09-04-2006, 11:45 PM
09-05-2006, 12:16 AM
this is part one of Cogs introduction to the main quest.
Onwards and Upwards
by Cogidubnus
as the Submission for the Main Quest
of the Akavir Mod
As he walked silently down the hall to his father's study, Ephraim realized something: he had never enjoyed his position. Though graced by the gods as he was, given extraordinary and unusual gifts, he felt that he carried an especially heavy burden for it. He was the son of a noble, and unsuited for it. It was not by any defect in his mind or body: he was a prefect hybrid, and had the perfect white teeth and claws of a dragon, and the glowing blue eyes further indicated his draconic heritage. The only deformity that could be found on him was his back, which was slightly misshapen: twin lumps jutted out in what would one day be his sprouted wings. Indeed, in body, he was the perfect nobleman's son, and not only this, but his mind was sharp as well. Clear thought and quick thinking came naturally to him, and the expensive education he had received only sharpened the razor.
His spirit, however, was not up to the task. He was quiet and reserved, he was a bit reclusive. His critics might say he was a bit selfish. But, in any case, his was not the bloodthirsty, power hungry attitude of the nobility. Most certainly, it was not the correct attitude for the son of the noted Kalamandos 'Blood River' Aile.
Kalamandos was, perhaps, the greatest success story among the Ka Po' Tun. He started life as a mere commoner, and ended up among the upper echelon of the nobility. His claim to fame had been his military record, which he had enlisted in during times of hard luck. He had done well in the military: his unnatural prowess with the clawed gauntlet, and his enthusiasm for the death of his enemies, garnered him the nickname 'Blood River'. As well, his success against the hordes of Kamal earned him a minor spot in the nobility, and was given a small coffee plantation as a reward. Though rare, many had done well for themselves in the military and raised their lot in life: as was typical, his estate was placed somewhere unimportant enough that he wouldn't rock the boat. Unfortunately for the Nobility, his prowess on the battlefield also translated into prowess in the political arena. His intuitive understanding of the political machine made him a rising star of the nobility; soon enough, he was powerful, wealthy, and had married into one of the thickest draconic bloodlines in Ka Po' Tun. Indeed, his story was one of wild success.
Ephraim opened the door to the study.
?Come here, my son?. Kalamandos intoned.
He was playing himself in a game of chess. Black was winning against white. Ephraim walked in: The low lamplight of the study gave it a dark feel. The furniture was oiled to a black sheen, and a single brazier was lit and slowly sending up curls of insence; the smell was sickly sweet. Strangely, it was a somewhat comforting room, although that feeling was somewhat lessened by the 6 foot tall red killing machine sitting in the middle. The soft carpets masked his steps as he walked towards his father. He stopped at a respectful distance; experience taught him not to get too close. His father was fond of surprise 'testing'.
?Soon, those wings of yours will sprout form your shoulders, and it will be time for you to take your position within the family business.? He said as he moved another chess piece.
?It is your rightful inheritance as my son. Indeed, it is your due. But though it may be your right, I will not allow some fool to destroy all that I have worked for.?
Ephraim didn't blink. He had been described in even less complimentary terms before.
?So you will prove to me you are not a fool.?
He sipped some tea.
?Of course, if you fail, you'll be killed. Probably by my hand. In any case, to prove to me that your are not a fool is a simply matter. There is a Kensai from the west who is visiting Akavir, he is currently residing in Tang Mo. He has many valuable artifacts from the West with him, and some are very powerfull indeed. Powerfull enough to warrant his kidnapping.?
Kalamandos smiled wistfully as a knight took a rook.
?Unfortunately, we have been beaten to the punch: Tosh Raka has already expressed a desire to meet this foreigner. This of course means wether the foreigner wishes to meet him or not. But all is not lost. The foreigner has brought many strange and powerful artifacts from the West with him, and in particular, a gem that contains the soul of a major devil. It is this that Tosh Raka desires, and it is this that he shall have. However, there are lesser artifacts in his possession, ones that are as of yet unclaimed. Yet. If we can but move fast enough, they are ours for the taking. Thusly, we are going to kidnap this foreigner, and take these objects. Ane present the soul as a gift to Tosh Raka.?
Ephraim said nothing. Typical of his father's plans, it was brilliant from a theoretical perspective, but would be difficult to implement. For how, exactly, was one to get this Kensai if he did how so much power at his disposal?
?Luckily for you, you're not going to take him yourself. I have found an...ally who is willing to help us now, in exchange for some of the more minor treasures.?
Kalamandos turned and faced his son.
?In truth, there are only two things that the foreigner has that I'm interested in. That soul gem, and his sword. It is an incredible blade of unparalleled power. The other things are secondary. I do not care what else she might take. Bring these things to me, and your will have your inheritance. Go to the City of the Snakes and find Zatoichi the Shopkeeper. He will tell you where to go, and he will collect payment on your way back to me.?
Kalamandos turned back to his game
?Just get that sword and gem. Now begone.?
Ephraim turned and walked away as Kalamandos moved another chess piece.
* * *
As his son left, Kalamandos moved another piece, and waited to see if he would return. He did not. Kalamandos left his game and turned to the small mirror that lay next to him. Murmuring a word of power, the clear glass began to fill with fog and become murky. Wisps of smoke swirled within it, and began to coalesce into a recognizable form, the image of a hooded, cloaked female.
?He is on his way. Make sure that you are ready.?
The figure nodded, and began to speak with the sibilant accent of the Tsaesci.
?The Kensai will be there. But, a word of caution: holding on to this Kensai will be like holding on to the ears of a wolf. You will not be able to safely hold on or let go.?
Kalamandos nodded, and looked away from the mirror. The magic was broken, and the mirror faded again into a mere mirror. He sat in his study, and waited.
Onwards and Upwards
by Cogidubnus
as the Submission for the Main Quest
of the Akavir Mod
As he walked silently down the hall to his father's study, Ephraim realized something: he had never enjoyed his position. Though graced by the gods as he was, given extraordinary and unusual gifts, he felt that he carried an especially heavy burden for it. He was the son of a noble, and unsuited for it. It was not by any defect in his mind or body: he was a prefect hybrid, and had the perfect white teeth and claws of a dragon, and the glowing blue eyes further indicated his draconic heritage. The only deformity that could be found on him was his back, which was slightly misshapen: twin lumps jutted out in what would one day be his sprouted wings. Indeed, in body, he was the perfect nobleman's son, and not only this, but his mind was sharp as well. Clear thought and quick thinking came naturally to him, and the expensive education he had received only sharpened the razor.
His spirit, however, was not up to the task. He was quiet and reserved, he was a bit reclusive. His critics might say he was a bit selfish. But, in any case, his was not the bloodthirsty, power hungry attitude of the nobility. Most certainly, it was not the correct attitude for the son of the noted Kalamandos 'Blood River' Aile.
Kalamandos was, perhaps, the greatest success story among the Ka Po' Tun. He started life as a mere commoner, and ended up among the upper echelon of the nobility. His claim to fame had been his military record, which he had enlisted in during times of hard luck. He had done well in the military: his unnatural prowess with the clawed gauntlet, and his enthusiasm for the death of his enemies, garnered him the nickname 'Blood River'. As well, his success against the hordes of Kamal earned him a minor spot in the nobility, and was given a small coffee plantation as a reward. Though rare, many had done well for themselves in the military and raised their lot in life: as was typical, his estate was placed somewhere unimportant enough that he wouldn't rock the boat. Unfortunately for the Nobility, his prowess on the battlefield also translated into prowess in the political arena. His intuitive understanding of the political machine made him a rising star of the nobility; soon enough, he was powerful, wealthy, and had married into one of the thickest draconic bloodlines in Ka Po' Tun. Indeed, his story was one of wild success.
Ephraim opened the door to the study.
?Come here, my son?. Kalamandos intoned.
He was playing himself in a game of chess. Black was winning against white. Ephraim walked in: The low lamplight of the study gave it a dark feel. The furniture was oiled to a black sheen, and a single brazier was lit and slowly sending up curls of insence; the smell was sickly sweet. Strangely, it was a somewhat comforting room, although that feeling was somewhat lessened by the 6 foot tall red killing machine sitting in the middle. The soft carpets masked his steps as he walked towards his father. He stopped at a respectful distance; experience taught him not to get too close. His father was fond of surprise 'testing'.
?Soon, those wings of yours will sprout form your shoulders, and it will be time for you to take your position within the family business.? He said as he moved another chess piece.
?It is your rightful inheritance as my son. Indeed, it is your due. But though it may be your right, I will not allow some fool to destroy all that I have worked for.?
Ephraim didn't blink. He had been described in even less complimentary terms before.
?So you will prove to me you are not a fool.?
He sipped some tea.
?Of course, if you fail, you'll be killed. Probably by my hand. In any case, to prove to me that your are not a fool is a simply matter. There is a Kensai from the west who is visiting Akavir, he is currently residing in Tang Mo. He has many valuable artifacts from the West with him, and some are very powerfull indeed. Powerfull enough to warrant his kidnapping.?
Kalamandos smiled wistfully as a knight took a rook.
?Unfortunately, we have been beaten to the punch: Tosh Raka has already expressed a desire to meet this foreigner. This of course means wether the foreigner wishes to meet him or not. But all is not lost. The foreigner has brought many strange and powerful artifacts from the West with him, and in particular, a gem that contains the soul of a major devil. It is this that Tosh Raka desires, and it is this that he shall have. However, there are lesser artifacts in his possession, ones that are as of yet unclaimed. Yet. If we can but move fast enough, they are ours for the taking. Thusly, we are going to kidnap this foreigner, and take these objects. Ane present the soul as a gift to Tosh Raka.?
Ephraim said nothing. Typical of his father's plans, it was brilliant from a theoretical perspective, but would be difficult to implement. For how, exactly, was one to get this Kensai if he did how so much power at his disposal?
?Luckily for you, you're not going to take him yourself. I have found an...ally who is willing to help us now, in exchange for some of the more minor treasures.?
Kalamandos turned and faced his son.
?In truth, there are only two things that the foreigner has that I'm interested in. That soul gem, and his sword. It is an incredible blade of unparalleled power. The other things are secondary. I do not care what else she might take. Bring these things to me, and your will have your inheritance. Go to the City of the Snakes and find Zatoichi the Shopkeeper. He will tell you where to go, and he will collect payment on your way back to me.?
Kalamandos turned back to his game
?Just get that sword and gem. Now begone.?
Ephraim turned and walked away as Kalamandos moved another chess piece.
* * *
As his son left, Kalamandos moved another piece, and waited to see if he would return. He did not. Kalamandos left his game and turned to the small mirror that lay next to him. Murmuring a word of power, the clear glass began to fill with fog and become murky. Wisps of smoke swirled within it, and began to coalesce into a recognizable form, the image of a hooded, cloaked female.
?He is on his way. Make sure that you are ready.?
The figure nodded, and began to speak with the sibilant accent of the Tsaesci.
?The Kensai will be there. But, a word of caution: holding on to this Kensai will be like holding on to the ears of a wolf. You will not be able to safely hold on or let go.?
Kalamandos nodded, and looked away from the mirror. The magic was broken, and the mirror faded again into a mere mirror. He sat in his study, and waited.
09-05-2006, 12:20 AM
This is part 2.
Onwards and Upwards
the fall of Nerevar
The air was thick and quiet as Lord Nerevar Indoril meditated. The distant sound of buzzing insects and running water blended with the green grass to create a truly serene place of beauty. Nerevar had taken up meditating a few days after coming to this strange land, and so far it had worked reasonably well. He was ever on the edge, but the few moments of relaxation had in many years had happened in this garden.
As was his custom, he was alone. It was almost impossible for him to relax when he was around others. Habit had been long forged into instinct that would seldom let him take a moment of rest around people of any inclination or race. Too many 'friends' had pulled knives and swords while he was completely at east. The effect had been less than therapeutic. Succinctly, he now jumped at the slightest sound of rasping steel. Not necessarily a bad thing: daggers softly drawn had awoken him from his rest more often than daylight had, and he had as a result foiled numerous assassins: though some were better than others. He distantly felt his thigh ache with the memory of one of the better ones. Clearing his thoughts once more, he tried to calm his mind and settle into a deeper state of meditation. He had just settled on the verge, just almost feeling that wondrous feeling of utter freedom when he crashed back down to earth. Someone else was there. In an instant, he jumped and reached for his sword: the chill that he got when cliff racers tried to spear his head was running down his spine. It was too late. Ephraim had reached the sword first and drew the blade.
It was almost his undoing. Trueflame, the legendary blade, was dazzling in it's power, and unfortunately stunned the young Ka Po' Tun. Nerevar took the opportunity to regroup: the blade was powerful, as he well knew, but it had a weakness against frost magics. A well-aimed frost spell would dull the blade's power for a short time. He chose one of his best: God's Frost. The incantation had almost left his lips when the air went dead around him. Magical Silence. No spells would leave the Nerevarine's lips for some time. He turned, and looked for the enemy mage. A figure, hooded and cloaked, stood in the ready posture of a battlemage. Her hands were covered in the golden scales of the Tsaesci. Though he could not see it's face, twin embers stared out from under her cowl. Nerevar looked at the Ka Po' Tun once more, gauging who deserved his attention most. The fool was still stunned by the dazzling light of Trueflame. His gear was behind the runt: a sufficiently robust punch might knock him down long enough to retrieve it...
Whatever his plans, the hooded woman was not about to let anything happen. With a flick of her wrist, she let loose a stream of telekinetic blasts, intended to knock the foreigner out. To her surprise, he seemed barely fazed by her show of force: indeed, he almost seemed relieved she wasn't stronger. Relieved at her weakness. Angered, she began chant, preparing to throw a much stronger spell, one of death and fire and thunder...
Nerevar kicked the Ka Po' Tun in the shins, and when he predictably flinched, he punched it in the face and wrenched Trueflame from his hands. Flipping the blade deftly, he reared back and struck the Ka Po' Tun with the pommel, right on the back of the head. He fell like a sack of limp potatoes. Trueflame back in his hands, Nerevar turned toward the enemy mage. One enemy down, Nerevar thought, and ran toward the Tsaesci and away from his gear. No time to put on armor, anyway. He raced to cover the distance between himself and the Tsaesci.
With a course of three rhyming, defiant syllables, a torrent of lightning and fire poured from the mage's hand. It was truly epic in it's scope, a roiling river of fire and thunder arcing straight for the Nerevarine. She could almost cackle in glee. Nerevar's eyes widened, and though he tried to dodge out of the way, it was too late. He futilely blocked with Truflame, and though the fire was absorbed into the blade, the lightning merely traveled down the convenient path of his sword. The snake saw him shake like a rag doll for a few moments, and then drop, smoking, to the ground. Gingerly, she walked up to him and checked for signs of life. If she had killed the fool, it would prove most troublesome later....
Faint though they were, Lord Nerevar Indoril survived, though greatly wounded. She sighed, a long, drawn out hiss. He would live. She aimed a restoration spell at that fool who had been absolutely no help, and prepared a spell to teleport her away. Soon enough, the Zatoichi would collect their share of the spoils, and she would be finished with this particular debacle. Ephraim rubbed his head, dazed, as the Fallen Princess faded away from view.
Onwards and Upwards
the fall of Nerevar
The air was thick and quiet as Lord Nerevar Indoril meditated. The distant sound of buzzing insects and running water blended with the green grass to create a truly serene place of beauty. Nerevar had taken up meditating a few days after coming to this strange land, and so far it had worked reasonably well. He was ever on the edge, but the few moments of relaxation had in many years had happened in this garden.
As was his custom, he was alone. It was almost impossible for him to relax when he was around others. Habit had been long forged into instinct that would seldom let him take a moment of rest around people of any inclination or race. Too many 'friends' had pulled knives and swords while he was completely at east. The effect had been less than therapeutic. Succinctly, he now jumped at the slightest sound of rasping steel. Not necessarily a bad thing: daggers softly drawn had awoken him from his rest more often than daylight had, and he had as a result foiled numerous assassins: though some were better than others. He distantly felt his thigh ache with the memory of one of the better ones. Clearing his thoughts once more, he tried to calm his mind and settle into a deeper state of meditation. He had just settled on the verge, just almost feeling that wondrous feeling of utter freedom when he crashed back down to earth. Someone else was there. In an instant, he jumped and reached for his sword: the chill that he got when cliff racers tried to spear his head was running down his spine. It was too late. Ephraim had reached the sword first and drew the blade.
It was almost his undoing. Trueflame, the legendary blade, was dazzling in it's power, and unfortunately stunned the young Ka Po' Tun. Nerevar took the opportunity to regroup: the blade was powerful, as he well knew, but it had a weakness against frost magics. A well-aimed frost spell would dull the blade's power for a short time. He chose one of his best: God's Frost. The incantation had almost left his lips when the air went dead around him. Magical Silence. No spells would leave the Nerevarine's lips for some time. He turned, and looked for the enemy mage. A figure, hooded and cloaked, stood in the ready posture of a battlemage. Her hands were covered in the golden scales of the Tsaesci. Though he could not see it's face, twin embers stared out from under her cowl. Nerevar looked at the Ka Po' Tun once more, gauging who deserved his attention most. The fool was still stunned by the dazzling light of Trueflame. His gear was behind the runt: a sufficiently robust punch might knock him down long enough to retrieve it...
Whatever his plans, the hooded woman was not about to let anything happen. With a flick of her wrist, she let loose a stream of telekinetic blasts, intended to knock the foreigner out. To her surprise, he seemed barely fazed by her show of force: indeed, he almost seemed relieved she wasn't stronger. Relieved at her weakness. Angered, she began chant, preparing to throw a much stronger spell, one of death and fire and thunder...
Nerevar kicked the Ka Po' Tun in the shins, and when he predictably flinched, he punched it in the face and wrenched Trueflame from his hands. Flipping the blade deftly, he reared back and struck the Ka Po' Tun with the pommel, right on the back of the head. He fell like a sack of limp potatoes. Trueflame back in his hands, Nerevar turned toward the enemy mage. One enemy down, Nerevar thought, and ran toward the Tsaesci and away from his gear. No time to put on armor, anyway. He raced to cover the distance between himself and the Tsaesci.
With a course of three rhyming, defiant syllables, a torrent of lightning and fire poured from the mage's hand. It was truly epic in it's scope, a roiling river of fire and thunder arcing straight for the Nerevarine. She could almost cackle in glee. Nerevar's eyes widened, and though he tried to dodge out of the way, it was too late. He futilely blocked with Truflame, and though the fire was absorbed into the blade, the lightning merely traveled down the convenient path of his sword. The snake saw him shake like a rag doll for a few moments, and then drop, smoking, to the ground. Gingerly, she walked up to him and checked for signs of life. If she had killed the fool, it would prove most troublesome later....
Faint though they were, Lord Nerevar Indoril survived, though greatly wounded. She sighed, a long, drawn out hiss. He would live. She aimed a restoration spell at that fool who had been absolutely no help, and prepared a spell to teleport her away. Soon enough, the Zatoichi would collect their share of the spoils, and she would be finished with this particular debacle. Ephraim rubbed his head, dazed, as the Fallen Princess faded away from view.
09-05-2006, 12:26 AM
You can't post twice in 60 minutes, but you can watch the program in 45. Go figure.
09-05-2006, 12:31 AM
You can't reply to your own post, but you can reply to others. this is part 3.
Lost in the Dark
as a further submission
for the main quest
Tsaesci. The very word itself, a blight upon Akavir. Not even the Kamal inspire the kind of terror that mere rumors of Tsaesci aggression can. Their armies, unstoppable; their might, unsurpassed. Their lords are demigods themselves. Should they wish it, the whole of Akavir would shake with their fury; should they wish it, the world would shake with their power. Tamriel could be theirs, and not even the Underking could drive them back again.
So thought the Fallen Princess as she slid back into reality. She had returned to her castle, a n ornate palace hidden deep in the wastes of Akavir. She returned to her chambers, and her thoughts once again turned to the strange foreigner. The so-called Kensai of the West was captive, and would soon be brought to the Tiger-King, for him to use as he saw fit; he had a collar fit to cage the King of Hell. She cast a spell to open her door, and grimaced when the spell of telekinesis failed, her magicka reserves too depleted for additional spellcasting. He had been stronger than she expected. She reached for the hidden latch, and manually pushed the door open. The fiery heat from her room washed over her like an open over, and she sighed a reptillian hiss as she basked in it's comfort. She smiled smugly: so what if he was strong? the man was a fool if he thought he could kill those with divine blood. For how can you kill a god?
She sat at her table, and sipped the wine that had been brought in for her. Unlike the room, the wine had been magically chilled to perfection. She smiled: at least her servants could do their jobs right. She thought of Tosh Raka, the fool of a King, and frowned. He honestly didn't know what he was getting himself into. The Kensai, though weaker in some ways than she, was powerful enough to perhaps tip the scales into the favor of the Ka Po' Tun. She worried the fool might obsesses over the soul of the demon the foreigner had with him, however, and ignore the foreigner himself. Surely Tosh Raka was not fool enough to think he could resurrect the devil...was he? It must be for some magical experiment the fool is conducting. She nodded her head. The Kensai was the tool Tosh Raka must use. He had been unexpectedly resourceful in their encounter; perhaps he had more tricks under his sleeve.
She worried about Kalamandos, however. He had been an unexpected variable: she had assumed that agents of Tosh Raka would directly collect the foreigner: having some courtier pluck him and his artifacts like a ripe plum was...disturbing. It made her nervous. She took another swallow of the cherry wine.
It didn't matter. No matter what the fool did, it would be aimed straight at the Tsaesci. And thus, it would achieve her ends perfectly. She smiled. As long as the realm of the snake-men was thrown into chaos, she was happy. Her masters would be avenged.
You lean over the berth and throw your guts out for the thousandth time this voyage. Your travel to the lands of the East have taught you one thing so far: you absolutely hate sea travel. The food is terrible, your sleep horribly, and the very ground itself now makes you sick. The other sailors have said your the most stubborn landlubber they've ever seen: you swear that if Akavir is anything like Tamriel, you just might consider staying. Sailing has been the worst experience of your life.
You are sailing on the 'Big Ragu', a 3-masted galleon captained by the strangest Breton you have ever seen. You've met him twice now, and the only things you've understood from his mouth have been 'wetha' and 'stahm', repeated in an almost infinite loop every time a cloud dares appear along the horizon. You've heard the crew refer to him as Captain Douglas. You're fairly certain that it might be his real name. They seem to get along with him well; at least there will be no chance of mutiny on this particular cruise. As you wipe the spew from your mouth, you pray that you will sight land, any land, soon. It doesn't even have to be Akavir. Just as long as it's solid. The realms of oblivion were better than this.
Five days later, the boy in the crows nest finally sighted land. The news was almost like a physical weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Exited, relieved, and still slightly sick, you race to you cabin, and grab your trusty gear. Your two torches, your sword, armor, your well-thumbed copy of Crassius Curio's completed and now famous play, and your bag of gold. Now fully prepared for whatever dangers may present themselves, you join the rest of the jubilating crew on main deck and await landfall. Far too long have you sat and let the tides and wind direct your path. Time to let your own to legs carry you.
Through several rough attempts at translation, one of the strange Akavirans who speak Tamrielic is able to translate for you. It turns out that you've landed in the land of the Tang Mo ? a strange beast-race that looks somewhat like monkeys to you. Strange bunch, you think. For the most part, they've been very friendly, and indeed, you've felt something like a minor celebrity since landing. Everyone has been courteous to the point of obsequiousnesses ever since you've landed. It's starting to become unnerving.
The small village which you've landed in, however, doesn't seem to know anything about a 'Nerevarine'. They have suggested that those who live in the Capital, Bu' Po, might know more. You've talked to the Captain, courtesy of a helpful crewmember, who has agreed to keep the ship in port until you return from your travels, or until the end of summer, whichever comes first. If he is forced to return to Tamriel, he has agreed to return the following spring. Soon after, you buy some supplies from the locals and take to the road. You wave a final farewell to that town as you continue along the Road of Good Fortune, heading toward Bu Po'.
Lost in the Dark
as a further submission
for the main quest
Tsaesci. The very word itself, a blight upon Akavir. Not even the Kamal inspire the kind of terror that mere rumors of Tsaesci aggression can. Their armies, unstoppable; their might, unsurpassed. Their lords are demigods themselves. Should they wish it, the whole of Akavir would shake with their fury; should they wish it, the world would shake with their power. Tamriel could be theirs, and not even the Underking could drive them back again.
So thought the Fallen Princess as she slid back into reality. She had returned to her castle, a n ornate palace hidden deep in the wastes of Akavir. She returned to her chambers, and her thoughts once again turned to the strange foreigner. The so-called Kensai of the West was captive, and would soon be brought to the Tiger-King, for him to use as he saw fit; he had a collar fit to cage the King of Hell. She cast a spell to open her door, and grimaced when the spell of telekinesis failed, her magicka reserves too depleted for additional spellcasting. He had been stronger than she expected. She reached for the hidden latch, and manually pushed the door open. The fiery heat from her room washed over her like an open over, and she sighed a reptillian hiss as she basked in it's comfort. She smiled smugly: so what if he was strong? the man was a fool if he thought he could kill those with divine blood. For how can you kill a god?
She sat at her table, and sipped the wine that had been brought in for her. Unlike the room, the wine had been magically chilled to perfection. She smiled: at least her servants could do their jobs right. She thought of Tosh Raka, the fool of a King, and frowned. He honestly didn't know what he was getting himself into. The Kensai, though weaker in some ways than she, was powerful enough to perhaps tip the scales into the favor of the Ka Po' Tun. She worried the fool might obsesses over the soul of the demon the foreigner had with him, however, and ignore the foreigner himself. Surely Tosh Raka was not fool enough to think he could resurrect the devil...was he? It must be for some magical experiment the fool is conducting. She nodded her head. The Kensai was the tool Tosh Raka must use. He had been unexpectedly resourceful in their encounter; perhaps he had more tricks under his sleeve.
She worried about Kalamandos, however. He had been an unexpected variable: she had assumed that agents of Tosh Raka would directly collect the foreigner: having some courtier pluck him and his artifacts like a ripe plum was...disturbing. It made her nervous. She took another swallow of the cherry wine.
It didn't matter. No matter what the fool did, it would be aimed straight at the Tsaesci. And thus, it would achieve her ends perfectly. She smiled. As long as the realm of the snake-men was thrown into chaos, she was happy. Her masters would be avenged.
You lean over the berth and throw your guts out for the thousandth time this voyage. Your travel to the lands of the East have taught you one thing so far: you absolutely hate sea travel. The food is terrible, your sleep horribly, and the very ground itself now makes you sick. The other sailors have said your the most stubborn landlubber they've ever seen: you swear that if Akavir is anything like Tamriel, you just might consider staying. Sailing has been the worst experience of your life.
You are sailing on the 'Big Ragu', a 3-masted galleon captained by the strangest Breton you have ever seen. You've met him twice now, and the only things you've understood from his mouth have been 'wetha' and 'stahm', repeated in an almost infinite loop every time a cloud dares appear along the horizon. You've heard the crew refer to him as Captain Douglas. You're fairly certain that it might be his real name. They seem to get along with him well; at least there will be no chance of mutiny on this particular cruise. As you wipe the spew from your mouth, you pray that you will sight land, any land, soon. It doesn't even have to be Akavir. Just as long as it's solid. The realms of oblivion were better than this.
Five days later, the boy in the crows nest finally sighted land. The news was almost like a physical weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Exited, relieved, and still slightly sick, you race to you cabin, and grab your trusty gear. Your two torches, your sword, armor, your well-thumbed copy of Crassius Curio's completed and now famous play, and your bag of gold. Now fully prepared for whatever dangers may present themselves, you join the rest of the jubilating crew on main deck and await landfall. Far too long have you sat and let the tides and wind direct your path. Time to let your own to legs carry you.
Through several rough attempts at translation, one of the strange Akavirans who speak Tamrielic is able to translate for you. It turns out that you've landed in the land of the Tang Mo ? a strange beast-race that looks somewhat like monkeys to you. Strange bunch, you think. For the most part, they've been very friendly, and indeed, you've felt something like a minor celebrity since landing. Everyone has been courteous to the point of obsequiousnesses ever since you've landed. It's starting to become unnerving.
The small village which you've landed in, however, doesn't seem to know anything about a 'Nerevarine'. They have suggested that those who live in the Capital, Bu' Po, might know more. You've talked to the Captain, courtesy of a helpful crewmember, who has agreed to keep the ship in port until you return from your travels, or until the end of summer, whichever comes first. If he is forced to return to Tamriel, he has agreed to return the following spring. Soon after, you buy some supplies from the locals and take to the road. You wave a final farewell to that town as you continue along the Road of Good Fortune, heading toward Bu Po'.
09-05-2006, 12:33 AM
Lelsie Stall, eat your heart out. Here's the reply, so that the quest might continue. This is filler.
09-05-2006, 12:34 AM
Ok here goes
The next chapter. You know, I never intended to get this detalied, but I keep thinking 'it's the frickin' main quest
Wolf's Ears
Nerevar awoke to darkness. Darkness, total and complete. That, along with the dank air and cold stone beneath him, indicated that he had found himself in yet another prison. He groaned, frustrated, and struggled to sit up. His muscles, stiff and sore, screamed as he lurched into a sitting position. He hated dungeons. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He could hear the dripping of water in the distance. Just like in the imperial dungeons. Memories of his time in prison began to bubble to the surface, long repressed. He remembered the years of darkness. The years of nothing but the slow, regular sound of dripping water. Slowly losing his mind until he no longer knew his name, or any memory before awaking upon that ship with Juib. He began to shake, feeling panic and fear taking hold of him, and frantically clawed inside his mind, tried to think about anything that might keep him from screaming. At the breaking point, he clutched at meditation.
He sat in the darkness for awhile, taking long, slow breaths. He practiced clearing his mind. It was more difficult then it had ever been. The very air itself seemed to cause his adrenaline to rush. The cold stone seemed to him a bed of embers. But slowly, surely, his mind began to clear. The panic began to depart from his mind. Taking slow breaths, one at a time, he calmed himself. He sucked in breath. His mind clear, he felt the pain of his stiff body all the more clearly. Afraid something might be broken, he tested his limbs.
He moved one arm. Besides the normal tension one gets from not moving for days, it seemed alright. He moved the other. Nothing broken. He got his feet under him and tried to stand. No meat-grinder pain of standing on a fractured leg. He sighed. His limbs seemed intact. Bruised, battered, and strangely hairless, but intact. He took an experimental step forward. Nothing cracked or snapped. His other foot joined it. Still nothing. Good.
He extended one hand in front of him, and whispered the spell of minor light. Above the palm of his hand, a soft point of light took shape, and flared slowly outward, stopping at about the size of a small fruit, bathing the room in light. Good. His magic was working again. He took a look at his surroundings. It was a largish prison cell, about the size of a small room, with cold, bare stone as it's principle furnishings. A door of stone and iron barred the exit. He shrugged. Magic, especially the destructive kind, was no stranger to him. Though he was without his rings and amulet, his magic power was more than sufficient for a few of his better spells. He thought for a moment: God's fire was dangerous- if this cell was not sufficiently ventilated, it could consume all the air he needed to breathe. A lightning bolt might simply be absorbed into the obviously well-grounded surroundings. God's Frost, then.
He oriented himself in front of the door, and dismissed the spell of light. The room once again plunged into darkness, and he resisted the urge to panic once more. He set himself into a mage's stance, feet shoulder width, hands at chest level with the fingertips touching lightly. Whispering the opening phrase of the spell, he whirled his hands into the appropriate gestures and threw a stream of soul-freezing frost at the stone. The discharge of magical energy lit the room, and he clearly saw the vortex of blistering cold slam into the door. The sound of the magic breaking against the door echoed in the small room, amplifying the characteristic cracking and splitting of a frost spell. He waited a moment for blessed light to pour through the opening. None came. He walked up to the door, and ran his hand along the still-solid stone.
Amazingly, the door stood untouched. Nerevar cursed. That was his most powerful spell of frost. With fire and lightning barred to him, that left paltry few options to blow a door down. Poison, certainly, wasn't going to force the door open. He thought a moment.
A few seconds later, he cast the spell of light again, and began to inscribe a rudimentary grimoire upon the dusty stone floor. If he couldn't use any of his current spells, he'd need to make one. Armed with knowledge he never had in his days in the imperial dungeons, he swore to escape this prison before he was driven mad from solitude and darkness.
Zatoichi the shopkeeper viewed his new wares. The Ka Po' Tun had been far too easy to intimidate out most of the wares, but he had struggled to obtain some of the better ones. That sword and gem had evaded his every offer and threat, but it mattered still less: the armor, and most of the trinkets were his. He almost rubbed his hands in glee. The armor was strange, quite unlike anything in the Tsaesci style. It was forged of many solid plates of a white metal, with flowing robes and golden ornamentation flowing about it. It seemed more decoration than defense, but when tested, his finest Katana could not but scratch it. Powerful magic inhabited it indeed.
Many rings had been in the possession of the stranger ? Zatoichi was now the proud owner of a good many of them. Rings that threw fire, rings that made one invisible at command, some rings that even made the wearer smarter and sharper. Vitality flowed like a fountain from one, and one made him impervious to magic of any sort. These would be very valuable. An amulet, covered with a rainbow of gems, and a large blue sapphire set in the middle was an actual source of magicka! One could cast spells all day wearing such an ornament.
Some of the strangers minor weapons were his now as well: a twisted dagger, more black than red, dripped with venom. Another dagger seemed to be nothing more than carved ivory, but contained the force of a thunderbolt with the lightest touch. Alas, nothing blades larger than a dagger had been in his possession, but he did have a staff capped with a blue sphere. It seemed to steal the magic from others, and transfer it to the weilder. A find weapon for a wizard.
Zatoichi carefully placed each of the items in it's own separate chest in the backroom, each locked with a different key. These were far too valuable to lose to a thief. These were for a very special customer indeed. His mistress had been quite clear: the next person to visit the store wearing the clothes of the west, was the only one to be made aware of these items. He could even obtain them, if he so wished.
All for a price, of course....
The next chapter. You know, I never intended to get this detalied, but I keep thinking 'it's the frickin' main quest
Wolf's Ears
Nerevar awoke to darkness. Darkness, total and complete. That, along with the dank air and cold stone beneath him, indicated that he had found himself in yet another prison. He groaned, frustrated, and struggled to sit up. His muscles, stiff and sore, screamed as he lurched into a sitting position. He hated dungeons. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He could hear the dripping of water in the distance. Just like in the imperial dungeons. Memories of his time in prison began to bubble to the surface, long repressed. He remembered the years of darkness. The years of nothing but the slow, regular sound of dripping water. Slowly losing his mind until he no longer knew his name, or any memory before awaking upon that ship with Juib. He began to shake, feeling panic and fear taking hold of him, and frantically clawed inside his mind, tried to think about anything that might keep him from screaming. At the breaking point, he clutched at meditation.
He sat in the darkness for awhile, taking long, slow breaths. He practiced clearing his mind. It was more difficult then it had ever been. The very air itself seemed to cause his adrenaline to rush. The cold stone seemed to him a bed of embers. But slowly, surely, his mind began to clear. The panic began to depart from his mind. Taking slow breaths, one at a time, he calmed himself. He sucked in breath. His mind clear, he felt the pain of his stiff body all the more clearly. Afraid something might be broken, he tested his limbs.
He moved one arm. Besides the normal tension one gets from not moving for days, it seemed alright. He moved the other. Nothing broken. He got his feet under him and tried to stand. No meat-grinder pain of standing on a fractured leg. He sighed. His limbs seemed intact. Bruised, battered, and strangely hairless, but intact. He took an experimental step forward. Nothing cracked or snapped. His other foot joined it. Still nothing. Good.
He extended one hand in front of him, and whispered the spell of minor light. Above the palm of his hand, a soft point of light took shape, and flared slowly outward, stopping at about the size of a small fruit, bathing the room in light. Good. His magic was working again. He took a look at his surroundings. It was a largish prison cell, about the size of a small room, with cold, bare stone as it's principle furnishings. A door of stone and iron barred the exit. He shrugged. Magic, especially the destructive kind, was no stranger to him. Though he was without his rings and amulet, his magic power was more than sufficient for a few of his better spells. He thought for a moment: God's fire was dangerous- if this cell was not sufficiently ventilated, it could consume all the air he needed to breathe. A lightning bolt might simply be absorbed into the obviously well-grounded surroundings. God's Frost, then.
He oriented himself in front of the door, and dismissed the spell of light. The room once again plunged into darkness, and he resisted the urge to panic once more. He set himself into a mage's stance, feet shoulder width, hands at chest level with the fingertips touching lightly. Whispering the opening phrase of the spell, he whirled his hands into the appropriate gestures and threw a stream of soul-freezing frost at the stone. The discharge of magical energy lit the room, and he clearly saw the vortex of blistering cold slam into the door. The sound of the magic breaking against the door echoed in the small room, amplifying the characteristic cracking and splitting of a frost spell. He waited a moment for blessed light to pour through the opening. None came. He walked up to the door, and ran his hand along the still-solid stone.
Amazingly, the door stood untouched. Nerevar cursed. That was his most powerful spell of frost. With fire and lightning barred to him, that left paltry few options to blow a door down. Poison, certainly, wasn't going to force the door open. He thought a moment.
A few seconds later, he cast the spell of light again, and began to inscribe a rudimentary grimoire upon the dusty stone floor. If he couldn't use any of his current spells, he'd need to make one. Armed with knowledge he never had in his days in the imperial dungeons, he swore to escape this prison before he was driven mad from solitude and darkness.
Zatoichi the shopkeeper viewed his new wares. The Ka Po' Tun had been far too easy to intimidate out most of the wares, but he had struggled to obtain some of the better ones. That sword and gem had evaded his every offer and threat, but it mattered still less: the armor, and most of the trinkets were his. He almost rubbed his hands in glee. The armor was strange, quite unlike anything in the Tsaesci style. It was forged of many solid plates of a white metal, with flowing robes and golden ornamentation flowing about it. It seemed more decoration than defense, but when tested, his finest Katana could not but scratch it. Powerful magic inhabited it indeed.
Many rings had been in the possession of the stranger ? Zatoichi was now the proud owner of a good many of them. Rings that threw fire, rings that made one invisible at command, some rings that even made the wearer smarter and sharper. Vitality flowed like a fountain from one, and one made him impervious to magic of any sort. These would be very valuable. An amulet, covered with a rainbow of gems, and a large blue sapphire set in the middle was an actual source of magicka! One could cast spells all day wearing such an ornament.
Some of the strangers minor weapons were his now as well: a twisted dagger, more black than red, dripped with venom. Another dagger seemed to be nothing more than carved ivory, but contained the force of a thunderbolt with the lightest touch. Alas, nothing blades larger than a dagger had been in his possession, but he did have a staff capped with a blue sphere. It seemed to steal the magic from others, and transfer it to the weilder. A find weapon for a wizard.
Zatoichi carefully placed each of the items in it's own separate chest in the backroom, each locked with a different key. These were far too valuable to lose to a thief. These were for a very special customer indeed. His mistress had been quite clear: the next person to visit the store wearing the clothes of the west, was the only one to be made aware of these items. He could even obtain them, if he so wished.
All for a price, of course....
09-05-2006, 12:35 AM
Filler.
This is written from first person, Im not sure how it is the main quest. Oh well, I'll keep reafing and I guess Ill see.
This is written from first person, Im not sure how it is the main quest. Oh well, I'll keep reafing and I guess Ill see.
09-05-2006, 12:38 AM
Thanks for the help on this. This is the most recent installment. We are all breathlessly awaiting for the next one.
Sorry this one took so long - I got a case of the writer's block trying to figure out not only how, but why Caius Cosaides would even talk to you. After all, he's Caius. He doens't know you. Why does he care about you? Well, I think that I figured out something that will work, so here it goes...
Sweet Moonsugar
Nothing else compares: the sweet rush of moonsugar flowing through your veins: the delightful feeling of floating, floating away from from all trials and troubles...the feeling of a floating void, a floating, throbbing null that drowned out all other concerns. A feeling of floating towards home. To Caius Cosaides, the feeling was indescribable. When he was drowned in a drug filled haze, it seemed that a lifetime of enemies, spying, and even the empire melted away. It had been everything important to him: it had been his panacea, or so he thought.
When he was in Morrowind, moonsugar was a hop, skip, and walk down to the Black Wall Cornerclub, where Sugar-Lips always had gram or two of the sugar for sale. Dangerous? Addictive? To Cauis, it had been easy to take ? posing as an old skooma addict was a perfect cover: late nights, strange visitors, and secretive habits could all be excused away as the weird habits of an old man losing what was left of his mind to a debilitating drug.
He now knew they had been halfway right. In Cloud Ruler Temple, quietly slipping away to find a quick fix was impossible. Not being able to slake his thirst made him realize just how addicted he was to the stuff. He couldn't concentrate; he was always sweating, and sometimes he would shake with a strange palsy. Hiding it from the Blades around him was difficult. Oftentimes, he couldn't even sleep, just sweat and shake in his bunk.
When he was in Morrowind, the sugar had practically flowed. Here, there was not a sprinkle to be found. There might be some in the city - going into the city to find some was madness. He was in a nest of guards, all of which doubled as spies. That he would be caught was an understatement. Nothing happened in Bruma the Blades did not know about.
He had managed to excuse his prior uses before the majority of the Blades as necessary to maintain his cover. It was true. Partially. More importantly, they had bought it. He had still lost his status as the spymaster of Vvardenfell, but at least they had bought it. The alternative to being a grunt in the Temple was...unpleasant. Spymasters didn't retire. They simply knew to much. Spymasters deemed unfit for service were simply killed. No choice.
That fate had been spared him: he was now stationed at the Temple. Unfortunately, it was likely he would not be able to leave it for some time. To Caius, sweet, balmy Balmora seemed a world away. He sighed. The sun had almost set. He donned his armor: it was time for his watch.
Somehow, someway, and for some crazy reason, you've made your way to the coldest port of Cyrodill. Bruma. Practically Skyrim. And you've furthered your madness and and gone farther north than that. Though fairly certain no one in their right mind could have built anything this far into the snows, you've made your way still farther, pulled by some unexplainable urge north of even Bruma.
To your surprise, there seems to be a Akaviri Temple on top of a Norse landscape. Shaking your head in disbelief, you make your way to the top of the mountain.
Upon reaching the plateau at the top of the mountain, your greeted by a very surly looked individual covered in head to toe in armor. You take a second look at his face. Very cold, pissed off eyes state back at you: he doesn't look happy in the least. He holds up a hand, and motions for you to stop.
?Halt, citizen. Speak your business, or begone. This area is off limits to the citizenry...?
You can tell the man is about to tell you to leave. It's just your luck to stumble upon the empire here, in the middle of nowhere! You came out here, to get away from the Empire! Bemoaning your fate, you prepare to turn around and head back down the mountain trail, when a growl from the undergrowth around you turns your head to the left. The guard set on hand on his Katana. You draw your weapon as a wolf, starving and seemingly crazed, charges out from the undergrowth.
Surprisingly, the wolf attacks the guard before it goes for you. Unfortunately for the wolf, the man in armor seems to be competent with a blade. In mere moments, you realize he is ferocious with it. The Katana at his hip seems to materialize in front of him, and before you can blink blood is flying from the wolf's severed body, cut in mid-flight. The guard seems to have made a mess, however:
his formerly spotless armor is covered in the wolf's blood. The man sighs, and makes to sheathe his blade. Before it slides back in the scabbard, he pauses, and looks at you. He lets the blade hang at his side.
?What's your name, stranger?? He narrows one eye at you. ?Nevermind, I don't want to know.? He pauses for another moment, and stares at the blood covering his armor and blade. He stares at the dead wolf, and then back at the Temple. His eyes, formerly cold and inexpressive, light up. He plants the blade in the ground, and throws one of his gauntlets on the ground. ?Your going to do something for me.? He says, grinning slightly. You don't like those eyes.
?I am Caius Cosaides.? He says. ?Does that mean anything to you??
You shake your head.
?Good. If you did, I might have to kill you now.? He throws his helmet on the ground. ?Here's what we're going to do. You look like someone looking for adventure. Why else would you be exploring this gods-forsaken nowhere-land if not for adventure and treasure?? He unstraps the cuirass from his back, and lays it on the ground. Dragging the torn body of the wolf towards it, he lays the mangled body inside the metal bowl, and picks the cuirass back up, creating some sort of makeshift basket to carry the wolf in. You find it somewhat disconcerting to talk to someone holding a dead and bleeding animal, but you hold your peace. Something is not right with this man. Not right. In the head.
?I've got an adventure for you. You may have heard the Nerevarine went to Akavir? I happen to know how he got there. There is exactly one ship with a captain crazy enough to make that journey, and it just so happens he's a good enough sailor to do it. Lucky for you: the ship is docked in the Harbor at the Imperial City right now. I'll even tell you which ship it is ? but you're going to do something for me.?
Caius, though seemingly burdened with his macabre cargo, manages to remove the boots from his feet, using only his feet. He looks back toward the temple, and begins to amble down the mountain, towards Bruma. He continues to speak with you even as he is walking down the hill, careful to mask his steps and leave no tracks to follow.
?You see, I'm a little sick of staying here: and more to the point, it's likely I'll be assassinated if I try to leave. So, you're going to help me fake my death, and I'll tell you how to get to Akavir in return.? He stops next to some trees and looks back at you, presumably concealed from anyone else watching from atop the mountain.
?You're going to continue up to the temple, and you're going to tell the guard that will inevitably stop you, that you found this armor right here, covered in blood. And you never saw me: you might even suggest the idea that I was dragged off by some ferocious beastie. It doesn't matter. After they check their rolls, and they realize that I am missing, they'll assume I'm dead. With any luck, they won't look any deeper. Even if they figure out that it's just wolf's blood, and that I'm still alive, I'll long gone, and gone to ground: and it's very hard to track a man in the Ashlands.? He grins, and laughs mirthlessly.
?The ship in the Harbor is called the Big Ragu. Talk to the captain, and mention that I asked him to take you to Akavir, and he'll do the rest. For a price, but you can deal with that. It's an opportunity to go to Akavir. Make of it what you will?
With those parting words, Caius turns and runs down the mountain path, keeping to the shadows and leaving almost no visible trace of his path. Somewhat taken aback, you turn and stare at the armor that now litters the ground. A blade, a pair of boots, his helmet, and his blood covered gauntlets are all that is left of the strange man. With all the blood spattered over the ground, it almost does look as if something large and nasty had dragged someone away. You shrug, and continue to walk up the path to the Temple. No harm in helping the guy. Who knows? Maybe there really is a ship that will take you to Akavir...
Sorry this one took so long - I got a case of the writer's block trying to figure out not only how, but why Caius Cosaides would even talk to you. After all, he's Caius. He doens't know you. Why does he care about you? Well, I think that I figured out something that will work, so here it goes...
Sweet Moonsugar
Nothing else compares: the sweet rush of moonsugar flowing through your veins: the delightful feeling of floating, floating away from from all trials and troubles...the feeling of a floating void, a floating, throbbing null that drowned out all other concerns. A feeling of floating towards home. To Caius Cosaides, the feeling was indescribable. When he was drowned in a drug filled haze, it seemed that a lifetime of enemies, spying, and even the empire melted away. It had been everything important to him: it had been his panacea, or so he thought.
When he was in Morrowind, moonsugar was a hop, skip, and walk down to the Black Wall Cornerclub, where Sugar-Lips always had gram or two of the sugar for sale. Dangerous? Addictive? To Cauis, it had been easy to take ? posing as an old skooma addict was a perfect cover: late nights, strange visitors, and secretive habits could all be excused away as the weird habits of an old man losing what was left of his mind to a debilitating drug.
He now knew they had been halfway right. In Cloud Ruler Temple, quietly slipping away to find a quick fix was impossible. Not being able to slake his thirst made him realize just how addicted he was to the stuff. He couldn't concentrate; he was always sweating, and sometimes he would shake with a strange palsy. Hiding it from the Blades around him was difficult. Oftentimes, he couldn't even sleep, just sweat and shake in his bunk.
When he was in Morrowind, the sugar had practically flowed. Here, there was not a sprinkle to be found. There might be some in the city - going into the city to find some was madness. He was in a nest of guards, all of which doubled as spies. That he would be caught was an understatement. Nothing happened in Bruma the Blades did not know about.
He had managed to excuse his prior uses before the majority of the Blades as necessary to maintain his cover. It was true. Partially. More importantly, they had bought it. He had still lost his status as the spymaster of Vvardenfell, but at least they had bought it. The alternative to being a grunt in the Temple was...unpleasant. Spymasters didn't retire. They simply knew to much. Spymasters deemed unfit for service were simply killed. No choice.
That fate had been spared him: he was now stationed at the Temple. Unfortunately, it was likely he would not be able to leave it for some time. To Caius, sweet, balmy Balmora seemed a world away. He sighed. The sun had almost set. He donned his armor: it was time for his watch.
Somehow, someway, and for some crazy reason, you've made your way to the coldest port of Cyrodill. Bruma. Practically Skyrim. And you've furthered your madness and and gone farther north than that. Though fairly certain no one in their right mind could have built anything this far into the snows, you've made your way still farther, pulled by some unexplainable urge north of even Bruma.
To your surprise, there seems to be a Akaviri Temple on top of a Norse landscape. Shaking your head in disbelief, you make your way to the top of the mountain.
Upon reaching the plateau at the top of the mountain, your greeted by a very surly looked individual covered in head to toe in armor. You take a second look at his face. Very cold, pissed off eyes state back at you: he doesn't look happy in the least. He holds up a hand, and motions for you to stop.
?Halt, citizen. Speak your business, or begone. This area is off limits to the citizenry...?
You can tell the man is about to tell you to leave. It's just your luck to stumble upon the empire here, in the middle of nowhere! You came out here, to get away from the Empire! Bemoaning your fate, you prepare to turn around and head back down the mountain trail, when a growl from the undergrowth around you turns your head to the left. The guard set on hand on his Katana. You draw your weapon as a wolf, starving and seemingly crazed, charges out from the undergrowth.
Surprisingly, the wolf attacks the guard before it goes for you. Unfortunately for the wolf, the man in armor seems to be competent with a blade. In mere moments, you realize he is ferocious with it. The Katana at his hip seems to materialize in front of him, and before you can blink blood is flying from the wolf's severed body, cut in mid-flight. The guard seems to have made a mess, however:
his formerly spotless armor is covered in the wolf's blood. The man sighs, and makes to sheathe his blade. Before it slides back in the scabbard, he pauses, and looks at you. He lets the blade hang at his side.
?What's your name, stranger?? He narrows one eye at you. ?Nevermind, I don't want to know.? He pauses for another moment, and stares at the blood covering his armor and blade. He stares at the dead wolf, and then back at the Temple. His eyes, formerly cold and inexpressive, light up. He plants the blade in the ground, and throws one of his gauntlets on the ground. ?Your going to do something for me.? He says, grinning slightly. You don't like those eyes.
?I am Caius Cosaides.? He says. ?Does that mean anything to you??
You shake your head.
?Good. If you did, I might have to kill you now.? He throws his helmet on the ground. ?Here's what we're going to do. You look like someone looking for adventure. Why else would you be exploring this gods-forsaken nowhere-land if not for adventure and treasure?? He unstraps the cuirass from his back, and lays it on the ground. Dragging the torn body of the wolf towards it, he lays the mangled body inside the metal bowl, and picks the cuirass back up, creating some sort of makeshift basket to carry the wolf in. You find it somewhat disconcerting to talk to someone holding a dead and bleeding animal, but you hold your peace. Something is not right with this man. Not right. In the head.
?I've got an adventure for you. You may have heard the Nerevarine went to Akavir? I happen to know how he got there. There is exactly one ship with a captain crazy enough to make that journey, and it just so happens he's a good enough sailor to do it. Lucky for you: the ship is docked in the Harbor at the Imperial City right now. I'll even tell you which ship it is ? but you're going to do something for me.?
Caius, though seemingly burdened with his macabre cargo, manages to remove the boots from his feet, using only his feet. He looks back toward the temple, and begins to amble down the mountain, towards Bruma. He continues to speak with you even as he is walking down the hill, careful to mask his steps and leave no tracks to follow.
?You see, I'm a little sick of staying here: and more to the point, it's likely I'll be assassinated if I try to leave. So, you're going to help me fake my death, and I'll tell you how to get to Akavir in return.? He stops next to some trees and looks back at you, presumably concealed from anyone else watching from atop the mountain.
?You're going to continue up to the temple, and you're going to tell the guard that will inevitably stop you, that you found this armor right here, covered in blood. And you never saw me: you might even suggest the idea that I was dragged off by some ferocious beastie. It doesn't matter. After they check their rolls, and they realize that I am missing, they'll assume I'm dead. With any luck, they won't look any deeper. Even if they figure out that it's just wolf's blood, and that I'm still alive, I'll long gone, and gone to ground: and it's very hard to track a man in the Ashlands.? He grins, and laughs mirthlessly.
?The ship in the Harbor is called the Big Ragu. Talk to the captain, and mention that I asked him to take you to Akavir, and he'll do the rest. For a price, but you can deal with that. It's an opportunity to go to Akavir. Make of it what you will?
With those parting words, Caius turns and runs down the mountain path, keeping to the shadows and leaving almost no visible trace of his path. Somewhat taken aback, you turn and stare at the armor that now litters the ground. A blade, a pair of boots, his helmet, and his blood covered gauntlets are all that is left of the strange man. With all the blood spattered over the ground, it almost does look as if something large and nasty had dragged someone away. You shrug, and continue to walk up the path to the Temple. No harm in helping the guy. Who knows? Maybe there really is a ship that will take you to Akavir...
09-05-2006, 12:40 AM
Since this is written in linear form, is there much opportunity for choice? For branching off? And what if the player roleplays a different type of player, are there concesions made for him?