 This all started with Ethys Hlaalu, you think to yourselves, as you wait for the guards to let you free from the muddy outdoor prison you have wound up in. The late Ethys was a prominent House Father of the Great House from which his family name was derived. His nick name that was used amongst the people of Balmora, the Old Cliffracer, came from a less reputable source: Cliffracer males, when not harassing travelers, were constantly mating with whatever female they could find in order to give unto the world even more flying nuisances. As the elf had fathered twelve legitimate children with four separate wives and a countless number of bastards with women of the night, it was only appropriate that he be given the moniker of the animal closest to his nature. Apart from aggravating the Temple's faithful with his inability to stay faithful to anyone he was married to, Ethys was well loved and respected. After all, someone who brought so much work and coin to Balmora was worthy of praise, and his easygoing nature made him easier to relate to than the other local bigwigs, Nileno Dorvayn and Ralen Hlaalo. Unfortunately, the trouble all started when the Imperial Government had laid its eyes upon the profits of Balmora. The town had grown too big for its own good, and now was second only to Vivec in population. Due to a technicality in Imperial law, Balmora was placed in a higher tax bracket than it could support near the end of 3E425. The Old Cliffracer, feeling responsible for the ensuing hike in prices and unemployment that followed, promised to get Balmora out of the mess it was in. And it even seemed like he would for a moment, until a Morag Tong blade dug into his heart. Following the public execution of Ethys, the political climate changed dramatically for the worse. Anti-Empire sentiment, previously kept to nothing more than a disgruntled whisper when the rent came in, overtook Balmora, and in the blistering heat of Sun's Height in 3E426, a revolt took place. A local militia of a hundred angry townsfolk, armed with weapons looted from the local Hlaalu armories, killed a couple dozen Imperial troops and Hlaalu Guardsmen, imprisoned whatever guards were left along with "Imperial sympathizers", and then occupied Balmora for several days. The revolt was put down as quickly as it started when a cohort of battlemages and infantry arrived from Fort Frostmouth to put down the revolt after an attempt at peaceful resolution was made. And this is where you come in. After the revolt, Hlaalu Guards rounded up anyone was suspected of being a rebel. Unfortunately for you, you met that profile according to them. Whether it was a misunderstanding, a case of mistaken identity, racial profiling performed by a less-than-enlightened individual, a favor called in by someone out to get rid of you, or whatever else, you have wound up in one of a dozen large wooden pens just outside of the city walls, sitting in the pouring rain and biding your time until the guards let you out. There is one person, asides from you, inside the hastily constructed jail. A human of indeterminate race is lying near the corner of the pen, face down in the mud opposite of you all. He seems to be unconscious at the moment. A bit of blood stains his white hood. Perhaps he took a blow while resisting arrest? At least he still seems to be breathing. In any case, there's nothing to do for now but twiddle your thumbs, lament your bad luck, and perhaps talk to the others in your pen. Let's get this show on the road  . Roll your faction relationship dice, fellas.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 10, 2014 01:16
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Apr 28, 2024 17:01 |
|
|
Zairan The guard, a burly and young Dark Elf wearing Bonemold armor of the Armun-An fashion, strolls over. He doesn't seem to notice the Imperial man probing the boards, and instead focuses on you. He grasps the handle of his sword and laughs in your face. "Oh, really? What, are your Ashlander friends going to come get you? Are one of your witch women going to cast a curse on us? Calm down, you savage. You'll get out once we can sort through all this evidence. Than you can go back to buggering guar or whatever it is you Ashlanders do." Chuckling to himself, the Hlaalu man leaves to inspect the other pens. Seems like you're going to be here for a little while longer. Crassius You investigate your jail and find that one of the boards has not been buried deep enough. Given enough of a push, you could probably move it out of the way and sneak through. Recovering your gear, however, would be another thing. You and the others have nothing but the shirts on your backs. While you yourself are not as limited by this, the others are probably dependent on weaponry. And if you go, they'll all have to go with you. You finish your search just as the guard comes to insult the Ashlander fellow in your pen. Harsh words coming from the supposedly tolerant House Hlaalu. Digs-A-Hole Your panic attack subsiding for the moment, you approach the man on the ground. As you get closer to nudge him, you can see that his robes are made of fine silk obscured by mud and dried blood. It seems his injuries are more severe than you first thought. You nudge him, and he rolls over to face you. The man is a middle aged Breton, and he looks very green around the gills. The wound on his head is easily spotted; his hair is done in a monk's tonsure. It's odd that he has been bleeding for so long; you noticed he had the wound when he came in last night. It's not that deep that it would not have been able to heal within eight hours. He blinks at you through bleary eyes and motions you to come closer. In his hands are a piece of charcoal and a small roll of parchment; it seems he had been allowed to keep these items and was curling up to protect the parchment from the rain. He moans, coughing up a bit of blood as he does so. It looks as if he's gathering the last bit of his strength to speak. "My time's up... Read this. Go to the Eight Plates tavern. Find my journal. You must stop this all from happening. Gods give you luck." Reaching to you, he offers you the roll. His hand is shaking badly as he does so.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 10, 2014 05:31
|
|
|
Digs-A-Hole You take the parchment from the now dead man and unroll it. Your hypothesis was correct: there is a rubbing of Dwemeris letters with arrows pointing towards them, and you've picked up quite a bit of the Dwemer language in your studies. Two arrows facing right towards the letter for B, one upward arrow and one left arrow near a E, one down for an C, and so on. Seems like instructions for something, although you don't know what. Perhaps it's at the inn he mentioned. Tombak gro-Murati You try to think of where your stuff is at. Sadly, you find that you haven't got a clue where the exact location is; you can see no weapons at all within the main evidence pile. Seems they kept the more dangerous items out of reach. All you do know is that your gear is probably within city walls and out of the rain. The guard is now speaking with an Imperial Legion officer near the main city gate. If you all move swiftly, perhaps you may be able to escape before he returns. There would be a bounty on your head, of course, but it's hard telling if you'll get out today or in a month. SunAndSpring fucked around with this message at 15:22 on Jul 10, 2014 |
|
|
#
¿
Jul 10, 2014 15:19
|
|
|
Zairan Your prayer finished, you wait for aid to come to you. And, for once in your life, the gods smile upon you. The wind picks up and the rain begins to pour even harder, becoming almost torrential. Visibility has been drastically reduced for everyone in the area. Sneaking out would be trivial. A thought pops into your head as you receive your miracle: You should definitely provide a good offering to Mephala as soon as possible, or else risk incurring her wrath upon you and your tribe.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 10, 2014 23:09
|
|
|
Tombak You can barely see anything in this weather, but you can narrowly make out the Imperial officer and the Hlaalu guard trying to move to the tent where the evidence pile is located. Their armor is weighing them down in the mud, and they stumble about as they do so. Digs-A-Hole Let's call it a skill check. SunAndSpring fucked around with this message at 01:31 on Jul 11, 2014 |
|
|
#
¿
Jul 11, 2014 01:27
|
|
|
Crassius The board resists for a few seconds before giving in to your magically fortified muscles. It slides in the mud just enough that you and everyone else can squeeze through the gap you've just made, if you hold in your gut while you do it. The rain shows no sign of giving up. If you're lucky, no one will see you reenter the town by the riverside entrance. Then, it's just a matter of finding your confiscated money and items.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 11, 2014 03:44
|
|
|
The Hlaalu guard, for just a moment, barely spots the Imperials exiting the pen and comes to investigate. At least you'll all have a head start until the guards come looking for you. You slip into Balmora via the canal entrance. The town has seen better days. Debris still litters the streets; the battlemages had smashed through the barricades erected by the rebels with explosive force after the rebels had rejected their only chance to stand down. Many of the buildings are scorched and blackened, and you see scaffolds and other construction equipment all over the town. It will take months for the town to fully recover. At least the bodies have been taken away. The streets are currently empty, save for a few villagers trying to make their way back home. Luckily for you, you find the second evidence pile relatively quickly under a tent. It hasn't even been secured; everything about this witch hunt was hasty, it seems.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 11, 2014 19:38
|
|
|
Tombak Your new Imperial friend was way off on his first guess. The tavern just across from the silt strider port, the Council Club, is a local Camonna Tong haunt. Not a good place to be if you're an outlander. The Eight Plates Tavern and Inn is in the commercial district, just past the local Fighter's Guild and Dorisa Darvel's bookstore on the right. While not exactly an Imperial dig, the Eight Plates has a far nicer reputation than a bar full of racists getting wasted on cheap sujamma. Zairan You offer the flower to Mephala, and you feel as if something has stopped watching you. You're safe from the wrath of an irate Daedric Prince, for now. It would be best to wait for a while until asking another favor from Her, however. You can only gain so much favor with the gods until they assume you are trying to command them. Digs-A-Hole You search through the pile and find your Fire Salts. Or, what's left of them. The guards had thrown the bowl you had them in haphazardly into the pile where they could get wet. The salts have dulled from their original bright orange to a sickly brown. Edwinna's going to kill you.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 12, 2014 01:23
|
|
|
You hear a great deal of yelling coming from outside the city walls. It seems they've found out you're missing from your "jail". Hopefully the lack of available guards will slow down their search; not many are left since the revolt, and the Imperials have left save for a few engineers sent to oversee the repair of the town and a captain or two to oversee them.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 12, 2014 02:34
|
|
|
You head to the Eight Plates tavern and enter through the lower door, taking care to wipe off your boots on the rug that sprawls out into the hallway. You can hear the usual bar sounds; laughter, off-key singing, and four-letter words that the Temple, which is but a stone's throw away from the bar, would surely frown upon. You come into the parlor, and you see nothing but Dunmer, save for a Breton woman in blue robes sipping a snifter of brandy at the bar. A few of the men at the side table give you all a curious look, but ultimately return back to their drinks. These are Hlaalu retainers, come to drink and relax after a hard day of wrangling with tax records and land deeds at the council manor. They've had enough of focusing for now. The publican looks up at you all and says, "Welcome to the Eight Plates! Can I get you a table for your party?" Digs-A-Grave As you walk into the parlor, your heart sinks. You know exactly who the Breton at the bar is and you have no idea why she's not in Ald'ruhn. You try to avoid her, but her eyes meet yours, and she stares at you with an annoyed expression on her face. Edwinna gets up and walks over to you, a scowl digging further lines into her already wrinkled face. "Digs-A-Hole. Where are those Fire Salts you were sent to collect? It's been a day, and I needed those for my experiment yesterday. In case you didn't know, time was of the essence. Now the potion will have lost a quarter of its efficacy. I doubt it will block any frost magic now, thanks to your incompetence. Do you have them now, at least? Please tell me you didn't completely fail in what I asked of you." SunAndSpring fucked around with this message at 05:04 on Jul 12, 2014 |
|
|
#
¿
Jul 12, 2014 04:41
|
|
|
Digs-A-Hole She takes one look at the ruined fire salts and puts her palm over her face, massaging her temples as she does so. "Can I please get what I want once in my life without any complications? I've been sitting here at this drat bar waiting for the supposed Moth Priest that was supposed to be staying here. Do you know how rare it is to be able to see a monk of the Cult of the Ancestor Moth outside of Cyrodiil? Do you know how useful the knowledge they have is? And now, asides from wasting five hours here waiting for him to show up, I get to see you drop yet another failure at my foot. Wonderful. What a fantastic day this is. I hope you're pleased with yourself."
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 12, 2014 05:46
|
|
|
Edwinna looks concerned when Crassius tells her what happened to the Moth Priest. "Is he dead?" she whispers, as the publican sets a table aside for you all. "I was told by a contact in House Hlaalu that he saw the Priest staying here for about a week. I figured I'd swing by and ask him some questions. They know so much of the world's history, and I don't think I'll be going to the Imperial City anytime soon. It was an opportunity I couldn't pass up." Tombak passes the note to her, trying to sell it off. She takes a look at it, studying the parchment and the runes rubbed into it. "This looks like the instructions to opening a Dwemer puzzle box. Puzzle boxes are hard to find these days. The Mages Guild likes to recover as many as possible and the Telvanni love to take them before we can get to them. They can store things inside of them; Keys, scrolls, gems, gears. At the very least it's a nice waste of time to open them. I've got a friend in the Fighters Guild, Hasphat Antabolis, who has been trying to get his hands on one for ages, the poor dear. Fancies himself as an amateur Dwemer historian." She stops to finish off her brandy. "Anyway, I'll pay you for the cube if you can find it and get it open. I've got to get going. I'll be at the local Mages Guild if you need me. You'll have to deal with the publican, though. I doubt she'll let you in his room without good reason. And Digs? You owe me Fire Salts. Soon." She gets up to leave and heads out the way you came in. As she turns the corner, you hear her grunt in surprise and exclaim "Excuse you!" A group of six young dark elven men come in, but they are not the fancily dressed Hlaalu types that come to the Eight Plates. Their hair is done up in imitations of traditional Dunmer styles, such as the mohawk and top knot, and they reek of booze already. The other patrons of the bar glare, and you see one of them mouth, "Tong scum..." Their leader, a red haired and tattooed youth with a scar on his lip, walks up to the owner of the tavern with a sneer on his face. "Excuse me, sera, but we need to get into to that room the priest had. For business purposes. He has something we've been sent to retrieve, and our patron wants it very badly. So hand me the key, or we'll use a different way of negotiation. And the guards won't come calling, just so you know." He grasps the handle of his war club as he says that, that wicked sneer still on his face. The publican has gone as pale as a Dark Elf can get and she stammers. "S-serjo, I can't do that..." The youth draws his club. "Poor choice of words, sera." He slides his legs over the bar and makes his way towards the woman.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 12, 2014 17:32
|
|
|
The head thug whirls to face Severia with a look of indignation. "Hey, what the gently caress do you think you're doing, you n'wah bitch?!" His friends draw their weapons almost immediately. The majority are similarly armed like their dear leader, wielding iron clubs and maces and wearing iron brigandines over netch leather. One, clad entirely in netch leather, draws out a few throwing knives that seem to be coated in something green. Finally, the one that seems to have had the most drink of them draws a small dagger from inside his dusty brown robes after a long delay. The publican screams and takes cover under the bar. The rest of the patrons decide that they've had enough sujamma for tonight and rush out of the area. It seems you're on your own in this fight. pre:22 Thug: AC 17, PD 14, MD 12, HP 27 20 Thug: AC 17, PD 14, MD 12, HP 27 19 Thug Rogue: AC 17, PD 15, MD 11, HP 27 17 Thug: AC 17, PD 14, MD 12, HP 27 10 Thug Leader: AC 20, PD 14, MD 12, HP 27 3 Thug Mage: AC 17, PD 11, MD 15, HP 19 SunAndSpring fucked around with this message at 19:14 on Jul 13, 2014 |
|
|
#
¿
Jul 13, 2014 19:09
|
|
|
Turn order is as follows >Digs-A-Hole: 22 Thug #1: 22 Thug #2: 20 Severia: 19 K'Zan Redpaw: 19 Thug Rogue: 19 Crassius Callei: 19 Thug #3: 17 Thug Leader: 10 Tombak: 8 Zairan: 6 Thug Mage: 3
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 14, 2014 16:29
|
|
|
One of the thugs, a particularly ugly bastard with a black mohawk, wanders towards K'Zan and takes a swing at him with his mace. Attack: 1d20+5 15 The mace connects with K'Zan's gut, knocking the wind out of the poor Khajiit. That'll be 4 damage for ya. The next thug to step up is a pretty boy with an unusually long red top knot. He seems to find Zairan particularly offensive, as he attacks him first, swinging his club with an overhead strike. Attack: 1d20+5 6 He stumbles and fails to even come close to striking the Ashlander, hitting the table behind Zairan instead of his shoulder like he had intended. The club smashes a bottle of mazte, spraying liquor and glass everywhere.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 14, 2014 18:27
|
|
|
K'zan strikes the ugly bastard in his face, making him just a tad bit uglier; he might have had his eye clawed out, judging from all the blood. He bellows in shock. The rogue takes notice of Digs-A-Hole and hurls one of his poisoned daggers at the sorcerer. "You'll make a nice pair of boots, lizard!", he hollers. Attack with Poisoned Daggers: 1d20+6 15 It hits him in his arm. His skin starts to itch and burn around the area he was struck. What the hell did that mer put on that dagger? Take 3 damage now and 3 ongoing.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 14, 2014 20:52
|
|
|
The third thug, a fellow with a completely shaved head and a hand tattooed on his forehead, yells out, "Radys, no!", as K'zan slashes the ugliest of the bunch in his face. He rushes to the Khajiit and tries to hammer him in revenge for his friend. Attack: 1d20+5 14 He fails, and misses the Khajiit by an inch. The leader appears to be working himself up into a frenzy over the death of his mage friend. He swings his flanged steel mace at Crassius, shouting, "Get the gently caress out of my way, you bastard!" Attack: 1d20+2 20 His blow finds its way to Crassius's shoulder, bashing into it and breaking the skin open. The elf smirks, and it's clear that he's been energized by this small victory. His next attack will be even more vicious now that he has drawn blood. Attack: 1d20+2 20 Take 5 damage.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 14, 2014 22:25
|
|
|
Turn order is as follows >Digs-A-Hole: 22 Thug #1: 22 Thug #2: 20 Severia: 19 K'Zan Redpaw: 19 Thug Rogue: 19 Crassius Callei: 19 Thug #3: 17 Thug Leader: 10 Tombak: 8 Zairan: 6 pre:22 Thug: AC 17, PD 14, MD 12, HP 27 - 11 20 Thug: AC 17, PD 14, MD 12, HP 27 - 6 19 Thug Rogue: AC 17, PD 15, MD 11, HP 27 - 1 17 Thug: AC 17, PD 14, MD 12, HP 27 10 Thug Leader: AC 20, PD 14, MD 12, HP 27 - 1
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 15, 2014 00:30
|
|
|
The acid burns itself out, dealing a bit of damage to Digs-A-Hole's arm before it finally fizzles out. Take 3 damage, but your ongoing damage has ceased. The ugly Dunmer shouts, "My eye! My eye, you loving cat! I'm gonna rip your drat claws out, one by one!" He takes a swing at K'zan's head with both of his hands. If it lands, it'll hit hard; K'zan might need to see a healer (or a dentist) if he gets hit. And even if it doesn't strike true, the brute's on a roll. His pain has sent him into a frenzy, and he won't stop until he's dead. Attacking K'zan: 1d20+5 25 Got a Nat 20, poor chap, so take 8 damage. Sorry, but I'm rolling really good today. The handsome elf grabs his back and groans, trying to take the arrow out. He retaliates, blindly swinging his weapon at the Ashlander, and lands a hit despite it all on Zairan's ribs. Attacking Zairan: 1d20+5 24 And I almost got another crit! Take 4 damage. Also, I should mention that the thugs are using the base stats for human thugs in the book. So natural even hits or misses let them do +6 damage on their next attack. I figure I'd waive it once since I didn't tell you guys about it, otherwise that crit would've probably hurt a hell of a lot worse for poor K'zan. SunAndSpring fucked around with this message at 07:23 on Jul 15, 2014 |
|
|
#
¿
Jul 15, 2014 01:17
|
|
|
Rerolling Thug #2's attack because of K'zan's racial power, Evasive. Attacking K'zan (Take two): 1d20+3 11 K'zan ducks at the last possible second. The attack sails over the Khajiit's head, and the Dark Elf looks considerably pissed that he has missed.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 17, 2014 02:45
|
|
|
The rogue turns his attention to Tombak, having been cut by the edge of his spear. He draws another dagger from his person and stabs at the Orc. He barely misses his attack, and he mutters a swear as he gets ready to strike again. Attacking Tombak: 1d20+6 13
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 17, 2014 17:57
|
|
|
The bald elf attacks K'zan, trying to make up for his partner's failure. He, fortunately, does not come close to hitting the rogue. Attacking K'zan: 1d20+5 11 The leader of this little gang nearly comes crashing to the ground with the kick, but comes back up with a look of utter hatred on his face. He swings his mace blindly, and misses Crassius by a long shot. It comes down and hits the bar instead, smashing the wood into splinters. Attacking Crassius: 1d20+3 14
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 17, 2014 19:15
|
|
|
Turn order is as follows >Digs-A-Hole: 22 Thug #1: 22 Thug #2: 20 Severia: 19 K'Zan Redpaw: 19 Thug Rogue: 19 Crassius Callei: 19 Thug #3: 17 Thug Leader: 10 Tombak: 8 Zairan: 6 pre:22 Thug: AC 17, PD 14, MD 12, HP 27 - 11 - 1 20 Thug: AC 17, PD 14, MD 12, HP 27 - 6 - 1 19 Thug Rogue: AC 17, PD 15, MD 11, HP 27 - 1 - 10 17 Thug: AC 17, PD 14, MD 12, HP 27 10 Thug Leader: AC 20, PD 14, MD 12, HP 27 - 1 - 1 - 15
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 18, 2014 00:33
|
|
|
The other Camonna Tong men shout out as their chief goes down. The ugly bastard attempts to run at Digs-A-Hole, but cannot get past the Khajiit. Frustrated, he again tries to kill the poor cat, and manages to hit him in the arm. The Khajiit's fur is stained with blood as the mace bashes him. Disengaging: 1d20 8 Attacking K'zan: 1d20+5 22 Take 10 damage. The pretty elf stays the course and succeeds in smashing the ranger in his rib cage with his mace. Attacking Zairan: 1d20+5 19 Take 4 damage SunAndSpring fucked around with this message at 02:41 on Jul 18, 2014 |
|
|
#
¿
Jul 18, 2014 02:36
|
|
|
The Dunmer rogue, startled by Severia's sudden charge, manages to roll with her punch and retaliate with a quick stab of his poisoned knife. This one was coated in something that freezes when it touches the skin; ice crystals begin to bud out of her wounded shoulder. Attacking Severia with Poison Dagger: 1d20+6 16 Take 3 damage as well as 3 ongoing.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 19, 2014 02:30
|
|
|
One of the elves attacking K'zan diverts his attention from the Khajiit to attack the self-styled Kinetomancer. He misses completely, hitting nothing but the air of the bar. Attacking Crassius: 1d20+5 9
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 20, 2014 00:34
|
|
|
Turn order is as follows >Digs-A-Hole: 22 Thug #1: 22 Thug #2: 20 Severia: 19 K'Zan Redpaw: 19 Thug Rogue: 19 Crassius Callei: 19 Thug #3: 17 Tombak: 8 Zairan: 6 pre:22 Thug: AC 17, PD 14, MD 12, HP 27 - 11 - 1 - 5 20 Thug: AC 17, PD 14, MD 12, HP 27 - 6 - 1 - 5 - 1 - 10 19 Thug Rogue: AC 17, PD 15, MD 11, HP 27 - 1 - 10 - 1 - 1 - 6 17 Thug: AC 17, PD 14, MD 12, HP 27 - 1 SunAndSpring fucked around with this message at 04:47 on Jul 20, 2014 |
|
|
#
¿
Jul 20, 2014 03:28
|
|
|
Dunmer may be naturally resistant to heat, but the Argonian's spell burns too hot for these Camonna Tong scum. The ugly thug begins to weep from the shock off having his eye burned out. The other one has his handsome features permanently disfigured by third degree burns He seems less than pleased by this development. The now cyclopean elf attempts to take revenge on the Argonian, and fails completely; his vision is completely obfuscated, it seems. Attacking Digs: 1d20+5 11 Meanwhile, the formerly beautiful thug tries to attack Zairan. It goes poorly, and as he tries to curse Zairan, blood comes out of his mouth. Attacking Zairan: 1d20+5 6 SunAndSpring fucked around with this message at 23:36 on Jul 22, 2014 |
|
|
#
¿
Jul 20, 2014 05:16
|
|
|
The rogue tosses a dagger at Severia as a parting gift. It misses, thankfully, and strikes a bottle of shein on a shelf. Opportunity Attack on Severia: 1d20+6 15 He then returns his attention to Tombak. With a flick of his wrist, he removes yet another knife from his sleeve and stabs at the orc, piercing the bard's gut. The wound begins to smolder with a green and sulfurous smoke that singes the nostrils of whoever smells it. Attacking Tombak: 1d20+6 25 3 damage and 3 ongoing damage.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 21, 2014 01:18
|
|
|
As two more of the gangsters fall, the remaining two begin to reconsider their odds and find that luck is not on their side. They lower their weapons, and the rogue begins to speak, his face tense and pale. "A-alright, you win. We'll leave. Let me get Bradys over there and we'll go away and never trouble you again." The other seems about ready to protest, but falls silent. He glares at the Argonian with his one remaining eye, waiting to see what he and the rest of the group's next move will be.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 23, 2014 03:08
|
|
|
The man with the burnt eye begins to protest at Tombak's suggestion. "You loving greenskin! We barely have any money! That's why we took this job in the first pla-" The rogue's frown deepens considerably. He hisses, "Shut. Up. Bradys. Unless you want them to finish you off," to his comrade. He then fishes a small pouch out of his jerkin and then places it on the counter. "That will be enough to repair the furniture, at least. I knew we should've never went here. The whole thing smelled rotten to begin with. Who pays 2000 septims to steal someone's journal? But Valin had to take the job." He looks at Zairan and laughs bitterly. "Hlaalu friends? Hah, you jest. We had to bribe the patrolman to look the other way while we ransacked the place. We have no friends in high places. The only way we get by is by doing dirty work for the Camonna Tong. And look what it brought us. I grew up with these people, and now look at them. Do what you will with us. I don't care anymore."
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 23, 2014 05:05
|
|
|
The elf stares at Digs for a moment, measuring him up. Finally he speaks. "I've got a bottle of the acid I hit you with. Dunno what's in it; Toval made it before that Imperial woman killed him. Take it." He hands off a vial filled with a reddish-black gunk to the sorcerer. He then props up his friend and begins to make for the exit. The publican finally rises from out of her hiding spot and rises up. She wipes the sweat off her brow. "Almalexia's Grace, what has the world come to these days? These thugs are terrorizing honest folk, and the guards just sit back and watch." She snatches up the coin purse the rogue left and throws it in a small lockbox under the bar. "This'll barely cover the cost of getting new tables. All that liquor they smashed up is gone. It'll take me weeks to clean the glass up..." She continues her rant for another minute, listing off every slight she has endured in the last month. Finally, she settles down and remembers that you all exist. "So, what's this about a journal? Do you know anything about it? What could a simple priest have that was so important that someone would send these brutes to get it?"
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 23, 2014 23:07
|
|
|
The publican nods and removes a keyring from her dress. "I've got the spare key right here. I'll come down and unlock the door for you. Whatever it is they wanted, I want it out of my hair." She then walks over to the tavern rooms and unlocks the late priest's door. She gasps in surprise when she opens it; a brown moth about the size of a hand flutters out of the room and lands on the wall nearby. As you look into the room, you can see three more of these moths fluttering about the cramped quarters above a lamp whose light is about to go out. There is a chest in front of the bed, as well as a small bit of uneaten ash yam on a table. There is also a half-full potion of some sort on the nightstand. The publican backs out of the area, feeling claustrophobic and perhaps a bit uncomfortable around the moths. As she leaves, she says, "Don't make too much of a mess. Vivec knows I have enough to deal with in the bar."
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 24, 2014 00:31
|
|
|
The potion is quite interesting. It seems tailor made for treating a specific illness: hemophilia. That explains why the monk's wounds would not clot; he did not have access to his medicine while in the pen. You find the maker's mark on the bottom of the bottle. A small triangle with the Daedric symbols for A, S, and V. This came from the Temple. The poison is much more mundane. You take a whiff and immediately identify one of the ingredients: Dwemer oil. Further testing of the poison reveals the other ingredients: fire petals and scathecraw. This solution, when applied to organic matter, burns through it very quickly. You think there's about three doses left. The poison does 3 ongoing damage to most living beings on a successful strike when applied to a weapon.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 24, 2014 05:25
|
|
|
Zairan These moths are not native to Morrowind at all. They're Ancestor Moths, a rare breed of insect normally found in the parts of Tamriel inhabited by mankind. These had to have been brought along by the Moth Priest from the mainland. There's obviously a religious connection, but you wouldn't know exactly what it is; your unfamiliarity with Cyrodiilic religions is not exactly helping you out in this situation. Severia You open the chest, and find a few more silken robes. These ones are much cleaner then the ones the priest was wearing, and you can see what appears to be a genealogy of some sort inscribed on the front of them. More crazy prophecy poo poo, you guess. You root through it and find a small cube inscribed with dwarven lettering. You guess this is the puzzle cube. But where the hell is the journal? SunAndSpring fucked around with this message at 05:53 on Jul 24, 2014 |
|
|
#
¿
Jul 24, 2014 05:47
|
|
|
You find nothing but five septims and dust in your search of the nightstand. You check under the sheets and the bed, and turn up nothing but lint and straw. Another dead end.
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 24, 2014 06:14
|
|
|
Tombak The publican raises her eyebrows. "No, serjo, I haven't seen anyone but him go into this room. I did see him leave to go towards the Temple a few times, but otherwise he mostly stayed in his room." K'zan You search the room much more thoroughly than the clumsy humans and elves you're working with. You check the table and you find a small key of Dwarven make under the plate of ash yams. You wonder if it has something to do with the puzzle box Severia found. Digs Your inspection of the puzzle cube doesn't reveal much beyond the obvious. It has six letters engraved on a small display on one of the sides, and a small gear on either side of each letter. You think you can change the letters if you move the gears. SunAndSpring fucked around with this message at 17:01 on Jul 24, 2014 |
|
|
#
¿
Jul 24, 2014 16:58
|
|
|
You don't have a clue what the key does for this thing, at least for now, but you at the very least think you know what to do with the cube: the arrows signify one turn of the gear on the right or left. By following the directions on the paper, you'll reach the correct letter combination for the puzzle box: BEHARN. And you do so, feeling the gears click beneath your scaled fingers, gradually spelling out the pass phrase. As you dial the last letter in the word, you hear a loud clacking sound come from the inside of the cube. An aperture on the top of the box opens and reveals a key hole. So that's what that key was for. Seems like the Dwemer who used to own this device wanted to double down on the security of whatever was inside this thing.
SunAndSpring fucked around with this message at 23:12 on Jul 24, 2014 |
|
|
#
¿
Jul 24, 2014 23:09
|
|
|
"Beharn" roughly approximates to "witch" in modern Tamrielic. At least, you think it does. Hard telling with the Dwarves. You slide the key in and turn it until you hear another click. The device sits still for a moment, and you wonder if you even did anything. The key then suddenly ejects itself, clattering onto the floor. The puzzle cube starts emitting a sound that is not unlike the chiming of a large brass bell. It begins to reconfigure, expanding itself outwards like a blooming flower. The previously tiny cube becomes big enough that you are almost unable to hold it comfortably. You set it down on the table and let it finish its work. Eventually, it stops growing, and the humming ceases. What was once a box that could be easily covered by closing your hand is now the size of a small chest. A hatch splits open the top of the box, revealing the contents inside. A small leatherbound journal, and yet another Dwemer cube. This cube is covered in softly glowing blue runes in a language none of you have ever encountered before. The moths, previously content with fluttering around the lantern, suddenly flock to the cube. You can swear that you hear a faint humming coming from the moths as they circle this new cube. SunAndSpring fucked around with this message at 03:32 on Jul 25, 2014 |
|
|
#
¿
Jul 25, 2014 03:28
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Apr 28, 2024 17:01 |
|
|
You scan the journal, trying to find what was so important about it that it needed to be hidden in such an elaborate chest away from the world. The former owner of this journal was named Dunastyr, a Breton hailing from the city of Camlorn. The first half of the journal details his induction into the Cult of the Ancestor Moth. The order's rituals are a mystery to one so removed from Imperial culture such as yourself; for instance, Dunastyr details such activities as meditation on the nature of paradoxes, learning the histories and cultures of the world, interpretation of prophecy, singing something called a "fjyron" into moth silk, weaving said silk into fine clothing inscribed with the family tree of the buyer, and other things that are even more obscure. All this is done in preparation for the eventual reading of an Elder Scroll, a mystical artifact that allows one to see a possible future. It appears the Scrolls were the reason this Moth Priest was on Vvardenfell in the first place. Dunastyr arrived in Morrowind along with an elder Moth Priest by the name of Origen, six men and women of the Imperial Legion, and two dozen Ancestor Moths a month ago. Apparently, a team of ordinators had discovered a Dwarven artifact known as a "lexicon" during a raid of Red Mountain. This device intrigued the Moth Priests, as it was rumored to be a way to inscribe and read the contents of an Elder Scroll without the negative effects; an Elder Scroll apparently causes temporary blindness when read, and each reading further increases the severity of the blindness until it becomes permanent. About a week ago, just before the start of the Balmora tax revolt, the Moth Priests and their guard had reached Ghostgate, taken the lexicon, and were on their way back to Fort Moonmoth. During the dead of night, strange creatures ambushed the group while they were resting and slaughtered everyone save for Dunastyr, who had only barely managed to escape the attack. The journal's description of the monsters is vague, but apparently these creatures had "holes" in the middle of their faces. The Moth Priest, in his fright and confusion following the massacre, managed to miss Fort Moonmoth and arrive in Balmora, only to be trapped in the town due to the revolt just a day later. Dunastyr's later journal entries are paranoid, although rightfully so. He believed that someone was attempting to recover the lexicon at any cost, and that he may die at any moment. The priest holed up in the Eight Plates inn room, tinkering with the Dwemer relic and only coming out to purchase medicine for his condition; the man was born with hemophilia, a disease that prevents blood from ever clotting. Any cut or wound he suffered had the chance to kill him if he was not medicated with the proper potions. Finally, you get to what is really important. Dunastyr had managed to read the lexicon with the help of the few remaining Ancestor Moths that had followed him back to town, and what followed next seemed to alarm him. Written on one of the last pages in a blurry and trembling hand, is the following prophecy: quote:Under the ash of the Red Tower,
|
|
|
#
¿
Jul 26, 2014 03:38
|
|