Still interested, just have a wild few holidays. I should be able to get something this weekend.
Rtron
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Isn't ONI exclusively a human organization? Are they just hiring alien mercenaries to work for them, or have they branched out?
12th of Midyear - 4E208
Three Crowns Hotel - Gilane
After the meeting discussing the plan to rescue Daro'Vasora, nighttime.
Nanine was sitting outside of the Three Crowns, where she and Anifaire had talked before, her journal and inkwell left untouched by her side. She had come out to draw what she could by moonlight as a way to relax and control her roiling thoughts and emotions. It hadn't helped her do either of those things in the slightest, and now she was simply staring into the empty street, hands tightly clasped in front of her. Frost began to gather on them as she unconsciously reached for magic. They released the Dwemer. The thought was at the forefront of her mind, and with it a surge of anger.
Her companions were at least indirectly responsible for the potential collapse of the Empire and the massacre of hundreds, if not thousands of innocents. They had gone into a ruin and fumbled around with things that they did not understand, and brought death and destruction to the Empire itself, Hammerfell, and who knew how many other nations. They were indirectly responsible for the sacking of the Imperial City, the situation in Gilane, the resurgence of the Dominion, and the Nine above only knew what else. And they did it for survival, without trying anything else. Because of their desperation, they released a storm upon the world that shows no signs of weakening anytime soon. The blood of all of the slain was on their hands. If they had just stood their ground, found another way, fought their way out, this would not have happened. Some or all of them would have died, sure, but...
But.
Could she honestly say she would have done anything different? Nanine sighed, relaxing her hands, the frost disappearing. It wasn't fair to blame them like that, especially when she would have done exactly the same thing in their situation. They had no control over the actions of the Dwemer, and they certainly couldn't have had any idea that saving their own lives would result in all that it did. And they were trying to make it right. Everyone of them was willing to fight against the Dwemer they had released, in an attempt to stop the suffering they felt responsible for. Now they had to rescue one of their own from the stronghold of the Dwemer. Nanine grimaced in annoyance at the thought of that upcoming operation, standing up and pacing back and forth.
She didn't like it. Any of it. There were too many things she couldn't account for. They were relying too much on strangers who they knew next to nothing about, and on the discipline of some of their members. Nanine was sure that Mazrah was going to ignore her and charge into the Palace without so much as a sash over her face, and the Breton couldn't be certain that the others wouldn't be just as brash and reckless in their own way. None of them were legionnaires. None of them had the discipline of the Legion to fall back on. Nanine couldn't be everywhere to make sure things went smoothly, and given how the other two missions had gone, she sincerely doubted this one would go any better. It would descend into chaos, and she hated that.
I could just leave. The thought sprang unbidden to her mind, and she paused. She could leave easily. The Dwemer didn't have the slightest clue who she was, and there was doubtless many ships who wanted to leave the port as soon as possible, with all the rising tensions in the city. She could go into the hotel, pack her things, and be gone before Gilane truly woke up. Gone and away from the Oblivion cursed mess this was rapidly turning into.
Then where would she go? The Dwemer and the Dominion had control over much of Cyrodil, and likely Skyrim. High Rock was on the verge of total chaos, if it hadn't already descended into that. To even get to areas that weren't on the brink of all out war or occupied, she'd have to go through at least one of the areas that were. It wasn't like she would just ignore any injustices or suffering she would pass along the way either. Some how or another she'd get herself stuck in a similar situation to this, only with complete strangers or even by herself.
Nanine shook her head, sighing again. No, she couldn't just leave. She was already committed to try and help the situation in Gilane and with the dwemer in general as best she could, and this group she was with seemed like the best bet she had at it. She'd have to accept the chaos that was going to come, and try to make the best of it. The very thought of that made her grimace again, and she headed back to the bench and collected her untouched journal and ink quill. She needed to head to bed and get what rest she could.
It was going to be a long couple of days.
Three Crowns Hotel - Gilane
After the meeting discussing the plan to rescue Daro'Vasora, nighttime.
Nanine was sitting outside of the Three Crowns, where she and Anifaire had talked before, her journal and inkwell left untouched by her side. She had come out to draw what she could by moonlight as a way to relax and control her roiling thoughts and emotions. It hadn't helped her do either of those things in the slightest, and now she was simply staring into the empty street, hands tightly clasped in front of her. Frost began to gather on them as she unconsciously reached for magic. They released the Dwemer. The thought was at the forefront of her mind, and with it a surge of anger.
Her companions were at least indirectly responsible for the potential collapse of the Empire and the massacre of hundreds, if not thousands of innocents. They had gone into a ruin and fumbled around with things that they did not understand, and brought death and destruction to the Empire itself, Hammerfell, and who knew how many other nations. They were indirectly responsible for the sacking of the Imperial City, the situation in Gilane, the resurgence of the Dominion, and the Nine above only knew what else. And they did it for survival, without trying anything else. Because of their desperation, they released a storm upon the world that shows no signs of weakening anytime soon. The blood of all of the slain was on their hands. If they had just stood their ground, found another way, fought their way out, this would not have happened. Some or all of them would have died, sure, but...
But.
Could she honestly say she would have done anything different? Nanine sighed, relaxing her hands, the frost disappearing. It wasn't fair to blame them like that, especially when she would have done exactly the same thing in their situation. They had no control over the actions of the Dwemer, and they certainly couldn't have had any idea that saving their own lives would result in all that it did. And they were trying to make it right. Everyone of them was willing to fight against the Dwemer they had released, in an attempt to stop the suffering they felt responsible for. Now they had to rescue one of their own from the stronghold of the Dwemer. Nanine grimaced in annoyance at the thought of that upcoming operation, standing up and pacing back and forth.
She didn't like it. Any of it. There were too many things she couldn't account for. They were relying too much on strangers who they knew next to nothing about, and on the discipline of some of their members. Nanine was sure that Mazrah was going to ignore her and charge into the Palace without so much as a sash over her face, and the Breton couldn't be certain that the others wouldn't be just as brash and reckless in their own way. None of them were legionnaires. None of them had the discipline of the Legion to fall back on. Nanine couldn't be everywhere to make sure things went smoothly, and given how the other two missions had gone, she sincerely doubted this one would go any better. It would descend into chaos, and she hated that.
I could just leave. The thought sprang unbidden to her mind, and she paused. She could leave easily. The Dwemer didn't have the slightest clue who she was, and there was doubtless many ships who wanted to leave the port as soon as possible, with all the rising tensions in the city. She could go into the hotel, pack her things, and be gone before Gilane truly woke up. Gone and away from the Oblivion cursed mess this was rapidly turning into.
Then where would she go? The Dwemer and the Dominion had control over much of Cyrodil, and likely Skyrim. High Rock was on the verge of total chaos, if it hadn't already descended into that. To even get to areas that weren't on the brink of all out war or occupied, she'd have to go through at least one of the areas that were. It wasn't like she would just ignore any injustices or suffering she would pass along the way either. Some how or another she'd get herself stuck in a similar situation to this, only with complete strangers or even by herself.
Nanine shook her head, sighing again. No, she couldn't just leave. She was already committed to try and help the situation in Gilane and with the dwemer in general as best she could, and this group she was with seemed like the best bet she had at it. She'd have to accept the chaos that was going to come, and try to make the best of it. The very thought of that made her grimace again, and she headed back to the bench and collected her untouched journal and ink quill. She needed to head to bed and get what rest she could.
It was going to be a long couple of days.
I’m interested.
Swordplay
A Collab by @Rtron and @Amaranth
Nanine and Shakti, 11:30am, 1st of Midyear, behind Three Crowns
Nanine went through the motions of combat, first one hand, then both on the hilt of The Eternal Vow. She went through them without fully thinking about them, the movements practically ingrained into her body after her time served in the Skyrim Civil War and beyond. There were bigger problems on her mind right now than the fact motions she had gone through a thousand times before. The other two missions had, more or less, failed. Which wouldn’t be quite so bad if they weren’t fighting the type of war that required anyone who could give up information and was likely to be caught to disappear, and had the other two groups used disguises like she had insisted upon with hers. Yeah, lets waltz into these dangerous and highly illegal situations with our faces and extremely out of place, in a Redguard city, looks and just let what happens happen! It’ll be great!
She sighed, moving smoothly to the next step. What’s done was done. There was nothing anyone could do to about it, except prepare for the consequences. Which was why she was out her, practicing her swordplay for the hundredth time. Waiting for consequences.
Shakti had gone searching for a quiet place where she could practice her own sword-forms in peace, the gymnasium in which she usually practiced being occupied. She had come outside of the hotel grounds into a sandy backlot where she watched a Breton woman whom she recognised from her rescue, though only vaguely. More strikingly was the woman’s blade. A rather foreboding blade of ebony that seemed to be shimmering worryingly. Suffice it to say, it was a weapon Shakti would be hesitant to pick up if she found it lying around. Her style of sword-fencing was also sort of strange. It seemed slightly primitive, with wide hacks and chops that could be exploited. The young Redguard thought it might be prudent to point out those facts.
“That is a very beautiful sword you have. It must be very special.” She left out the part about how it looked, to her, like some sort of cursed daedric-blade. “Your style is also, erm, unusual.” She tried to phrase it less negatively than the thought had appeared in her mind, not wanting to appear hostile to this woman who had performed some part in her rescue.
Nanine started at the voice, lost in her own thoughts. She smiled as she saw that it was the girl they had saved from the prison caravan. “Oh! Thank you. It’s my family’s blade, been with us for centuries, or so the story goes.” Her smile widened at the awkward mentioning of her sword style. It was not the first time someone outside of the Legion had mentioned it, and she doubted it would be the last. “You mean it looks like if I ever get in an actual sword fight I’ll be killed in three seconds with all the openings you see. Don’t worry, it’s intentional. It's a high-risk sword style my father taught me. You let your opponent think there’s an opening to hit a weak point in your armor, and shift when they strike so that they hit something that can block the blow, leaving them off balance and open. I wouldn’t recommend doing it against the highly skilled, like Mazrah or Jaraleet. Or against certain weapons like maces, but against most weapons or fighters it works well for me.” She paused. “I don’t believe we ever had the opportunity to properly introduce ourselves, I’m Nanine Tilhart. Pleasure to meet you.”
Letting yourself purposely get hit? What heat-madness was this? A skilled sword-fencer who was properly cutting with not just her sword, but her spirit needed only one cut to kill. If the intent to kill was there, the intent to cut, there was no way you could block it. Shakti almost shook her head in disbelief. “I’ve… never heard of such a style. Is it common where you come from?” She had no idea where that was, but it was obvious that she wasn’t from Elsweyr or Black Marsh at least. Maybe. “I’m Shakti, of the Alik’r, I never had the chance to properly thank you for rescuing me.” She bowed to the other woman in thanks, and as a sign of respect.
The women did share something in common though, both of them carried swords that had been in their family for generations. Shakti smiled and pulled out her sword, holding it horizontally. “This is my family’s sword too. It was my father’s sword, and his father’s before him. It’s not as impressive as your family’s blade, but I suspect few swords are.” The compliment was genuine, it was an awe-inspiring piece of metal.
Nanine waved a hand. “Think nothing of it. From what I hear, these Dwemer are publicly more civil than the others, but behind closed doors they act exactly like the ones who sacked Imperial city. Couldn’t leave you to rot in whatever they planned to put you in.” She smiled graciously at the other woman’s compliment to her sword. “Thank you. Your blade is well cared for and you carry it with pride. You bear it well.” Nanine sheathed her sword, chuckling softly. “ As for your obvious disbelief about the ‘purposely getting hit to leave an opening’ its always done in heavy armor. Armor that blocks most blades, excluding magical or enchanted ones, and lets you continue on to strike. I don’t employ it unless I am in my heavy steel, which I doubt I will get a chance to wear here.”
She raised an eyebrow at the girl. “From the look on your face, I’m guessing you don’t trust armor that much.”
Shakti rubbed her scar. The painful memory of the sword slicing through her bracer caused it to ache slightly. “Er, not really. The desert heat makes it hard to wear it besides.” She shrugged, “There are knights in Hammerfell who wear armour in the styles of the other provinces. Perhaps they have a similar style of swordplay.”
Nanine shrugged. She’d personally prefer to be encased in steel. Less likely for a single blow to end her. “To each their own. I’d personally trust my life to good armor. Those knights might, if they’re from the Legion. As far as I know its a style that’s only taught to Legion soldiers.” She looked at Shakti curiously. “Since you don’t trust armor I’m going to guess you rely on dodging and blocking to avoid getting stabbed. Is that right? Seems like it’d require a lot of energy and stamina to keep up, especially in a battle.”
Shakti nodded, “Mostly dodging. I don’t like blocking. It’s not that much energy, especially if you combine your offence and defence into one motion. Like this.” The Redguard girl drew her sword and demonstrated a basic sort of technique of which she had described. She took a smooth sidestep and allowed the momentum of the sideways motion to carry into a riposte forward towards an imaginary enemy. “Or this.” Shakti hopped backwards, landing on the front of her feet and then springing forward with a clean cut from low-to-high across the body of another imaginary foe.
“Very impressive!” Nanine nodded approvingly. Shakti had great talent, that much was obvious. “But, what would you do if you’re facing someone in heavy or medium armor?” Nanine put her finger on her chest, mirroring the cut Shakti had done across her own body. “In my armor that would have bounced off and done nothing. What’s your plan against someone in armor heavy enough to block your blows?” She suspected that the younger woman had never actually fought against heavy armor, or she wouldn’t be so dismissive of it. A sword wasn’t a good weapon to use against heavy plate, no matter how skilled the sword’s wielder was.
Shakti shrugged, “No armour is invulnerable. I killed a Dwemer in armour with his own weapon after you freed me from the wagon. You just need the right amount of force in the right place. And the Will to cut.” For emphasis, she twirled her blade and ended the spin with a chop through the air. “Surely the armour is fatiguing to wear as well, else you would be wearing it now. Not all battles have to be won quickly.” Shakti scraped some sand around with her foot on the hard stone ground. “Sometimes you must be like the desert sands. Patient and fluid, wearing down your foe and stinging them wear they are vulnerable. Have you ever been in a sandstorm? Quite violent.” The Redguard girl nodded to affirm her own point. “I haven’t actually fought anyone in armour from the Cyrads,” Shakti finally conceded, “But I can’t imagine it’s that much different from the armour of the Knights here in Hammerfell.”
“It’s heavier. The local Dwemer armor? It’s lighter to deal with the heat. Everywhere else its heavier and stronger. Hard to punch through normally, especially when someone in it is actively trying to kill you and prevent you from killing them. And if it is someone who is experienced in wearing that armor? The battle would come down too whom is more experienced at what they are facing.”
Nanine gestured to the Inn, where her armor was stored. “If you’d like, I can set it up and give you some lessons on what to do when facing such armor with just a sword. It can’t hurt.”
Shakti’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, “I’d love that! I think it would help both of us, much more than our talking!” She slid her sword back into its sheath and bounced excitedly. “Should I go get wooden training swords?”
Nanine smiled at the girl’s eagerness, nodding. It was good to see someone delighted, in the midst of what was going on in the shadows of Gilane and their own personal failures. “Wooden training swords would be best. Don’t want to break any pieces of my armor or damage your sword while training. We can tell each other a little more about ourselves as we go through it. As my brother always said, ‘You never know someone quite as well as you do when you’ve fought against them.’” She sheathed her own sword. “I’ll even give you some tips on what to do when facing a destruction and/or conjuration mage.” As Shakti scampered off, practically skipping, Nanine headed into the Inn, pulling out her armor.
By the time Shakti returned, Nanine was putting the finishing touches on her armor as she set it up. It was arranged in a loose approximation of someone being in it, held together by what Nanine could cobble together as a mannequin.
She laid a hand on the head of her armor, smiling at the other woman. “This is Dolf. Dolf wants to kill you. Dolf is in steel plate. It is of good quality, and he’s just as refreshed and athletic as you are. All you have is your sword, and running away isn’t an option. What’s your next move?”
“Dolf? Does it mean something or is it just a name where you come from?” Even as she asked the question, Shakti was readying herself with a wooden sword, it was straight unlike her sword, but it would do for now. She swung at Dolf, her “Hyah!” followed by a clang as the wooden sword bounced off the thick cuirass. She tried again, same result. “Hmm, perhaps a different tactic.” This time she thrust the sword into the armpit area with a “Kiah!” There was a satisfying crunch noise as the tip smacked into chainmail beneath the plate. Progress.
“Decidedly Overly Large Foe.” Nanine paused a moment, before shrugging. “Or something like that. Dolf is a nord name I’ve heard before, and nords like their heavy steel plate.” Nanine nodded approvingly as Shakti figured out what to do, rapping her own wooden sword against the chest plate .
“There you go. You can’t go straight at this like cloth or leather armor. Your sword will just bounce off and Dolf will just stab you. You have to aim where the plate isn’t. Armpits, groin, palms, back of the knee, inner elbow, sometimes neck, visor if you have time or are really lucky. Varies based on the armor, but a general rule of them is to stab at the joints. Basically anywhere plate can’t be because the person inside it needs to move. But you’ll notice that if you were using a real blade you would have been stopped against the chainmail. You can’t just stab and away, otherwise Dolf will just be bruised. Maybe bleeding. What you have to do is make the most of your sword’s point. Turn it into a makeshift polearm. With your off hand grab the blade, and with your main hand hold the hilt.”
Nanine demonstrated on her own blade, holding her practice sword similar to how one would normally hold a sword. “Push with your main, guide with your off, or you’re liable to slide your hand on your blade and cut yourself. Use it like a spear and shove it into the weak point. Your blade is slightly curved, making this a bit more awkward, but still doable. If you can’t find an opening with that, they’re playing to defensive for you to hit their weakpoints for example, you can stun them with your hilt.” Nanine flipped the training sword so that she was holding it by its blade, and gave a few light swings with it. “A good amount of weight in your sword is in the hilt, so you can use it as a makeshift hammer and hit your opponent in the helmet with it. Assuming they’re a living creature and don’t have impact resistant enchanted armor, it’ll stun or disorientate most people.” She grimaced. “I can attest that it’s not a pleasant experience. Almost got killed several times when Stormcloak’s decided to slam something blunt against my helmet and stun me.”
“Any questions?”
Shakti looked cautiously at her sword on her hip and the wooden training sword in her hand. “I’m not sure holding the sword by the blade is such a good idea…” Her voice trailed off as she flipped the sword around in her hands, trying to figure out an alternative mode of attack. “Maybe if I just…” She held the sword out in front of her as if she was in a duel and then feinted an overhead strike, but instead of following through with the wide and slow chop she lunged forward and smacked the pommel of the sword into the helmet of Dolf. Her bash was rewarded with a satisfying ‘gong.’ Continuing her make-believe attack, Shakti dashed to the left and jabbed her sword into the chainmail covering the back of the knee. Circling even further left she made an underhanded cut up into the armpit and finished her chain of attacks with a hop backwards. “There, that should do it.” The Redguard girl declared, satisfied. “What did you think?”
“Excellent, but that last cut would have been ineffective. The chainmail would have blocked it. You might have left a nasty bruise, maybe even broke something with enough force, but Dolf wouldn’t have bled. Remember, anyone in decent armor is going to be immune to cuts. You’re going to have to stab. You have the general idea though.”
“And you’re right. It’s normally a bad idea to hold a sword by the blade, but it's also a bad idea to face plate armor with nothing more than a sword. You have to get creative if you can’t run away, hit them with a spell, or stab them with proper weapon.” Nanine nodded encouragingly at the girl. Shakti would have no problem once she figured out the techniques required to face plate armor. The redguard girl a quick learner. “You’re very talented, if not experienced in facing armor. Where’d you learn to fight with a blade?”
“Stab, right. Don’t cut, stab.” Shakti repeated to herself so she would remember. “Where did I learn? Oh, well my mother and father taught me much, and the rest I learned on my own. I guess you could say the Alik’r taught me.” She laughed at her own non-answer, twirling around to continue practicing, stabbing and thrusting at the gaps in Dolf’s armour. “What about you, where did you learn?” the Redguard girl asked in between jabs and stabs.
“Father was from the Legion, the one stationed in Hammerfell right before and during the Great War. Taught me from the day I could hold a blade, and when he died my brother took up that job. My focus and specialty lies in destruction and conjuration, admittedly, but everything I learned, I learned from them. Speaking of, once you feel you’ve gotten a basic grasp on how to fight someone in plate armor, we’ll move on to what to do against an angry mage who is fighting you.”
“Mages? I don’t really trust them. Magic is wild and untamed and humans shouldn’t meddle with it.” Shakti shook her head to emphasize her point and flourished her training sword. She practiced a few more thrusts and stabs at the joints of Dolf’s armour, each strike getting more accurate and confident.
Nanine shrugged. “Don’t need to trust mages to kill them. And regardless of your opinions on if mortals should meddle with it, you are going to encounter people who don’t share your opinions who want to kill you with it. And much like Dolf here, they’re going to require a different set of tactics than just running up and stabbing them. Though, admittedly, that is the ultimate goal.” She gestured towards Dolf, and Shakti’s increasing skill at stabbing him.
“I have no doubt you’ll pick it up quickly though. We’ll run through the attacks against plate mail a few more times, then talk shop about how to fight against destruction and conjuration magic.”
Shakti nodded. Nanine was right, she didn’t need to trust mages to know how to fight them. She readied her sword again and began stabbing Dolf in all of his weakpoints again, this time going faster and faster. It felt good to be able to train with someone.
Attention Players,
Blood is going to be going on a hiatus and a soft reboot. Motivation to post and prod the RP along has fallen to the wayside, and while we have done our best as GMs, it has been a learning process and we've made mistakes. The lore needs to be completely reworked. Some of the Bloods also need to be reworked, and many need to be touched up and polished. The plot is a bit in shambles and we need to organize and fix that as well. Fallen, Lucius, and I need time to do this and properly plan it.
This is not a permanent ending. Just an acknowledgement that, while fun and an amazing time, Blood has been a bit of a slapdash and haphazard 'rapid and fast posting until we go a month or more without posting' for a while now, and you all deserve better than that. So, we're going to fix the issues with the lore, fix the bloods that need to be fixed, and polish everything else so that we can give you the RP experience Blood can be and that you deserve.
The parts of Lore that have been created by the players (that are still active) will be kept, though we may request your aid in editing that to reflect changes we may enact. Players still interested are encouraged to make suggestions and come up with ideas for the lore of the world, that we will do our best to make it fit in the lore while keeping the idea you wanted.
This will take time. Lucius, Fallen, and I are going to take a few months off (partially due to RL reasons, partially due to needing to recharge) and then start reworking Blood. We don't know when all that needs to be done will be done, but we will do our best to keep those interested regularly updated.
When we do restart, the RP will resume around the current time and mission it is in, likely at the beginning. So, no, we won't have you restart your characters from the beginning for a third or fourth time and do the same missions and events again.
Finally, thank you. Thank you to all of you who have stuck with Blood and made it what it is. We haven't always been the best GMs, of that we're acutely aware, but we have always tried to do our best and make Blood an exciting and fun RP for anyone involved. We enjoyed (almost) every minute of our time spent in this RP with its crazy magic, near deaths, surprise romances, and so much more. We hope you'll all come back after we restart, to continue the story we have woven together.
Sincerely, the Blood GMs
24th of Second Seed
Nanine was startled awake the sounds of Legionnaires moving outside her inn on the street. The familiar sound of armor jostling and military jargon echoing in the streets and through her window. Nanine laid in bed, a hand on her sword, listening to the group past. They sounded alarmed by something, hurrying through the town and talking in loud voices. She caught their conversation as they passed. Six orbs. The Dominion's attack was imminent. In a hurried rush, she armed and armored herself, grabbing her backback and its supplies, heading out of the inn she had stayed at and going to where she last knew her companion's too be.
Pushing her way through the fighting and the chaos, Nanine managed to reach the boat just in time, turning to release one last icy spear at the attacke's before the Intrepid left. Nanine sat wearily on the deck, out of the way, her sword and armor splattered with blood from the infiltrator's she had fought, watching the goings on of the crew and the people she had thrown her lot in with. Things had not gone well. Rhea was dead, to the grief of those who had been with her longest. Rhona looked to be covered in blood not her own. Anvil and Skingrad had both fallen in short fashion, and now they were heading to Hammerfell. Murmuring a pray to Arkay for the fallen, Nanine set about removing her armor and taking care of her equipment. It wouldn't do for her to fall off the boat and drown because she was in the steel plate, and it all needed to be cleaned anyways.
The six days to Gilane were grim for the most part. Rhona was in clear shock, but anyone who got to close to her was meet with a death glare from Brynja. Nanine didn't press the issue, instead preferring to spend her time checking on her equipment or drawing in her journal the sights of her recent adventures. Hammerfell would at least prove interesting. It was both free of the Dwemer, and was somewhere she had never been. Her father had told her stories of his time there, but they had been warped and bitter by the memory of it being where he also lost many friends and the use of his arm. It would be good to explore the province and see it with her own eyes.
As the Intrepid pulled into the dock, Nanine cursed in both frustration and begrudging awe. The Dwemer had, evidently, not only expanded this far, but conquered Hammerfell before the sacking of Imperial city. Conquered it so rapidly and effectively, that not a single word of it had escaped before Imperial City fell. The Dwemer were a far greater threat than she had initially thought. Their actions in Cyrodil were noteworthy, but only for their surprise arrival and their superior technology. As the Skingrad Rangers had shown, and the others of her group, they could be killed. Beaten even. It had been an idea that had seeped into the refugees around Skingrad, even after the defeat of the rangers. They weren't invincible. They could bleed, and they could die.
But to conquer all of Hammefell so securely? Without even a hint of the slaughter that was enacted upon the Imperial city? That was a force that even the Empire at its peak under Tiber Septim would have been stopped by, maybe even defeated by. Nanine walked over to the ship's edge, looking across the harbor as Roux, Daro'Vasora, and the customs officials chatted. Her mind worked through all the information she had just received, noting the details that might explain the stark differences. Different factions? Different leadership certainly. What could they have done to the Redguards to gain control so efficiently? The Dominion couldn't even do that when they were forcing the Legions through the March of Thirst. And how rapidly did they even gain control? There doesn't appear to have been a period of prolonged resis- Nanine's thoughts came to a screeching halt as she focused on a particular ship in the harbor. It was of Dominion make. Completely untouched and unguarded, so here of its free will and able to leave at any point in time. The fact that one of their ships was in a harbor controlled by the Dwemer could have meant a few things, none of them good for the Empire. Or Tamriel.
She was barely given a glance by the Dwemer boarding the ship, for which Nanine breathed a minor sigh of relief. She didn't want to draw any more attention to her sword than was strictly necessary. As they all disembarked, and Daro'Vasora was bumped into by a small child, Nanine's thoughts were set into motion even faster than before. Civilians? Children no less? Those are not the people you bring along with you on an invasion force by choice. Refugees? But why not bring them back to your old homes in Skyrim and across Cyrodil? So far as she knew, there were no Dwemer ruins here in Hammerfell, nor in her own home of High Rock. None of it made sense, and Nanine was, frankly, beginning to grow tired of feeling that she knew next to nothing.
She remained silent through their arrival to the Three Crowns and Poncy Man's introduction, merely nodding in appreciation and heading to her shared room once it was indicated which she would be going too. Setting down her equipment and backpack, Nanine sat on the bed and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. It had been a long week. Drawing her sword, she began to take care of the weapon, carefully checking its edge and polishing the blade, humming quietly to herself. This was far more for her own sake than any actual need to take care of The Eternal Vow. The blade gleamed like it had been made out of pure darkness, her family's words emblazoned in white upon it. As she went through the familiar motions of taking care of the sword, she felt herself relaxing, the tension leaving her body.
She wasn't the only one who needed calming. Her eyes rose briefly to follow Meg's path as she sighed heavily and headed out on the balcony with a drink. Sheathing her sword, Nanine followed, leaning on the balcony next to the nord woman.
"Septim for your thoughts."
Nanine was startled awake the sounds of Legionnaires moving outside her inn on the street. The familiar sound of armor jostling and military jargon echoing in the streets and through her window. Nanine laid in bed, a hand on her sword, listening to the group past. They sounded alarmed by something, hurrying through the town and talking in loud voices. She caught their conversation as they passed. Six orbs. The Dominion's attack was imminent. In a hurried rush, she armed and armored herself, grabbing her backback and its supplies, heading out of the inn she had stayed at and going to where she last knew her companion's too be.
Pushing her way through the fighting and the chaos, Nanine managed to reach the boat just in time, turning to release one last icy spear at the attacke's before the Intrepid left. Nanine sat wearily on the deck, out of the way, her sword and armor splattered with blood from the infiltrator's she had fought, watching the goings on of the crew and the people she had thrown her lot in with. Things had not gone well. Rhea was dead, to the grief of those who had been with her longest. Rhona looked to be covered in blood not her own. Anvil and Skingrad had both fallen in short fashion, and now they were heading to Hammerfell. Murmuring a pray to Arkay for the fallen, Nanine set about removing her armor and taking care of her equipment. It wouldn't do for her to fall off the boat and drown because she was in the steel plate, and it all needed to be cleaned anyways.
The six days to Gilane were grim for the most part. Rhona was in clear shock, but anyone who got to close to her was meet with a death glare from Brynja. Nanine didn't press the issue, instead preferring to spend her time checking on her equipment or drawing in her journal the sights of her recent adventures. Hammerfell would at least prove interesting. It was both free of the Dwemer, and was somewhere she had never been. Her father had told her stories of his time there, but they had been warped and bitter by the memory of it being where he also lost many friends and the use of his arm. It would be good to explore the province and see it with her own eyes.
As the Intrepid pulled into the dock, Nanine cursed in both frustration and begrudging awe. The Dwemer had, evidently, not only expanded this far, but conquered Hammerfell before the sacking of Imperial city. Conquered it so rapidly and effectively, that not a single word of it had escaped before Imperial City fell. The Dwemer were a far greater threat than she had initially thought. Their actions in Cyrodil were noteworthy, but only for their surprise arrival and their superior technology. As the Skingrad Rangers had shown, and the others of her group, they could be killed. Beaten even. It had been an idea that had seeped into the refugees around Skingrad, even after the defeat of the rangers. They weren't invincible. They could bleed, and they could die.
But to conquer all of Hammefell so securely? Without even a hint of the slaughter that was enacted upon the Imperial city? That was a force that even the Empire at its peak under Tiber Septim would have been stopped by, maybe even defeated by. Nanine walked over to the ship's edge, looking across the harbor as Roux, Daro'Vasora, and the customs officials chatted. Her mind worked through all the information she had just received, noting the details that might explain the stark differences. Different factions? Different leadership certainly. What could they have done to the Redguards to gain control so efficiently? The Dominion couldn't even do that when they were forcing the Legions through the March of Thirst. And how rapidly did they even gain control? There doesn't appear to have been a period of prolonged resis- Nanine's thoughts came to a screeching halt as she focused on a particular ship in the harbor. It was of Dominion make. Completely untouched and unguarded, so here of its free will and able to leave at any point in time. The fact that one of their ships was in a harbor controlled by the Dwemer could have meant a few things, none of them good for the Empire. Or Tamriel.
She was barely given a glance by the Dwemer boarding the ship, for which Nanine breathed a minor sigh of relief. She didn't want to draw any more attention to her sword than was strictly necessary. As they all disembarked, and Daro'Vasora was bumped into by a small child, Nanine's thoughts were set into motion even faster than before. Civilians? Children no less? Those are not the people you bring along with you on an invasion force by choice. Refugees? But why not bring them back to your old homes in Skyrim and across Cyrodil? So far as she knew, there were no Dwemer ruins here in Hammerfell, nor in her own home of High Rock. None of it made sense, and Nanine was, frankly, beginning to grow tired of feeling that she knew next to nothing.
She remained silent through their arrival to the Three Crowns and Poncy Man's introduction, merely nodding in appreciation and heading to her shared room once it was indicated which she would be going too. Setting down her equipment and backpack, Nanine sat on the bed and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. It had been a long week. Drawing her sword, she began to take care of the weapon, carefully checking its edge and polishing the blade, humming quietly to herself. This was far more for her own sake than any actual need to take care of The Eternal Vow. The blade gleamed like it had been made out of pure darkness, her family's words emblazoned in white upon it. As she went through the familiar motions of taking care of the sword, she felt herself relaxing, the tension leaving her body.
She wasn't the only one who needed calming. Her eyes rose briefly to follow Meg's path as she sighed heavily and headed out on the balcony with a drink. Sheathing her sword, Nanine followed, leaning on the balcony next to the nord woman.
"Septim for your thoughts."
Yeah, yeah. Find the doors, go through hell, come out the other side we know the drill." Maeve grumbled, walking past Angel and the rest of the group. She was tense, fists clenching and relaxing. This wasn't what she liked dealing with. She hated all of this mind crap. What was dead and gone should stay dead and gone, but the Void always found a way to resurrect it to haunt you. Nothing stayed dead in the shadows of your mind. At least in the real world the monsters died and stayed dead when you killed them.
Kiara sighed and followed Maeve, pausing briefly next to Lawrence and Olivia. "He's right, if an ass about it. Kill yourself before letting yourself get trapped here for eternity." She looked more relaxed than her partner did, but infinitely more weary. She wasn't gearing up for a fight, she was preparing to weather another storm. She caught up to Maeve quickly, bumping her hip reassuringly into her partner. "Nothing we haven't done before, eh?" Maeve only grunted in response, clenching and relaxing her fists. The two of them walked through the Void a few feet, before their respective Red Doors appeared in front of them. Stopping, they looked at each other. Maeve was breathing rapidly, her teeth gritted and eyes wide. To anyone else, it looked like she was prepared for a fight, maybe even suppressing excitement. After all, Maeve loved a good battle. Kiara knew her as well as she knew herself though, and saw the truth. Maeve was scared. Terrified, even.
"Hey. We've done this before, and came out alive. We'll do it again." Maeve looked at her distractedly. Y-yeah. Yeah. We have." She took a deep breath and forced a smile at Kiara. "See you on the other side." She grasped the handle on her Red Door, and walked through. Kiara threw a quick smile over her shoulder at SenDep and the Ante Mortem. "Be back in a jif." She opened and walked through her own door.
The smell of blood and old books wafted back to the four as the doors slammed shut.
Maeve was in a dark room, the light from the open door spilling in behind her. From what she could see it was a fairly normal family living room. A brown leather couch in front of a white coffee table, facing a medium sized TV. Family pictures on the wall, a family of fiery red heads with emerald eyes. A brown carpet, stained from years of clumsiness and accidents. Maeve took a shuddering breath as memories began to come back. Laughter in the kitchen. Outrage directed at the TV. Sleepy goodnights. This had been a good place. A place of love and happiness. A place she had buried deep within her, in an attempt to forget. Somewhere warm and safe. She squeezed her eyes shut as tears attempted to escape. It wasn't now. The stench of blood hit Maeve like a physical force and she took a step back, her shoulders hitting the wall behind her. Her eyes popped open to find the quaint living room torn apart. The pictures had been knocked off their walls, shattered and torn. The couch was cut in half, and stained crimson.
A body lay broken through the white coffee table, mutilated. Another thrown against the far wall, partially through it. Their blood soaked into the carpet below, staining it a dark crimson. Maeve her bile rise and she turned and vomited, shaking. No. No. THey can't be dead. Not like this, no, no please god no. Her thoughts ran wild in a mantra, drowning the part of her that knew what was coming next and screaming for her to focus. She wasn't in control anymore. "Mom. Dad." Her voice lacked the brash confidence she had adopted years ago. It was back to what she had been taught in the years after this, that scared and hesitant caution. She hurried to the body broken through the table, shaking it. The blood stained her simple green dress as she knelt in it. "Múscail, le do thoil."
"My, my Rachael." She flinched at the sound of her name, a mocking female one. "What are you doing out of uniform? And speaking that disgusting pig language too. You know there are punishments for it." Another voice entered, this time a male. "I think she wants another punishment, don't you dearest?" She scrambled backwards, away from the voices. Hyperventilating, Rachael tried to make herself small as she crashed against the wall again. No where to run. Two shadowed figures walked towards her, their eyes glowing, the pupils only small black dots. Their blindingly white, toothy, smiles unnaturally long. That's what she always remembered from them. That unholy malice in their eyes, that eager sadism in their smiles. She curled into a ball away from them, squeezing her eyes shut again. "No. Please. I'm sorry. No. Please."
Kiara found herself in a dusty library, books on shelves extending as far as the eye could see in either direction. In front of her, a small lounge. Everything was white. The shelves, the floor, the chairs and couches in the lounge, everything. Kiara's face scrunched up in disgust, and cursed. She hated the color white. She sighed, making her way towards it. There was no use fighting against the inevitable. She was going to be found regardless of if she put up a chase or not.
Sitting in a chair, she relaxed backwards and waited. Minutes passed in dead silence as she sat there, biding her time. She amused herself by creating minor shadows to play with. A shadow ball to toss in the air. A shadow dart to throw into the darkness. A shadow chess board to play against herself. Finally, as the boredom finally got to her, Kiara stood. "You might as well come out!" She called into the darkness, glaring down an aisle of shelves impatiently. "We both know how this is going to end!" A cackle echoed all around her, the voice of an elderly woman mocking her. "We know how this'll end, yes, but we also know that this will affect how it will ALL end."
Kiara crossed her arms and tapped her foot. This song and dance was old, and never changed. "Then why don't you come down here so we can get to that? Angel might get bored and kill me just to free himself of obligations any minute now, and then you'll die."
A shrieking echoed from the darkness around her, and a white spot appeared at the end of the aisle she was looking at. In moments a woman in a white dress was in front of Kiara, a blade pressed against the AMRO Asylum's neck. She looked exactly like Kiara did, except for her eyes were a dark red rather than a light blue. Those same eyes boiled with repressed anger, boring into Kiara's own. "Don't you threaten me with death, girl. I've survived far worse than you and your psychotic handlers." Kiara rolled her eyes. "Please. You don't have the guts to kill me. I'm the only thing keeping your miserable and wretched hide in this world. If I go, you go. And you know it. Now sit down so we can do whatever it is we do until Maeve escapes."
The woman's face twisted with fury and hatred, and she slashed Kiara across the face. The blade flashed before the Asylum could react, tearing through the skin on her face, down to the bone. Kiara stumbled back, a hand going to the wound. She didn't make a sound. She wouldn't give the bitch that pleasure. In the same motion she healed it, but some blood none the less ended up on her hand. She looked at the blood on her hand, and then back at the woman in white. "Are you done? We both know that if you do anything more than that you'll die with me. So stop your antics. I have the advantage here, over everyone else. I know you're real. And I know you won't kill me. You're posturing, same as you always do." The Kiara look alike snarled, but went and sat down anyway.
"Now, why do you insist upon copying me. The color white is terrible and you hate me." Kiara asked, taking a seat across from her look alike.
"It's not by choice. I've been trapped in your body for too long, and have taken on your form. Or rather had it pressed upon me by your mind. And white is the color of purity and justice. Leashed monsters like you would never understand."
"So you'll be absorbed and dead in a few years by my mind?" Kiara asked, ignoring the last part. It wasn't a barb she hadn't heard before, and it was likely something she'd hear again.
Her look alike laughed, mockingly again. You wish, insolent girl. I'm far stronger than you are. Without the prison put in by the Usurpers, you wouldn't even have lasted a day against me. But they prefer control over power, and as such you're leashed to them and I am trapped within you.
Kiara sighed. "A girl could hope. Wha-" Her look alike interrupted her. "She's going to die, you know." Kiara looked at her in confusion, before realizing who she meant. "Oh, Maeve? No, she's much stronger than that. Revisiting her past as Rachael always hurts her, true, but she always survives. She seems to always forget one key thing about the Void." Kiara smiled, looking at the woman in white.
"Where there are monsters, there are gods."
Rachael felt hands close around her arms and she screamed in terror. Their laughter mocked her as they dragged her back, back to the horror and the pain. And there was nothing she could do, because she was weak. Weak and pathetic and she was trapped and doomed. Doomed doomed doomed doomed do-
"ENOUGH!"
The room exploded with fiery light, Rachael hitting the ground as her captors drew back and hissed at the light. She looked up, shaking, at the light and the person who had spoken. It was a celtic woman, clad in armor. She bore a striking resemblance to Rachael herself. A sword in hand, the woman was clad in armor and her emerald eyes burned with fury. The goddess's, for surely this was a god descended from the heaven's in divine fury, gaze settled on Rachael. She shrank away from the wrath in them, but there was no where to run. Her captors were behind her, hissing at the light, and this goddess was in front of her, ready to pronounce her judgement.
"On your feet."
The goddess commanded and Rachael obeyed, shakily climbing to her feet. She kept her eyes on the ground, lest she anger the goddess further.
"Look at me."
Reluctantly, Rachael met the eyes of the goddess and found no pity there.
"You bear my name. You have chosen to represent me in this world, and you will not hold yourself disgracefully like this. I will not allow it. You have killed these wraiths before, and you will do it again. You are a daughter of Celtic people, and you have claimed my name as your own. Remember who you are, remember your strength, and end this.
Rachael looked at fear giving way to confusion. She could sense that the goddess spoke the truth, but the realizations were hazy. On the edge of her grasp. The goddess stepped forward, flipping her sword around and thrusting the hilt at Rachael. "Who are you." Rachael tentatively reached forward and grasped the hilt, the memories becoming clearer. "I....I am Maeve."
"What are you."
"A weapon of AMRO." Maeve's shoulders straightened, and she tightened her grip on the sword.
"What are you made for."
"Killing monsters, and standing against the darkness." The brash smile returned to her lips, and her eyes lit up. "And I love it."
"Then do what were made for."
Maeve turned, the goddess's light disappearing behind her. She leveled her sword at the shadowy figures, crouched away from her. "Is é mo ainm Maeve." She strode forward, her sword flashing with brutal vengeance as she cut down the shadowy nightmares of her past. Their screams brought a vicious smile to her face.
"And the dead have no power over me."
Kiara looked over as the Red Door reappeared on her left. "See? She never fails to kill the monsters of her dreams. She's stronger than she knows." She got up, heading to the door. "As much as I love these chats, I hope I never see you again." A hand grasped her shoulder and whirled her around, pinning her against the door before she could open it. "I didn't mean she'd die in this world."
The woman in white's eyes bored into Kiara's own. "You will kill her. The book will be rediscovered, and you will be unable to resist its power. And as before, with him your hubris and greed will result in her dying. And there will be no one in the world to blame but yourself." For once, Kiara had no reply, her eyes merely wide and staring at the woman in white. Her lookalike smiled and pushed her through the door.
Kiara stumbled through, eyes still wide in shock and her heart pounding with fear, as Maeve strolled out of her own door, covered in blood. "Another successful purging." She grinned crimson at Kiara, before seeing the state of her partner and frowning. "Hey, don't listen to that bitch. You know everything she says is a lie to set you off your game and confuse you."
Kiara nodded, slowly. Yeah. Yeah. You're right. Still, she was silent and contemplative as she followed Maeve back to Angel. Maeve strolled up to Angel in his throne and punched him in the shoulder. "You still alive? We need you to get out of here, so don't go collapsing on us yet."
Kiara sighed and followed Maeve, pausing briefly next to Lawrence and Olivia. "He's right, if an ass about it. Kill yourself before letting yourself get trapped here for eternity." She looked more relaxed than her partner did, but infinitely more weary. She wasn't gearing up for a fight, she was preparing to weather another storm. She caught up to Maeve quickly, bumping her hip reassuringly into her partner. "Nothing we haven't done before, eh?" Maeve only grunted in response, clenching and relaxing her fists. The two of them walked through the Void a few feet, before their respective Red Doors appeared in front of them. Stopping, they looked at each other. Maeve was breathing rapidly, her teeth gritted and eyes wide. To anyone else, it looked like she was prepared for a fight, maybe even suppressing excitement. After all, Maeve loved a good battle. Kiara knew her as well as she knew herself though, and saw the truth. Maeve was scared. Terrified, even.
"Hey. We've done this before, and came out alive. We'll do it again." Maeve looked at her distractedly. Y-yeah. Yeah. We have." She took a deep breath and forced a smile at Kiara. "See you on the other side." She grasped the handle on her Red Door, and walked through. Kiara threw a quick smile over her shoulder at SenDep and the Ante Mortem. "Be back in a jif." She opened and walked through her own door.
The smell of blood and old books wafted back to the four as the doors slammed shut.
Maeve was in a dark room, the light from the open door spilling in behind her. From what she could see it was a fairly normal family living room. A brown leather couch in front of a white coffee table, facing a medium sized TV. Family pictures on the wall, a family of fiery red heads with emerald eyes. A brown carpet, stained from years of clumsiness and accidents. Maeve took a shuddering breath as memories began to come back. Laughter in the kitchen. Outrage directed at the TV. Sleepy goodnights. This had been a good place. A place of love and happiness. A place she had buried deep within her, in an attempt to forget. Somewhere warm and safe. She squeezed her eyes shut as tears attempted to escape. It wasn't now. The stench of blood hit Maeve like a physical force and she took a step back, her shoulders hitting the wall behind her. Her eyes popped open to find the quaint living room torn apart. The pictures had been knocked off their walls, shattered and torn. The couch was cut in half, and stained crimson.
A body lay broken through the white coffee table, mutilated. Another thrown against the far wall, partially through it. Their blood soaked into the carpet below, staining it a dark crimson. Maeve her bile rise and she turned and vomited, shaking. No. No. THey can't be dead. Not like this, no, no please god no. Her thoughts ran wild in a mantra, drowning the part of her that knew what was coming next and screaming for her to focus. She wasn't in control anymore. "Mom. Dad." Her voice lacked the brash confidence she had adopted years ago. It was back to what she had been taught in the years after this, that scared and hesitant caution. She hurried to the body broken through the table, shaking it. The blood stained her simple green dress as she knelt in it. "Múscail, le do thoil."
"My, my Rachael." She flinched at the sound of her name, a mocking female one. "What are you doing out of uniform? And speaking that disgusting pig language too. You know there are punishments for it." Another voice entered, this time a male. "I think she wants another punishment, don't you dearest?" She scrambled backwards, away from the voices. Hyperventilating, Rachael tried to make herself small as she crashed against the wall again. No where to run. Two shadowed figures walked towards her, their eyes glowing, the pupils only small black dots. Their blindingly white, toothy, smiles unnaturally long. That's what she always remembered from them. That unholy malice in their eyes, that eager sadism in their smiles. She curled into a ball away from them, squeezing her eyes shut again. "No. Please. I'm sorry. No. Please."
Kiara found herself in a dusty library, books on shelves extending as far as the eye could see in either direction. In front of her, a small lounge. Everything was white. The shelves, the floor, the chairs and couches in the lounge, everything. Kiara's face scrunched up in disgust, and cursed. She hated the color white. She sighed, making her way towards it. There was no use fighting against the inevitable. She was going to be found regardless of if she put up a chase or not.
Sitting in a chair, she relaxed backwards and waited. Minutes passed in dead silence as she sat there, biding her time. She amused herself by creating minor shadows to play with. A shadow ball to toss in the air. A shadow dart to throw into the darkness. A shadow chess board to play against herself. Finally, as the boredom finally got to her, Kiara stood. "You might as well come out!" She called into the darkness, glaring down an aisle of shelves impatiently. "We both know how this is going to end!" A cackle echoed all around her, the voice of an elderly woman mocking her. "We know how this'll end, yes, but we also know that this will affect how it will ALL end."
Kiara crossed her arms and tapped her foot. This song and dance was old, and never changed. "Then why don't you come down here so we can get to that? Angel might get bored and kill me just to free himself of obligations any minute now, and then you'll die."
A shrieking echoed from the darkness around her, and a white spot appeared at the end of the aisle she was looking at. In moments a woman in a white dress was in front of Kiara, a blade pressed against the AMRO Asylum's neck. She looked exactly like Kiara did, except for her eyes were a dark red rather than a light blue. Those same eyes boiled with repressed anger, boring into Kiara's own. "Don't you threaten me with death, girl. I've survived far worse than you and your psychotic handlers." Kiara rolled her eyes. "Please. You don't have the guts to kill me. I'm the only thing keeping your miserable and wretched hide in this world. If I go, you go. And you know it. Now sit down so we can do whatever it is we do until Maeve escapes."
The woman's face twisted with fury and hatred, and she slashed Kiara across the face. The blade flashed before the Asylum could react, tearing through the skin on her face, down to the bone. Kiara stumbled back, a hand going to the wound. She didn't make a sound. She wouldn't give the bitch that pleasure. In the same motion she healed it, but some blood none the less ended up on her hand. She looked at the blood on her hand, and then back at the woman in white. "Are you done? We both know that if you do anything more than that you'll die with me. So stop your antics. I have the advantage here, over everyone else. I know you're real. And I know you won't kill me. You're posturing, same as you always do." The Kiara look alike snarled, but went and sat down anyway.
"Now, why do you insist upon copying me. The color white is terrible and you hate me." Kiara asked, taking a seat across from her look alike.
"It's not by choice. I've been trapped in your body for too long, and have taken on your form. Or rather had it pressed upon me by your mind. And white is the color of purity and justice. Leashed monsters like you would never understand."
"So you'll be absorbed and dead in a few years by my mind?" Kiara asked, ignoring the last part. It wasn't a barb she hadn't heard before, and it was likely something she'd hear again.
Her look alike laughed, mockingly again. You wish, insolent girl. I'm far stronger than you are. Without the prison put in by the Usurpers, you wouldn't even have lasted a day against me. But they prefer control over power, and as such you're leashed to them and I am trapped within you.
Kiara sighed. "A girl could hope. Wha-" Her look alike interrupted her. "She's going to die, you know." Kiara looked at her in confusion, before realizing who she meant. "Oh, Maeve? No, she's much stronger than that. Revisiting her past as Rachael always hurts her, true, but she always survives. She seems to always forget one key thing about the Void." Kiara smiled, looking at the woman in white.
"Where there are monsters, there are gods."
Rachael felt hands close around her arms and she screamed in terror. Their laughter mocked her as they dragged her back, back to the horror and the pain. And there was nothing she could do, because she was weak. Weak and pathetic and she was trapped and doomed. Doomed doomed doomed doomed do-
"ENOUGH!"
The room exploded with fiery light, Rachael hitting the ground as her captors drew back and hissed at the light. She looked up, shaking, at the light and the person who had spoken. It was a celtic woman, clad in armor. She bore a striking resemblance to Rachael herself. A sword in hand, the woman was clad in armor and her emerald eyes burned with fury. The goddess's, for surely this was a god descended from the heaven's in divine fury, gaze settled on Rachael. She shrank away from the wrath in them, but there was no where to run. Her captors were behind her, hissing at the light, and this goddess was in front of her, ready to pronounce her judgement.
"On your feet."
The goddess commanded and Rachael obeyed, shakily climbing to her feet. She kept her eyes on the ground, lest she anger the goddess further.
"Look at me."
Reluctantly, Rachael met the eyes of the goddess and found no pity there.
"You bear my name. You have chosen to represent me in this world, and you will not hold yourself disgracefully like this. I will not allow it. You have killed these wraiths before, and you will do it again. You are a daughter of Celtic people, and you have claimed my name as your own. Remember who you are, remember your strength, and end this.
Rachael looked at fear giving way to confusion. She could sense that the goddess spoke the truth, but the realizations were hazy. On the edge of her grasp. The goddess stepped forward, flipping her sword around and thrusting the hilt at Rachael. "Who are you." Rachael tentatively reached forward and grasped the hilt, the memories becoming clearer. "I....I am Maeve."
"What are you."
"A weapon of AMRO." Maeve's shoulders straightened, and she tightened her grip on the sword.
"What are you made for."
"Killing monsters, and standing against the darkness." The brash smile returned to her lips, and her eyes lit up. "And I love it."
"Then do what were made for."
Maeve turned, the goddess's light disappearing behind her. She leveled her sword at the shadowy figures, crouched away from her. "Is é mo ainm Maeve." She strode forward, her sword flashing with brutal vengeance as she cut down the shadowy nightmares of her past. Their screams brought a vicious smile to her face.
"And the dead have no power over me."
Kiara looked over as the Red Door reappeared on her left. "See? She never fails to kill the monsters of her dreams. She's stronger than she knows." She got up, heading to the door. "As much as I love these chats, I hope I never see you again." A hand grasped her shoulder and whirled her around, pinning her against the door before she could open it. "I didn't mean she'd die in this world."
The woman in white's eyes bored into Kiara's own. "You will kill her. The book will be rediscovered, and you will be unable to resist its power. And as before, with him your hubris and greed will result in her dying. And there will be no one in the world to blame but yourself." For once, Kiara had no reply, her eyes merely wide and staring at the woman in white. Her lookalike smiled and pushed her through the door.
Kiara stumbled through, eyes still wide in shock and her heart pounding with fear, as Maeve strolled out of her own door, covered in blood. "Another successful purging." She grinned crimson at Kiara, before seeing the state of her partner and frowning. "Hey, don't listen to that bitch. You know everything she says is a lie to set you off your game and confuse you."
Kiara nodded, slowly. Yeah. Yeah. You're right. Still, she was silent and contemplative as she followed Maeve back to Angel. Maeve strolled up to Angel in his throne and punched him in the shoulder. "You still alive? We need you to get out of here, so don't go collapsing on us yet."
Marcus
Fortress of Doom.
He detested the Fortress. Especially when it was in a celebratory mood. It was filled with chaos, blackmailing, politicking, and debauchery. He could easily be approached by someone wanting to hire him to murder a rival as having someone drugged out and insane trying to murder him for a rush. The Legion was only kept together through the fact that the League would have destroyed them all by now if they weren't united. Discipline varied from faction to faction and it was never in very high demand. So when all these disparate groups came clashing together, it became a disgusting mess of conflict and entropy whose only shelter was in the auditorium where the Council heard complaints and gave judgments.
Marcus sat in the auditorium waiting for the event to begin, a hologram of all potential recruits. Ruger had died at the hands of the rogue league of assassins in Bangkok, and his squad needed a replacement. They were all experienced killers, ranging from mercenaries, to Legion soldiers, to discharged soldiers from various governments that still held their independence. They were all disciplined and ruthless, exactly what he'd need on his team. Marking a Legion soldier who had served with the Legion since it had conquered most of the known world, a mercenary who had fought on every continent for every side, and a dishonorably discharged US marine. They would be picked up his squad and put through a series of tests to prove which of them would be the best replacement, and worthy of the cybernetic enhancements.
His hologram closed as the hearing began, and Marcus raised an eyebrow at Angela's 'defense'. An appeal to the true nature's of everyone around her was smart, reminding them all that they were only allies through necessity. They were all ultimately selfish creatures who wanted as much power as they could for themselves, only aligned together because the Justice League wouldn't let them claim the power they wanted by themselves.
Her mistake was in forgetting why she was even in Thailand to begin with. She was in Thailand to help the Legion take over and expand its power against the League, not to expand her own drug money. While ultimately her aid wasn't required or even necessary, putting yourself so blatantly over the needs of the Legion was foolish. It indicated a tendency to do so no matter what, even despite the fact that she might be needed to win a victory for the Legion. Selfishness was allowed, selfishness to the detriment of the Legion was not.
"You are a fool, Angela. A fool whose ambition will see her destroyed." Marcus murmured
Kayda
The Watchtower
After her scolding by the higher ups, Kayda wasn't in a very good mood. Yes, she knew she shouldn't have been so reckless. Yes, she knew it had been dangerous. Reprimanding her for things she was already acutely aware of and knew she shouldn't have done wasn't fair. Her powers were amazing and almost indescribable. They filled her with such a high. She got a crazy rush whenever she used it in the heat of a fight, and everything didn't seem to matter. She was a raging wildfire, tearing through anything that opposed her and shrugging off any pathetic attacks resistance might be able to muster against her. She didn't care about things like caution or collateral damage. Those were beneath her when she was filled with her power. And the only people who could understand were venom users, and they certainly weren't the best advocates for her defense. No one understood. And no one wanted to understand.
With a dark look on her face and heat smoldering around her fists, Kayda made her way to the training room. She needed to blow off some anger, and the best way to do that was with violence.
Metal sizzled and popped as the training bot melted beneath her flames.
Maybe I should just take my time, let them get set up to attack us and kill the civilians, so I'm not reckless
A cybernetic body shook and sparked as her blades sliced it in half.
Or! Or! I could not do it at all, and just give them an advantage in this war, right?
Another bot crashed against the wall, shattering as its frozen body made contact.
Even better, I'll just die. That'll fix everything, right? No collateral damage, no recklessness, and you can sit on your moral high ground as the world burns around you.
She stopped, breathing heavily, heat radiating off her body. Broken and burned robots were scattered all around the training room, and burns covered the area. She felt better, even if she could feel the eyes of the other supers in the room around her. She had perhaps given too much into her anger, raging against anything and everything in front of her. Let them stare though. She already had a reputation for being reckless and irrational because of Perseus's report and the scolding of the higher ups. It didn't matter if she made it worse now.
She walked out of the training room, her nanomachine armor returning to her necklace as it did so. She didn't care about the meeting. Sandman was dead, his future vision unable to alert him. Thailand had fallen, the League unable to do anything to stop the Legion. Anything else she would need to know would be told to her by the higher ups. She headed towards her room in the Tower, intent upon relaxing in the calm before the storm.
Vera
Fortress of Doom
Vera was in one of the few, quiet, empty rooms of the Fortress of Doom. She hated this place, truth be told. Everyone here was a bastard who deserved to die. They were monsters who conquered countries that couldn't defend themselves, and waged a shadow war against the League that ultimately only hurt the innocent. They didn't deserve the power they had, but the League didn't have the guts to stop them and could only watch as the Legion grew in strength. The depths of her hatred for both organizations surprised her, at times. Neither side had ever done anything directly to her, but she could see the connections to those who had. The Legion was your typical group of bullies with power, taking what they could simply because they could and not caring who or what they hurt in the process. Monsters, but they were at least honest about who and what they were.
The League was a group of cowards who couldn't do what had to be done against the Legion and refused to acknowledge their fault in letting the Legion do all that it had done. They sat upon their moral high ground, claiming they were the good side, as their inaction lead to the death and enslavement of millions. Vera hated that more than she hated the Legion. That hypocritical dishonesty. The Legion was honest, even if they were a bunch of bastards.
She needed them though, as they were her path to power. That didn't mean she had to like or trust them, and she certainly didn't have to enjoy being here. Still, when the Council made a celebratory summons to anyone who could, she had to go. It wouldn't look good if she refused to go while having no mission to do herself. And much of surviving being in the Legion was keeping up appearances so that no one suspected your loyalty was in question.
So she had found an abandoned room, hidden away from all the debauchery and madness of the Fortress at large and the blackmailing and politicking going on in the main auditorium. Drak curled around her shoulders as she sat in the chair, phone in hand. She was mostly window shopping video games, having already read all the news she needed to read about Thailand and the death of the Sandman. Now she was just waiting for the crowds to disperse so she could safely head back to her apartment and her friends there. A hand rested on the gun on her hip. She'd already had to threaten and/or injure party goers who had gotten to bold and handsy, and she wasn't about to risk anyone else.
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