Mortarion

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

1st of Midyear, Afternoon
The Three Crowns Hotel - Gilane, Hammerfell

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In the aftermath of the failed mission to capture and deliver Nblec Mazrac to the Hammerfell resistance alive the day prior, Jaraleet had been in an uncharacteristically foul mood which had seen the Argonian assassin ignoring the rest of the group and sequestering himself in the gym that the Three Crowns counted amongst its amenities. The failure of the mission in and of itself would have been cause enough to frustrate the Haj-Eix but what had truly set him off had been the fact that, according to Gregor, Nblec had perished as a result of his interrogation techniques, the Dwemer’s body being unable to endure the strain through which Jaraleet’s methods had put it through the Imperial man had claimed.

Jaraleet knew for a fact that was untrue. He had been trained ever since he had been a hatchling in the forms of torture, he knew how to inflict the most pain while causing the least amount of actual damage to someone’s body. He knew just how much a body could take, had experienced how much pain, how much damage, someone could take on his own flesh. His training as a Haj-Eix had ensured that he wouldn’t commit such a basic mistake as killing an interrogee by pushing them beyond the limits of what they could endure. What puzzled Jaraleet was why would Gregor claim such a thing? Mere ignorance on the Imperial’s part? Or was there more to what the Imperial warrior had said? Could Gregor have been lying? And, if so, why?

These questions, coupled with the failure of the mission and the fact that he was held as the one responsible for said failure, had driven Jaraleet to his present mood, which the Argonian hoped to excise his mind of via exercise.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding. I suppose mucking up an assignment and getting the words ‘kidnap’ and ‘murder’ mixed up is something of an embarrassment.” A voice came from the doorway. Daro’Vasora entered the gym, her hand running across a rack of weights as she entered, not looking at the Argonian. “I suppose it was a bit much to ask that we trust someone that barely socializes after mysteriously tagging along with the group after the Rangers went to shit, but I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.” She said, finally turning her gaze to Jaraleet. “Was I wrong?”

“You are.” Came the simple reply from the Argonian as he paused in his exercises and approached the Khajiit woman. “Nblec Mazrac didn't die due to what I did.” Jaraleet said, looking at Daro’Vasora straight in the eyes. “I don't expect you to understand, but I can assure you that I took the utmost precaution in making sure that Nblec wouldn't expire in the course of the interrogation.” The assassin said in a cold, detached, tone, utterly unperturbed by what he had put the recently deceased Dwemer administrator through.

“Torture, was it? I don’t recall the Poncy Man asking for anyone to torture and interrogate the man you were asked to bring in.” Daro’Vasora replied conversationally, although her eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “In fact, I’m reasonably sure that no one in this insurgency knows what particular skills and talents any of us have. It seems like an excessive liberty that you lot indulged yourselves in, in fact, if I were to be a betting woman, I would think that the whole idea was to bring in a sympathetic figure of the Dwemer administration to potentially turn to our cause. Hard to do that when you’re ripping out fingernails or whatever it is you do, but this brings into question; how does one as unassuming as yourself with such a wholesome personal story come to acquire the talents of interrogation, I wonder? Others say you were a hunter and a soldier, neither of which require the delicate balance of knowing how to extract information through controlled brutality. The fact you readily admit to violating the Administrator in such a way casts quite a bit of shadow over you, Jaraleet. Or is it something else, I wonder?”

Jaraleet chuckled darkly once Daro’Vasora was done with her tirade, shaking his head slightly before he regarded the Khajiit woman with a look that carried a slight hint of pity. “You are a fool Daro’Vasora.” He said simply, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nblec was never going to live, not really. Did you honestly believe that the Poncy Man would try and turn him into an agent of the Hammerfell resistance? At best Mazrac would have been drugged into a stupor to make him blabber what information he had and then disposed. At worst, and to be frank the most likely case, is that he would have been tortured for the information he had, if not by the agents of the Poncy Man then surely by agents belonging to other cells.” The assassin said nonchalantly, as if he was explaining the most obvious thing in the world.

“As to where I came to acquire such talents...well, sometimes soldiers are called to perform immoral acts for the greater good. But, then again, you've never been a soldier. I doubt you'd understand.”

“I understand more than you give me credit for,” the Khajiit mused, her arms crossed. “And what of it? It wasn’t our call to make. For a soldier, you’re pretty daft at understanding the fact we need allies. This hotel that we are staying at for free and the resources and contacts we stand to gain? Jeopardized because of the likes of you because you have a short-sighted bloodlust. If Mazrac blabbed and told you something vital, you’re asking these people to take the word of someone they don’t know who murdered a person they instructed you bring in to them, demonstrating an incredible inability to follow simple instructions.

“So what, maybe they kill him and interrogate them at their leisure? That’s the point; it was their decision to make. Ever consider this was a test to see if they could trust us with something actually vital and important that could actually make a dent in the Dwemer occupation? Or would you rather blindly go on raids again and watch as 90% of our outfit is slaughtered? Tell me, Jaraleet, oh wise one, what was the plan here?” She stepped closer to him, staring him up in the eyes.

“Or do you think they’re benign and not above discarding of us as they see fit if we endanger their operations? They have an entire network of people doing all sorts of dirty work, we’re going in blind. Want to find out what happens when you fall asleep and they decide that you aren’t worth the bread they feed you?”

“I didn’t murder Nblec.” The Argonian repeated coldly, staring back at Vasora with a harsh look. “And I didn’t torture him for such a petty reason as sating my bloodlust or any other inane reasons like that. I did what I did because it seemed necessary at the moment and if the Dwemer hadn’t raided the safe house in which we were holding Nblec I’d have handed him over to the Poncy Man so that he could verify the information I obtained first hand.” He continued, letting out a dark chuckle when Daro’Vasora asked him if he thought that the Poncy Man and the rest of the Hammerfell resistance were bening.

“Oh, I don’t, not at all. I know full well that you, me, and the rest of our group are disposable pawns to them. I’d be surprised if that wasn’t the case truth be told.” He said with a shrug. “But why does this bothers you so much? It’s not like you care about the Dwemer, do you? Or are you perhaps worried that I’m a risk to you and the other members of the group? If that’s the case, well, I must admit that I’m surprised to see that you care so much after your….candid words to Rhea in Anvil I thought you didn’t care about anyone in this little group of misfits.” Jaraleet said, regarding the Khajiit woman with an inquisitive gaze. “So, again I pose you the question, why do you care so much?”

“You’re right, I don’t care about you, I care about the people I’ve been with since this whole sordid mess began, you’re just a tumour that grew out of nowhere and immediately started causing issues. I won’t hesitate to cut you loose if I have to.” She replied darkly. “I decided that the best thing for everyone is if we had a chance to get out of Anvil and Cyrodiil and everyone could go their own separate ways, but here’s a chance to actually do the right thing, a foreign concept to you, I’m sure.” she said, stepping away from Jaraleet and talking a walk about the room, taking in the details and needing space from the Argonian. “My uncle died in Imperial City, and in my grief, I did some stupid things, I’ll admit. Here’s my chance to try and make the Dwemer suffer a bit for what they did to him and maybe ruin their machinations along the way. We were never going to beat them honestly, but Jaraleet… whatever it was that prompted you or whoever to torture and murder that man did is not the way to do it. There’s going to be reprisals, you know that, don’t you?” she asked, looking at him from across the room.

“Why are you here, with us, doing this?” She asked, a bitter tone in her voice. “Why are you latching onto us like some overgrown parasite that doesn’t know where else to inflict his miasma? There’s a dark cruelty to you, and you clearly aren’t the sort to think things through. Great, you planned on obtaining information by torturing someone who was popular with the locals. How do you think them and the Dwemer are going to react when they find out what you had a hand in doing?” she asked. “It’s going to be harder to do anything because heroic acts like freeing prisoners is going to be hard to suppress with the people, but finding out that the so-called freedom fighters are terrorists who are worse than the occupiers? What were you thinking?”

“That I was doing a necessary evil.” The Argonian stated simply. “Make no mistakes Daro’Vasora, I don’t do the things I do out of a desire to inflict pain or to be needlessly cruel, but rather because they are necessary steps. I’m fully aware of the nature of my acts, and I’m willing to pay the price for them when then the time comes.” Jaraleet continued, letting out a sigh. “For every one of these so called ‘heroic’ acts there’s someone like me behind them, doing the dirty deeds that need to be done to ensure victory for whatever group they support. So it has been throughout the length of history, it is a simple fact of war nothing else and nothing more.”

“The truth of the situation is that, sooner or later, everything in war becomes a calculus of result versus costs. What is one willing to sacrifice to ensure victory? I’d say that, historically speaking, the side who is willing to sacrifice the most is almost always the assured winner of a given conflict.” He said calmly and by memory. “As for why I am here with your group right now? It’s because our goals intersect. I seek the defeat of the Dwemer, same as you do.” Jaraleet said, letting out a tired sigh.

“What is the point of this bitter tirade of yours anyways? If you believe me to be such a detriment to the group such a...parasite as you put it, why not cut me off? I’m sure you could that do easily, as you yourself noted I haven’t been with your group all that long and I doubt you’d get anything more than some token complaints if you decided to do that.” He pondered, tapping his ching as he thought. “Or is it merely that what I did was just a reminder of our current situation, of it’s costs, and I’m just simply a convenient scapegoat for your frustrations?”

“Unbelievable.” She breathed, turning her tone to a mocking approximation of the Argonian, “‘I did what was necessary by not following orders because it’s way easier to interrogate and torture people on the go than follow simple instructions’. None of that was necessary, you elected to do it yourself. And up until now, I didn’t think you were a risk to everyone’s well being, but congratulations; you’ve just made life worse for us all and potentially put us on a dark list for those whose roof we sleep under. The winners of wars aren’t the ones who are willing to sacrifice the most; the Rangers were willing to sacrifice nearly every man and woman in its ranks to free prisoners, and look where that got us. Pick up a history book sometime, Jaraleet; wars are won through superior logistics, alliances, and having the manpower and talent to use it, not squandering resources on stupid-ass risks with no potential pay off.”

She crossed the room suddenly, jabbing a pointed finger into his chest. “None of that was your call to make. You want our interests to keep coinciding? Then start acting like you belong rather than acting on your own twisted personal whims. I have my own goals, and right now, one of them is making sure that we never end up in a situation like we did in Imperial City or the Rangers again; acts like you did are going to add up. The Dwemer have a loose grip here, but you know full well what happens when that tightens, or did you think that some low-level government stooge was going to contain some big war winning secret that you felt it was worth risking all of that instead of just bringing him him like requested? You want to defeat the Dwemer? Then maybe not be a fucking lone wolf and start following orders.

“If you can’t do that, fight the war on your own terms, but don’t drag everyone else down with your stupid ass. I’m not going to stand here and watch as you and people like Gregor start to erode what little guarantees the group have of protection because you are incapable of seeing a picture bigger than what’s immediately in front of you.” She said, turning to leave. She stopped at the door frame, looking back. “You know there’s very little chance this little chat of ours wasn’t overheard by one of them, right? The walls have ears, the ceiling has eyes. You may want to consider what you’re willing to sacrifice to accomplish something great, or wither away into the dirt because you spent yourself on something so incredibly petty that it’s less noteworthy than a man who dies in a cavalry charge.”

“I already decided that a long time ago Daro’Vasora. So, go and do what you think is best for this group. Be it keeping quiet or handing me over in a platter to the Poncy Man to ensure that you and your friends will be safe, I won’t hold it against you.” The Argonian said with a light shrug, unperturbed by the Khajiit’s words. “Just remember what I said, you might not share the same beliefs that I do but, who knows, it might prove useful to you one day.”

She let out a terse smile. “Turn you over? I may barely know you or consider you one of us, but you’re way more so than a man who won’t tell us his own name. All I ask is that you think of the others first next time; we’re in dangerous territory and we can’t afford missteps when potentially everyone is an enemy. We need to know which is which, understand?”

“I understand. And I apologize for putting the group at risk, I will endeavor to be more careful from now on.” The Argonian conceded, nodding slightly in Daro’Vasora’s direction before he turned his back to her and resumed his exercises.

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

Kharon's current situation in Nab's Holdout wasn't ideal, to say the least. His venture into the Kronus Expanse in search for xeno-tech to bring back to Stygies VIII and further the xenarite cause had been a resounding failure, stripping the Magos of what few resources he had managed to scrap together, due to a combination of losses to attacks from both xeno, and human, pirates and to the depredation of corrupt bureaucrats and other such individuals that characterised a vast majority of Imperial governance throughout the Imperium, and leaving him stranded in Escalon Seven, where Kharon had seen himself forced to repair the settlements machinery to sustain himself while he looked for an opportunity with which to salvage his disastrous endeavour.

And such an opportunity had seemingly manifested itself, as if by providence of the Omnissiah itself. Despite his present situation, Kharon was still a magos of the Adeptus Mechanicus and, as such, information still reached his ears both through rumours and unprotected data-transmissions. Which is how he had managed to hear about the arrival of the Golden Aquila to Escalon Seven's atmosphere, a vessel that, based on its schematics, belonged to a Rogue Trader if Kharon's estimations were correct. Still, Rogue Trader or not, the arrival of the Aquila presented the Magos with an opportunity with which to leave Nab's Holdout and, if necessary, eventually return to Stygies VIII, which was precisely why the magos now stood in front of the landing site amidst a very small crowd of people who had seen, or known, about the landing shuttle and had headed towards the area where they knew the small vessel would touch down. The reaction from, who he guessed was, the owner of the Aquila wasn't unexpected, given the reputation that Nab's Holdout had, but, even so, the fact that the man was clearly reaching for a weapon was something that wouldn't stand.

"Peace my lord, none here wishes you harm." Kharon said while making his way to the front of the gathered group, knowing full well that, given the chance, more than quite a few of the gathered individuals would be more than happy to hurt the occupants of the landing vessel for any riches that they might have. "Let me be the first to welcome you to Nab's Holdout." The magos said, raising his mechanical hands to make the sign of the aquila in, what he hoped was, a placating gesture.

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...