a post up before monday even if I haven't finished my CS jsut yet. Again, sorry for my lack of activity.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

One Day Earlier…

Afternoon, 22nd of Last Seed, 4E2408
The Flowing Bowl, Anvil

“Good,” Hector Sibassius said. Gregor, merely a child, smiled at the compliment. “But mind your footwork.”

Marcus smirked.

They were training in the yard. It was summer and the air smelled of flowers. Gregor looked down to find a wooden sword in his hands. He ran a finger across the edge and thought he could feel the rough, blunt material -- it always used to leave splinters in his fingers. Marcus stood opposite him, much younger and shorter but always more determined, more dedicated. Gregor did not always win their sparring bouts. He had no real talent for swordfighting, nor the motivation to excel.

He looked up and saw his mother looking down on them from the master bedroom’s window. She waved at him.

“What did you do?” a breathless voice asked.

Hector had disappeared and Hannibal stood in his place. A large claymore protruded from his chest and blood as black as the night pooled beneath his feet. Gregor opened his mouth to speak, to protest; he had done nothing wrong! His footwork needed improvement, but that wasn’t so bad, was it? But no sound came and his jaw worked uselessly.

“I’m scared,” Marcus whispered, half his face missing and the other half rotting with decay.

Gregor looked up at the bedroom window again. Inside he saw Briar swaying from a noose.

He gasped for breath and jolted upright -- suddenly and without warning he found himself inside an unfamiliar bedroom, the bed sheets soaked with cold sweat. He was old now. His vision swam and his fingers trembled as he slowly came back to his senses. It had been another nightmare. He was in Anvil, he remembered now. He shivered and coughed as he climbed out of bed, peeking through the curtains with squinting eyes. It was late. He had slept through most of the day. Anvil appeared to still be in one piece, so the Dwemer hadn’t caught up to them yet. Relieved, Gregor freshened up and got dressed. Despite being inside the walls of the city, he could not shake his old habits and found himself dressed in full battle attire when he was finished. He laughed at himself and shook his head.

He descended the stairs and entered the Flowing Bowl’s common room to find it mostly deserted. It was an odd time of day, between lunch and dinnertime, and most of the establishment’s regulars would be at work or otherwise preoccupied. That meant that Gregor’s eyes immediately fell on the most interesting thing left inside the place: Jaraleet, the Argonian, eating by himself. Gregor hadn’t seen him since they arrived at Anvil and he had been too obsessed with his own thoughts during their travels to have talked to him, but the Imperial figured he owed him a heartfelt gesture of gratitude -- it had been Jaraleet who had fought back-to-back with him during their escape from the accursed Dwemer. When the situation had been especially dire and Gregor had almost resorted to necromancy to save himself, the Argonian had appeared, seemingly from thin air, and the two had been able to slice their way out the old-fashioned way.

Gregor approached and placed a hand on Jaraleet’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you,” he said and smiled -- it was a sincere, emphatic smile that lit up his whole face, for while the experience had left a sour taste in Gregor’s mouth, that had most definitely not been Jaraleet’s fault. Even Gregor’s eyes exuded warmth. “I never got to thank you for what you did back there. So… thanks, Jaraleet. You saved my life.”

“Ah, Gregor, it is good to see you as well.” Jaraleet said when the Imperial man talked to him, turning his head to look at the man and smiled back at him. “It is I who should thank you, my friend,” the Haj-Eix said, motioning for Gregor to take a seat in front of him. “If it hadn’t been for you, I doubt I’d have made it out of that ambush alive either.” The Argonian replied honestly once Gregor had taken a seat.

After he was done talking, it suddenly dawned on the Argonian that he had been eating when Gregor talked to him something which caused him to let out a soft chuckle. “Pardon my bad manners, would you like something to eat? It seems rude that I be the only one eating.” He asked the Imperial man. “Or at least let me buy you a drink, if you don’t wish to eat anything.” The assassin added after a few seconds of thought.

“I’m not hungry just yet, but I’ll take a drink, thank you,” Gregor said and sat down opposite the Argonian. “Something non-alcoholic though, I just woke up.” As if to emphasize the point, Gregor yawned behind his fist and rubbed his eyes. He stared into the middle distance for a few seconds before is gaze shifted back into focus and he looked inquisitively at Jaraleet. “Where did you learn how to fight like that?”

The Argonian nodded, motioning for the barmaid to come before Gregor’s words shifted the Argonian’s gaze towards the Imperial yet again. “Ah, that's a complicated answer.” He began to speak, chuckling softly. “I'd have to say that my first instructions, as it were, came from my father, he was a hunter for a living in my childhood and, well, the plan was for me to follow in his footsteps. So he taught me mostly about tracking prey, a skill that would come most useful in the future.” The Argonian lied easily enough, taking a second to allow Gregor to order what he wanted when the barmaid came to the table they were sitting on.

“Do you have… apple juice?” Gregor asked, looking up at the maid. She nodded with a smile. “Only the finest, sir.” He nodded and returned her smile, and off she went.

“But, as to my training proper,” he began once again once Gregor had made his order. “Well, that comes from my time in Argonia’s armies. I admittedly started as a mere town guard, but I was drafted into the army proper due to skirmishes with the Dunmer of Morrowind. That's where I cut my teeth, so to speak.”

“It’s always our fathers, isn’t it,” Gregor said and chuckled. “I learned from him too. He was a Legionnaire before he became a merchant. But the Dunmer of Morrowind, eh? They’re quite a foe, as I understand it. What brings you all the way out here?”

“The answer to that is less complicated.” Jaraleet began, taking a sip of his own drink before he continued. “I was fighting against the Dunmer for quite some time and...well, the pressure of the situation kept mounting up,” He began explaining, shaking his head slightly. “Eventually I couldn't take it anymore. I reached my breaking point when, in my last battle, most of the unit I was part of was decimated.” The Argonian continued, letting out a sigh.

“Our commander had walked us straight into an ambush, the arrogant fool. Only he and I survived and I….well, I broke.” He admitted, looking down for a brief second. “I murdered him in my rage and then fled to Helstrom once I came to my senses.” Jaraleet said, pausing for a second to let Gregor absorb what he had just said. “After that, I realized that I would be tried as a traitor, and justly so, and so I fled to here where I plied my trade as a mercenary.” He finished, letting out a sigh. “I'm not proud of what I did, but it's the reason as to why I'm here.”

The Imperial was surprised that Jaraleet had been so honest and forward about his past. Gregor took a big swig of juice (the maid had returned with his beverage while Jaraleet had been talking) and shrugged. “I won’t judge you for your past,” he said. “Bad things happen to good people. You already proved to me that you’re one of the good ones. How…” He paused, unsure of how to phrase his next question. He decided not to beat around the bush and be direct. Jaraleet seemed like the kind of person that could handle that. “Are you happy here?”

“Do you mean if I'm happy living here, in Cyrodiil?” Jaraleet asked, taking a few seconds to think before he spoke again. “I won't lie, there are times where I miss Argonia...or where I miss my family.” He started, shaking his head slightly. “But, I'm happy enough living here. Aside from the current situation with the Dwemer, I've led a good enough life here in Cyrodiil.” The Haj-Eix said, smiling slightly. “Why do you ask, Gregor?”

“Curiosity,” Gregor said before he smiled sheepishly. “And because I want to know if my homeland has been treating you well,” he admitted. “I spent a long time away from home but I always loved it here. The people, the food, the culture, the architecture, even the forests and the fields… it’s idyllic, isn’t it? They call Cyrodiil the Starry Heart of Nirn and I’m inclined to agree with them. There’s a reason that history has always centered directly around White-Gold Tower, and the… Imperial City…” He trailed off and sighed, melancholy suddenly writ upon his face, and Gregor pushed his glass of juice aside with his fingers.

“They destroyed it, didn’t they?” Gregor asked softly. There was genuine sadness in his eyes.

“They did.” Jaraleet replied solemnly, unable to meet Gregor’s gaze. “It was a sudden attack, the Dwemer didn’t make any demands nor any proclamations of any sort. They just….dropped their troops into the city and started butchering everyone.” He said quietly, the memories of the invasion, and subsequent conquest, of the Imperial City still all too fresh in the Argonian’s memory.

“It...it was a travesty. Such carnage, and for what?” The assassin continued, surprised that he felt real sorrow for the fall of the Imperial City now. “I can’t say that I was always treated right, not many look upon us Argonians as anything more than mere beasts who learned to walk upright and talk, but I have fond memories of Cyrodiil as well, and I had acquaintances that I lost during the sacking.” He said mournfully, shaking his head slightly. “All that is left for us now is to make the bastards pay, I guess.”

That was more like it. Daro’Vasora had been frustratingly pragmatic about her role in the war to come and the conversation that had ensued to try and convince her to keep fighting the Dwemer had seen Gregor reveal more about himself than he would have liked. Jaraleet, on the other hand, was evidently intrinsically motivated and needed no further convincing. Gregor wasn’t surprised -- the Argonian had been a soldier before, after all. It was good to see that he cared. In a brief moment of self-awareness, Gregor felt like a horrible hypocrite. The feeling passed almost immediately. His preoccupation with his own goals was justified.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Gregor said and smiled. “Not everyone from our party is so determined to see the Dwemer being taken down a notch, much to my disappointment. I want to keep fighting them but we need to be smarter about it and for that we’re going to need all the capable folks we can get. Can I count on you, Jaraleet?” The Imperial leaned forward to emphasize his words and looked Jaraleet in the eyes, mahogany against amber, neither knowing the truth about the other.

Jaraleet nodded alongside to Gregor’s words. The sudden change in the Imperial man’s mood hadn’t gone unnoticed by the Haj-Eix and instincts honed throughout years working in the shadows, both of Argonia and Cyrodiil, told him that Gregor was a dangerous man, more so than what his considerable skills in fighting showed. The gaze with which the man regarded him with was the main clue for the assassin, it was a gaze that he had seen in his comrades and it made the Argonian wary of Gregor to a certain extent. “Of course you might, I am ready to fight to the bitter end if needed be.” He replied after a second, smiling towards his Imperial comrade.

“Excellent,” Gregor said with a grin and downed the rest of his apple juice. “You’re a good man.” His stomach growled and Gregor winced -- now that he was awake, his hunger had caught up to him. “Time for me to find some dinner. I know you offered, and I mean no offense, but I’m looking for something different today.” He got to his feet, shook Jaraleet’s hand and gave him a comradely nod. “See you around, Jaraleet.”

And with that, he was off.

Warhammer 40k: Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader RP (Full, for now)

@Ollumhammersong I'll send him a PM in that case. Thanks for the headsup.

Warhammer 40k: Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader RP (Full, for now)

If there's still room, I'm interested in joining. Probably with a Tech-Priest, if that's ok.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

^{A collab brought to you by @POOHEAD189 and Mortarion}
Anvil; 21st of Second Seed, Night.

---

Alim stepped up the stairs of the Anvil Inn, going up to the room he had acquired earlier in the day. He had a very self satisfied smile to his face, after having a lovely dinner with a woman he would enjoy having dinner with again probably. He’d even dazzled her a bit, though a part of him was just glad he had a fine night, and he helped her have the same. All in all, it was a fine day. But he was tired even when he sat down to enjoy a meal with Rhona, now he felt like he was about to collapse. He nearly fell back down the stairs when he turned the corner and came face to face with Jaraleet.

When he saw Alim about to fall back down the stairs, Jaraleet’s reaction was immediate. He reached with both of his arms and held the half-blooded redguard by his arms, holding him in place for a few seconds until he was sure that Alim wasn’t about to fall down once he let go. Alim had already placed a foot behind him to steady himself, but Jaraleet did indeed help.“Easy there….Alim, I believe it was?” He started, having to pause for a few seconds to remember the half-blood’s name. “My apologies for startling you, I was about to head down to the inn for a drink. Why don’t you join me? Consider it my way of apologizing for the fright and for, well, having you nearly fall from the stairs.”

“Dibella’s tits!” Alim exclaimed, as his first sight round the corner was a crimson and black reptilian face rather than a hallway. “Jaraleet, you scared the Oblivion out of me. I’m sorry I just...I’m tired is all. A drink?” he echoed after a moment, gathering his thoughts. “UuuuuUuUuUuUuUuUuUuUuUuuuuuuh suuuuure, yeah. That’d be cool. Lemme just…” Alim held up a hand to hold Jaraleet there, then he literally leapt down two flights of stairs and peeked into the common room.

Rhona is no longer there, sweet, he thought to himself. It would be poor flirting to have a date (?) and then come back down after he left with Jaraleet. But luckily, the coast was clear. He bounded back up and gave a nod. “Drinks sound good.”

Jaraleet chuckled softly at Alim’s reaction, nodding slightly when the redguard held a hand up to indicate him to stay put. “I’m glad to hear that.” The Argonian said when the half-blooded breton returned. “Might I ask why jumping down two flights of stairs was necessary? Trying to avoid someone?” He prodded, wondering about the reason behind Alim’s….somewhat dramatic actions. Without waiting for a reply, Jaraleet descended down the flight of stairs, sure that Alim was following and sat near one of the empty tables. “Do not worry about money, I’ll pay. As I said before, consider this my apology for startling you.” The assassin spoke, signaling one of the waistressess that were wandering throughout the tavern with one of his hands before turning to look at his sudden drinking companion once more. “So, Alim, how have you been holding up lately?” The Argonian decided to start with, a simple enough question with which to start a conversation. After all, it had been many days since they had left Skingrad so it was a wide enough topic of conversation to start with.

“I appreciate your kindness, thanks.” Alim replied, taking the drink the barmaid brought him. She eyed him, clearly recognizing him from before. He eyed her back until she walked away. “Yeah, I would not want to be rude to Rhona, I just ate dinner with her...as for how I am? Pretty good. It’s been...different, but still close to what I’m used to. Danger and accusations. This time I’m simply glad the latter is not pointed at me.” Alim scratched his nose and leaned back on his chair, letting the heat from the lamps relax him. “Then again, I could definitely do without the slaughter of women and children.” he said, his tone was light but there was a gravity to the very words he spoke. “I always could.” He ended the thought right before he took his next sip.

“It is no problem, your group welcomed me and fed me when the Rangers returned after our first, and sole, successful mission, buying a couple of drinks is nothing.” Jaraleet replied, nodding when Alim mentioned Rhona. “Ah, the other newcomer. It’s good to hear that she is well, or that’s what I’m inferring based on what you’ve said.” The Argonian spoke, taking a sip of his drink. The Haj-Eix let out a dark chuckle when Alim mentioned that it had been different, taking another sip of his drink before speaking again. “It doesn’t gets much stranger than the return of the Dwemer and the Dominion making a blatant powergrab mid-invasion, doesn’t it?” He spoke, tone light.

Jaraleet nodded at Alim’s comment about being able to do with the slaughter of women and children. “It’s a dark line of work the one we thread, its best to….close oneself to such feelings I’ve found, lest they drag you down and drown you.” He spoke somberly, looking at his drink before taking another sip of his drink. “Hmmmm, I assume that you watched Vasora’s rather….uncalled display of honesty, no?” The Argonian asked, deciding to steer the conversation away from darker topics at least for the time being. “It was a rather unpleasant thing, wasn’t it?” The assassin continued on, picking his words carefully. After all, he didn’t know how Alim felt about the accusations that Vasora laid on Rhea’s feet and for all that he knew the redguard shared the same concerns as the Khajiit woman.

Alim lifted his mug up to get a refill or the Imperial Ale. “I did,” he revealed. “I’m certain Daro’Vasora has her reasons, though I don’t think her accusations against Rhea were truthful. She’s been nothing but a fine leader from what I’ve seen. Then again, I’ve only done a few things with her like supply gathering.” The mug was refilled, and he took a good sip of the brew. “I also share her concerns on Severus being announced a governor, and the Thalmor presence is problematic. I think our Khajiit friend misread the situation. Either way, until I find incriminating evidence against one or the other, Rhea is my leader and Vasora is my teammate. Of course, I always stay away from most people when it comes to teamwork. It leaves me ample room to maneuver and flee just in case.”

“It is a wise policy to keep, especially in this line of work.” Jaraleet said in response to Alim’s words, lifting his own mug to get it refilled. Once the barmaid had done so, the Haj-Eix took a sip of the ale before he spoke again. “I do agree with you, I think Vasora’s words were hollow and bereft of merit. Admittedly I haven’t been with your group for too long in comparison to you or her, but your words seem to confirm what I thought already.” The assassin said, taking another sip of his ale. “That is to say that Rhea is a capable leader.” He quickly added in case his words weren’t clear enough. “Though, on the matter of Rhea, it didn’t escape my notice the way that she seemed to react when Severus was announced as the new count of Skingrad.” He said carefully, thinking how to best breach the topic. “You said that you had worked with her in the past and so I ask of you, is there any particular reason why Rhea would react in such a way?”

“Well...Severus already betrayed the city of Skingrad by letting her and I past the walls at night, and with the arrival of the Thalmor, I would think there would be some sort of correlation.” The ale was muddling his thoughts nearly now, but he still felt crisp. “I haven’t seen anything explicit, but it does seem obvious.”

“Ahhh, I see, so that’s why Rhea reacted in such a way.” The Argonian said in response to Alim’s words, shaking his head slightly. “Poor woman, she must feel as if she is solely responsible for Skingrad’s annexation to the Dominion. Must be why she said nothing back to Daro’Vasora.” Jaraleet said with a sigh. He felt bad for Rhea, the annexation of Skingrad had gone far too smoothly for it to be merely attributed to whatever Severus had gotten in return for helping them. Regardless of what she did, the annexation of Skingrad was gonna happen and due to this reason the Haj-Eix pitied the woman.

“And what about you Alim?” The Argonian asked his drinking companion, taking a sip of his ale. “It didn’t escape my notice that you mentioned that Severus let Rhea and you slip past Skingrad’s walls.” He commented in a quiet, albeit nonchalant, tone. “How do you feel over the whole situation?” The assassin asked curiously, wondering what Alim’s perspective was on the whole situation.

“I’m afraid you’re asking the worst person,” Alim chuckled helplessly. “I believe we did, perhaps, accidentally did have a hand in what happened, but when we...requisitioned the city’s supplies, it was for survival, you know? I often have to do things that are against the law in order to live or to serve the clients that pay me. I never try to harm anything in the process, but sometimes…” he let his words trail off. “Maybe Severus knew that the Count would have a fiasco on his hands and would be deposed soon if he couldn’t control his city or foodstuffs. He never left our sight for long when we had infiltrated into the walls.”

“You will find no recriminations from me Alim, do not worry.” The Haj-Eix said, fully honest. “Survival often calls for one to use underhanded methods, this I understand and this holds even more true when you are trying to keep not only yourself but other people alive.” He continued on, taking a sip of his ale once he was done speaking. “I’m not sure if this will help, but I don’t believe that either you or Rhea are responsible for Skingrad’s annexation.” The Saxhleel said, reaching across the table to pat Alim’s shoulder amicably. “The Dominion moved...too smoothly, as if this was an operation that was months in the planning.” He continued on, chewing on his lower lip when he realized that he was perhaps saying too much. “Maybe the ale is starting to addle my mind.” The assassin thought, shaking his head. “But, well, what do I know, I’m just a mercenary, eh? But what I do know is that neither you and Rhea should hold yourselves accountable for what happened at Skingrad, you simply did the best that you could.”

“Thank you, my friend.” Alim said, an inward smile on his lips as he gazed into his swiftly emptying mug. Everyone was different, but he never did think he would find a comforting comrade in the form of an Argonian assassin. “I try not to think on it too much, helps me sleep at night. Speaking of which, I am interested in your profession, or how you go by utilizing it in our group context. I suppose I’ve been an assassin once or twice, though it was never apart of a contract. It was usually done out of survival and simple need. But still…”

“You’re a perceptive man, Alim.” Jaraleet said, shaking his head slightly and letting out a chuckle once he had gotten over the alarm that the half-blooded breton had managed to deduce his true profession. “I thought I hadn’t given too many clues away as to my true profession, I don’t think I’d have gotten as warm a welcome as I did if I had introduced myself as an assassin after all.” The Argonian said, taking a sip of his ale before setting the now empty mug on the table. “But, to answer your question, I can work as a good scout, sneaking through cities has given me ample skills to evade people so there’s that. I also know a fair bit about alchemy, mostly about making poisons but I can prepare most antidotes to them as well. I suppose that’s how I could contribute to our little group.” The Haj-Eix explained to Alim. “Though, I do am curious, how did you figure out that I was an assassin?” He asked quietly, so that the question wouldn’t be heard by other patrons of the inn. “Oh, and if you’d do me the favour of keeping this between us it’d be appreciated. I doubt many would be accepting of the fact that I’m a part of the group if they knew my true profession.”

A grin bloomed on Alim’s face, and he clacked his mug against Jaraleet’s in good faith. “I can tell deft movements when I see them. And you didn’t look the investigatory type, so I made an educated guess. I am glad I still have an eye for that sort of thing. After the Dwemer attack, it’s hard to tell what is and isn’t real anymore.” The mixed breed man cleared his throat and down the last of his drink. How many was that now? He should probably stop. He could already feel his voice slurring a bit. “Don’t worry, discretion is something I am good at. I might have a flair to how I am, but I’m nothing if not a professional. Besides, we’ll keep this entire conversation between us, eh? I’d rather remain a neutral party in our group politics.”

“Of that you don’t have to worry my friend, my lips are sealed.” The Argonian said with a smile. “Much like you, discretion is something I’m good at. But, then again, that’s probably an invaluable skill in both our lines of work, isn’t it?” Jaraleet said good-naturedly, chuckling slightly. “I am curious about something Alim, what got you mixed in with this whole group? Most of the members don’t strike me as being thieves, and you seem to have been amongst them prior to the whole Skingrad situation so you’ll have to pardon my curiosity as to how you found yourself amongst Rhea’s group.” He asked, raising his mug for another refill while waiting for Alim’s answer.

“We were one of the expeditions that entered a Dwemer tomb up north,” he replied, choosing not to refill his mug. He felt as if he had one too many. “And they hired me to scout, look for traps, find lost team members and if need be, skip over traps and procure Dwemer artifacts. Things didn’t go...according to plan exactly. But Rhea had heard of me through a contact and hired me on. I’m not exactly famous, but as far as adventurers go I’ve made a name for myself in certain parts of Tamriel, and it seemed Akatosh saw fit to hire me onto the team that first learned of the threat. Who knew?” he ended with a shrug, as if it was all a long joke.

Jaraleet listened intently as Alim related the tale of how he had come to join Rhea’s group. The fact that the half-blooded redguard said that Akatosh had seemed fit to hire him onto the team that first learned of the Dwemer threat piqued the interest of the Haj-Eix in particular. “Pardon me if I’m being too blunt…” The Argonian began in a quiet tone. “But are you implying that this group is somehow related to the return of the Dwemer?” He asked curiously but still keeping his tone low so that the few patrons that remained wouldn’t hear that part of their discussion. Jaraleet had no certainty that what he was saying held a grain of truth but Alim’s words definitively implied that the group was related to the threat in some sort of shape, of this the assassin was certain at least.

Alim shook his head. “Now that is the question that I ask myself.” He said, and grew quiet for a few scant moments. “We infiltrated a Dwemer ruin that reached down hundreds of feet into the earth...one thing led to another...the mountain exploded.” He said, and sighed. “Don’t ask me to get into more detail than that, the ringing in my ears will come back. We awoke and picked up the pieces and traveled to the Imperial City. Then Dwemer ships invaded the very center of Cyrodiil. Is there a causation? There could be...I certainly hope not.”

“Hmmmm, I see.” Replied Jaraleet, taking his mug and taking a sip of the ale. “Don’t worry my friend, I won’t insist. Pardon me for my curiosity.” He added after a few seconds, deciding that it would be of no use to press Alim for more details. It was clear that the topic made him uncomfortable and that any further insistence on his part would do nothing but sour the mood of the thief even further. “But it hasn’t been all that bad, has it? From what I’ve seen the group seems fairly close, no? At least there’s that, I mean.”

“Oh, they’re as fine of a group as any.” Alim said, amusement in his voice and an honest smile. “I am glad to know most of them, and the others I simply haven’t gotten to know well enough yet. But yes, it’s not all been bad. I mean, somehow they’ve given me a good time even without the usual suspects of fun. God, jewels, and nights with women.”

“See? It hasn’t been all terrible.” Jaraleet said with a light chuckle, downing the remaining ale in his cup in one gulp. “But I should be about heading to bed. Thanks for the chat my friend, it was a pleasure getting to know you better.” The assassin said as he stood up from the table and began making his way towards the stairs before suddenly turning back to face Alim. “Oh, and Alim, if I were you I’d get your back checked. You do a good enough job of keeping it hidden, but it seems a little stiff.” The Argonian said, smirking slightly, before he began making his way upstairs.

Alim blinked, taken aback. But he smiled after he composed himself and raised his glass. “And there it is,” referring to Jaraleet truly being an experienced assassin. Alim would head up to his room and do his stretches. Fate would have it that the next morning, a few problems would be discussed and solves...

Star Wars - The Old Republic: Legacy

Anoat Sector; Hoth System, en route to Hoth.

The hold of the ship was devoid of all light save for the one that emanated from a small object on the ground. This object, a small triangle made entirely of crystal save for the patterns etched in gold on its surface, emitted a red light from every corner of its surface and from its top, what seemed to be the hologram of a man in a dark robe sprung forth. In front of the crystal triangle a man, also clad in dark robes, was kneeling in deference to the image that the crystal triangle was generating.

"And you are sure that this is not some trick? A convenient lie to lure you into a trap?" Asked the image to the kneeling man, crossing its arms as it waited for an answer.

"With all due respect Master..." The kneeling figure began, his eyes locked to the ground and not the figure that he was speaking to. "Yes, I do believe that the information that we've been given is legitimate. I've known my contact since we were both children and they are aware of....where my alignments lie." The kneeling man said to the figure, waiting in silence for his master to render judgement.

"Very well, my apprentice. Go forth Drakran, you have my blessing on this...venture of yours. If what you've been informed of is true, then this could be a great boon for you. But always remember, treachery awaits at every corner...so go to this planet, but prepare yourself in case that there might be unwelcome individuals." The figure said and, without waiting for a response from its disciple, disappeared, the crimson light that emanated from the crystal triangle dying as soon as the figure had vanished. Silence engulfed the ship for a few brief seconds before the kneeling man rose from his kneeling position and picked up the crystal triangle. "I won't fail you master, this I swear." Drakran said to the item in his hands, fully aware that his master, if not exactly able to hear him, would pick up the intent behind his words.

With his master gone, Drakran toggled the lights of the hold of the ship back on and made his way back towards the cockpit of the ship. Going to Hoth was certainly a gamble on his end, but the Zabrak was sure that it was a gamble worth making despite the risks that it carried. He was no fool, he knew that there was the possibility that what had made him come to the ice planet was nothing more than a lie, a well-crafted lure with which to draw him out, but if what he had been told was true, well then, this diversion was one very much worth making. "Still, the words of my master are certainly true. I must be cautious in this endeavour" The Zabrak mused out loud to himself, tapping his chin with his index finder as he thought on the best way to proceed. He was fairly certain that, were any trouble to arise, he could deal with it by himself and, yet, doubt crept into his mind nonetheless. If he were to be defeated, regardless of whether he was imprisoned or killed, his plan, his goal, would crumble into ruins without him there and so, he opted for caution.

Searching through the pockets of his robe, it wasn't too long until Drakran found the object of his search: a holoprojector. "Harsk," The Iridonian began speaking once he had tuned in to the proper comlink signal. "I have need of your skills once more, if you are interested contact me through the usual channel. I will be awaiting on Hoth if you decide to aid me." He finished speaking, sending the message to the Trandoshan. With that done, Drakran checked the computer to see that the auto-pilot hadn't had any faults or glitches and, once he was satisfied that wasn't the case, then returned to the hold of the ship afterwards. With time left to spare until he reached the ice planet, Drakran decided to meditate in preparation for what was to come, whatever was going to happen the Iridonian was certain that he'd need to be ready once he arrived in Hoth.

Star Wars - The Old Republic: Legacy

Drakran

Name: Drakran
Age: 43
Class: Sith Inquisitor
Home Planet: Iridonia
Race: Zabrak

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Appearance: Drakran stands at 6’7 feet, tall for a member of the Zabrak species, with a well toned body, a by-product of his training in the Jar’Kai style of fighting. Drakan’s skin is that of a deep red color, marred by the occasional scars left from the Zabrak’s many encounters throughout the Outer Rim and by the Sith tattoos that Drakran applied to his body under the instructions of Venethrax. Ironically enough, Drakran lacks the traditional face-tattoos common to Zabrak culture due to his entry into the Jedi Order at a young age. The Iridonian’s head is completely bald and crowned by a set of nine horns, three which run through the middle of his skullcap in a single line while the other horns are arranged on a triangular pattern on each side of his head.

Drakran normally wears a set of armor under his robes, prefering to sacrifice some mobility for extra protection, especially when it concerns to his left arm which has long been replaced by a robotic prosthesis. However when forced, or unable, to wear his armor, Drakran opts to wear his old Jedi robes, albeit dyed of a black color at present.

Personality: At first glance it’s hard to tell that Drakran is a Sith, unless one is able to sense the Dark Side of the Force that emanates from the fallen Consular that is, as the Zabrak likes to project an image of a calm and collected individual and while this image isn’t a complete fabrication, it’s merely a facade with which to go unnoticed through most social spaces. Years under the tutelage of the Sith spirit of Darth Venethrax have twisted the once-idealistic Zabrak into a being who is willing to stomach any atrocities and associate with any kinds of individuals as long as it brings him one step closer to fulfilling his goal.

This singular desire to bring forth the fall of the Republic and the Jedi Order form a large part of Drakran’s personality and it could be said that it is, indeed, the core pillar of Drakran’s very being. It is an obsession that dictates his every action, and this makes Drakran loath to act hastily if he is unsure if a course of action will lead him further towards the completion of his objective. This, however, also helps prevent him from making rash decisions that could have unforeseen consequences but it also means that once the Zabrak has decided on what to do, it’s nigh impossible to change his mind from its course once it has been set.

One final aspect of Drakran’s personality is that he is willing to try and use diplomacy if he believes that it will suit him. This mostly stems from the fact that, despite his single-mindedness obsession towards his goal, Drakran is aware that, where he to die, his objectives would die with him and, as such, Drakran prefers to try and evade conflicts when possible. However, if any means of solving an issue non-violently don’t present themselves the fallen Consular is willing to use any methods, no matter how vile, in ensuring his survival.

History: Born on the birth planet of the Zabrak race, Iridonia, Drakran’s first memories are of the underground slums of the city of Wortan. The constant struggle for survival is all that remains of Drakran's home city, not even the face or name of his parents remain embedded within his memory if they were ever there during his childhood. It is most likely that the young Zabrak would have died if not for the interference of a single individual: Jedi Master Xazeeh.

The Miralukan had been traveling through Iridonia when she felt the presence in the force of her future padawan. The force-sight innate to the Miraluka species helped Master Xazeeh to locate Drakran easily enough amidst the underground portions of Wortan. When the Miralukan jedi made her offer to Drakran to leave Wortan, and by extension Iridonia and any family he might have had, with her, the answer was easy for the street-urchin: yes. The trip to Coruscant is one that is to this day vividly engraved in Drakran’s memories, and even now after his fall he looks back on that day with some fondness and nostalgia. The galaxy seemed to have opened up for the young Zabrak, and the future looked brighter than it ever had but, as it turned out, such hopeful dreams of the future were not to be.

For the first few years, no problems seemed to arise for the new padawan of the Jedi Order. For, indeed, Drakran was noted to embrace the ideals of the order, particularly those regarding the protection of the innocent and acting towards the betterment of society. Along with this, it was determined early on that the boy had a strong affinity with the force, more so than it had been believed at first when Drakran had first been discovered by Master Xazeeh, and so the Iridonian padawan was set on the path to become a Jedi Consular. The years went by as Drakran travelled alongside Master Xazeeh, honing his skills in the Force through the latters tutelage, until he was eventually deemed fit to take the knighthood trials.

Drakran passed through the trials successfully and was knighted as a full member of the order. Thanking his master for all that she had done for him, the Zabrak jedi decided to wander the galaxy righting wrongs much in the same manner that he had done while as a padawan to Master Xazeeh. However, in this decision were planted the seeds that would lead to Drakran’s eventual fall to the Dark Side. The newly knighted Drakran had decided to head to the Outer Rim to continue his work as a Jedi, having deemed the area a place where the presence of a Jedi was direly needed and, at first, things went well for Drakran behaved as a role-model of what every Jedi should be: patient, thoughtful, diplomatic, altruistic, and only willing to use violence as a last resort.

However, as the years went by, a nagging sense of doubt and frustration began to grow within Drakran’s mind, and from this is where the troubles first began rising. As this feelings of doubt and frustration continued to grow, the Zabrak consular became more prone to extreme, and often violent, solutions to the troubles that he faced. The doubts and frustrations continued to fester within the Consular and the more these feelings festered as time went on, the more violent and extreme the Zabrak became in his duties as a Jedi. The fall came for the once idealistic Zabrak when he attacked a group of slavers about to make off with their cargo of slaves.

At that moment a blinding rage overcame Drakran and without uttering so much as a warning, he ignited his lightsaber and jumped into the fray. What came next was a symphony of carnage as Drakran used his force powers to crush bones and his lightsaber to cut limbs off of his surprised opponents. That is not to say that Drakran wasn’t injured in the frantic melee, for his sudden rush at the slavers also had left him bereft of the usual concentration that allowed Jedi to deflect bolt blasters as the Zabrak’s whole focus was on the slaughter of his enemy. By the time Drakran had finished slaughtering the slavers, his left arm was a ruined mess and more than a few blaster bolts had managed to pierce his abdomen but, luckily for him, the increased pain threshold common to Zabraks, combined with his knowledge of the force, allowed him to stay on his feet and to free the captive slaves. The events after that are a blur for the now-fallen Consular, all that he remembers is that, the next time he woke, he was in a village and that someone had severed what remained of his left arm and replaced it with a robotic prosthesis and that he didn’t stay long enough to hear any explanations as to what had happened between his rescue of the slaves and the present situation in which he found himself.

As Drakran gained distance away from the village, it seemed as if a fog was lifted from his mind and the full impact of what he had done finally dawned on him. He had slaughtered those slavers without even attempting to find another solution to the problem and what was more, he didn’t feel any guilt for his actions not really. From this realization sprung another one; that if he were on the same situation, he’d repeat his actions yet again. Why should he look for another solution to a situation such as the one involving a group of slavers ready to take off with their victims? Why should a situation like this exist? These questions echoed in his mind, simple in nature by themselves….and yet they had a profound effect on the Zabrak jedi. Years of doubts and frustration that had been slowly, but steadily, building up seemed to finally burst into a single conclusion: the Jedi Order, and the Republic by extension, were at fault.

This thought about the failure of the Jedi and Republic became an obsession for Drakran, who over the course of several months came to slowly attribute all the maladies that plagued the galaxy on the shortcomings of both organizations and that the only way to rid the galaxy of them was throughout the extermination of those who preyed on the weak. While this happened, Drakran slowly but surely began distancing himself from the Jedi code that he had once seemed to embody; slowly but surely, his actions began to resemble more and more those of the criminals he despised as he became increasingly more violent and ruthless in his pursuit of justice.

Having discarded the tenets and teachings of the Jedi Order, Drakran’s true fall into the Dark Side of the force didn’t come until a few years later when the rogue-Consular wiped out a band of smugglers. For when he slayed the last member of the group, the Zabrak felt a curious presence in the Force amidst the cargo of the deceased group; as Drakran sorted through the belongings of the group, an act with which he had become all too familiar in the intervening years, he found the object that had a presence in the force: an amulet. Drakran knew enough from the archives kept by the Jedi Order to recognize the item now on his hands was nothing else than a Sith amulet; a search throughout the ship of the dead smugglers revealed a datapad and, inside of it, more information about how the former owners of the ship had come to be in the possession of such an artifact.

As it turned out, the smugglers, in a desperate gambit to make money, had landed on a planet called Rhelg to see if there was anything worth trading in the black market. As it turned out, they had managed to find a small amulet and a few other riches inside of a small tomb but before they could continue to plunder the planet, monstrosities had driven them back to their ship and, ultimately, to abandon the planet. Intrigued, Drakran took ownership of the vessel of the smugglers and headed for Rhelg. Once the ship landed on the planet, Drakran’s fate was sealed. While the smugglers hadn’t felt it, probably on account of their lack of Force-sensibility, there was a presence in Rhelg that seemed to be calling out to anyone capable of hearing it. The fallen Consular followed the call of the presence as if he were enthralled, battling against the monstrosities that had driven the smugglers away with relative ease thanks to his lightsaber and knowledge in the Force; soon enough the Zabrak was standing in front of the entrance to a tomb, the source of the call that had drawn him as soon as he had landed on Rhelg.

Making his way into the tomb, Drakran faced against the traps and guardians left behind by the ancient Sith until he reached the heart of the ancient structure. There, laying on top of an ancient sarcophagus, laid a blade unlike any that Drakran had seen, and laying on top of the blade itself lay a holocron. The Zabrak could feel the energy of the Dark Side radiating off of the holocron but as soon as he tried to reach for it, the holocron lit up and came to life. There, Drakran met his new Master: the spirit of Darth Venethrax. The ancient Sith Lord had fashioned the holocron resting on his tomb as a vault in which to survive past the death of his physical body, waiting for hundreds of years until someone worthy of being his apprentice managed to breach his tomb. In Drakran, the old Sith spirit saw someone who was worthy of being his apprentice and, as such, wasted no time in offering the fallen Jedi the thing that he knew would tempt him the most: power.

Drakran hesitated for a second, but in the end he took the ancient Sith spirit on its offer and took the ancient Holocron housing the spirit and also the blade that resided within the tomb. Returning to the vessel he had stolen, Drakran departed from Rhelg and went to the nearest planet with signs of civilization. The spirit of Darth Venethrax slowly but surely twisted the mind of Drakran even further, first by manipulating Drakran’s distaste and contempt for the Jedi Order and Republic into a cold, seething, hatred for both organizations. The spirit managed to do this by, ironically, appealing to the Zabrak’s sense of justice. Surely no organization that allowed suffering as the one that took place in the Outer Rim was worthy of continuing existing? This kind of questions and more the Sith spirit presented to Drakran until, eventually, the Zabrak came to hate the Jedi and Republic as only a Sith could.

Drakran then set out to find allies with which to bring both the Republic and Jedi Order alike down in order to create something better. The first, and so far only, of these allies came in the unexpected form of a Trandoshan mercenary, who came to him in search of the knowledge of killing Jedi. The two struck a bargain, Drakran, through the teachings of Venethrax, would teach the mercenary how to kill the Jedi that the Trandoshan was after and, in return, he would aid Drakran in his quest. To Drakran’s surprise, the Bounty Hunter honored his promise and returned to his side and, ever since then, the Trandoshan has aided the fallen Consular in the latter’s quest throughout the years. But now, for the first time in years, Drakran has put his mission to destroy both Republic and Jedi on hold, he feels the call of the Force coming from Hoth and on the advice of his Master, Drakran has headed to the desolated planet to find what could cause such a disturbance in the Force.
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Equipment:

• Lightsaber
• Sith Warblade
• Durasteel Armor
• Sith Amulet

Skills:

• Lightsaber Combat: Originally a practitioner of Form V, specifically the Shien style, under the tutelage of Darth Venethrax, Drakran has come to learn, and employ, the Jar’Kai style of combat after having come into possessing a Sith Warblade. While far from a master in the latter technique, with Draxan being much more skilled in fighting using the Shien style of combat, the Zabrak is still dangerous when using Jar’Kai for while a master might outmatch him easily, his knowledge of the form of combat still gives him an advantage over those who know little of it.
• Force Powers: Thanks to the tutelage that Drakran has received under both Master Xazeeh and Darth Venethrax, the fallen Consular knows an ample repertoire of force powers ranging from the commonly, and universal, Force Throw to more rare powers such as Force Lightning and the variant of the mind trick known as Force Fear.
• Sith Sorcery: Through Darth Venethrax’s teaching, Drakran compliments his already ample knowledge of force techniques through the application of Sith sorcery. The Zabrak hasn’t mastered all the teachings contained within the holocron and, as such, his knowledge of Sith sorcery is mostly centered around the conjuration of illusions with which to distract his targets and, paradoxically enough, healing himself and his allies.
• Sith Alchemy: Drakran’s knowledge of Sith alchemy is minimal, with the Zabrak being able only to prepare the most basic of Sith poisons and other assorted alchemical concoctions.
• Piloting Skills: Drakran has a basic grasp of how to fly a ship through hyperspace, an ability born of his necessity to move throughout the galaxy without having to book passage onto a republic ship. However, this also means that Drakran’s skills aren’t enough to evade pursuit by other ships and a more skilled pilot could easily cripple or catch up to his vessel.

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Misc: Drakran is in possession of a ship that he stole from a group of smugglers that he killed to the man. This ship is Drakran’s main medium of transportation throughout the galaxy and, without it, the fallen Consular would be stranded in whatever planet his ship was destroyed.