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Post by The Lost Traveler on Sept 22, 2015 1:09:04 GMT -5
Halfway through his description of the Dragonborn, the door to the barracks opened up with a creak. The Old Knight stood in the doorway before making his way towards one of the lower bunks, pulling off his gloves and chainmail shirt.
Honestly, Hadimir was quite a bit surprised that he made absolutely no comment on the discussion of the Dragonborn, or, if he had lingered at the doorway, the talk of the dragon before that. Was it experience or apathy that made him so cavalier?
Hadimir turned from his thoughts when Scipia gave his piece … however small that may be. Still, Hadimir was intrigued. He had never been to a desert before. After all, the last thing someone would associate with Skyrim was heat. But salvation and joy, eh? There’s a tale to be told here. Perhaps some other time when the two men were more familiar with one another.
And legends … honestly, that talk made Hadimir a bit uncomfortable. Mainly because it brought up memories he would rather forget. The Stone-Fist laying in the dirt, clutching at Hadimir’s vest speaking through the blood that coated his beard, croaking out ”You are the last.”
Even if Scipia noticed the flicker of gloominess on Hadimir’s face when he stood up to pat his shoulder it would disperse under a grin at the mention of the Thalmor. He also turned his attention to the resting man when Scipia tried to get his tale out of him. “I, too, am curious. All that the Breton told us during introductions was that you were a veteran of the Great War. And those are worth a Septim a piece. What else do you bring to the table?”
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Salvahkiin
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Post by Salvahkiin on Sept 22, 2015 2:02:36 GMT -5
Daerus was only half listening to the stories. He'd seen and heard more than his share of war. It wasn't anything to be proud of, but it wasn't something to bury, either. No matter the reason of fighting, it was noble. But then again, some tales weren't meant to be told.
"You got any tales to share, Grey Knight? It's going to be a long night, a long ride on this wreck and a long a journey afterwards. May as well share our stories, that way if one of us survives we can still pass it all on eh?"
Daerus had few stories worth telling, but those stories are ones he did not want to tell. Eventually he'd have to tell these men about his past, about his involvement in the War, but the further he could put that off, the better.
"Nothing good."
“I, too, am curious. All that the Breton told us during introductions was that you were a veteran of the Great War. And those are worth a Septim a piece. What else do you bring to the table?”
Daerus opened his eyes, and flashed a displeased look at Hadimir. He moved up, and sat on the side of the bed.
"I told Scipia here earlier that I hunted Daedra. That's only a half truth. I was an elite Knight, part of a religious order. We were very good, but few in number, hence our near extinction, I've no idea if there are any others left."
That was still not the whole truth, but Daerus was not lying. If these two were half as smart as he hoped, they'd deduct the order very quickly.
"Needless to say, you need not worry about my efficiency in combat."
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Oct 2, 2015 14:49:12 GMT -5
In truth Scipia had been raised on tales of the Great War, he was born into the post-war generation. As he was growing, he found himself asking why people hated Elves so much, why the various forts and towns were in such a state of ruin. It turned out the two were very closely interlinked, it had altered his perception of the War. There was no glory in the old stories he had heard, just sadness and grief for the Cyrodiilic Heartlands that had been so badly damaged by the war they almost lost. But where the grief of past Legionnaires lay there was still honour to be had, brave stories of Men fighting for their lives and homes against the Elves - a war they had not asked for, but had come to them instead. In others, such tales had bred an internal hatred for Elves - one he could sense in his Nord companion - but his time in the Legion, fighting alongside Elves that supported the Empire and had signed up just as he... The Imperial had learned to look passed heritage, and more at which banners you flew.
Of course he had heard the stories of the Blades, the defenders of the Empire that were hunted to near extinction in the war - and outlawed as part of the treaty that ended the bloodshed. They had led assaults against the Dominion on their home soil, and had been joined by other groups of warriors that saw the chaos in the Dominion's plans - or were threatened by the very religious warfare that fuelled the Elves.
Scipia hadn't heard much about the latter, but could put together easily enough that Daerus must have been one of these defunct Holy Orders. Hunting Daedra was something that brought to mind the Vigilant's of Stendarr, but that group had taken little part in the war against the Dominion. Yet... The Imperial visibly looked as if he was considering Daerus' words, leaning back with his arms folded on his lap. He bore a thoughtful expression, which only broke when he asked the question that burrowed in his mind, "I hadn't particularly heard that the Dominion - or the Thalmor - used Daedra that much in their warfare. I'm guessing hunting Daedra was your day job? Elf slayer by night, or as a hobby maybe?" He gave another grin, clearly a favourite facial emotion of his.
"Personally," he added, this time lying back on his cot as the ship gently rolled across the moon-lit Niben, "I can't stand the bloody things. Daedra, I mean. Inhuman things, unnatural. We had a College of Whispers Mage serving alongside our centuria, kept with him this little Imgakin-esque thing. A scamp he called it. Bald for the most part, scabby skin, teeth like a slaughterfish. Saw it light up a Khajiit spy that tried to assassinate the Mage. Just hit him with a stream of fire... Should've seen the sick little grin on its face, it's not a pleasure any mortal thing would have." He shuffled a little, before amending himself solemnly, "Or, should have... There are some 'people' like that I guess..."
Childhood stories of the Black Hand, and the order that the mark stood for: the Dark Brotherhood.
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Post by The Lost Traveler on Oct 9, 2015 17:24:19 GMT -5
The moment that Daerus shot him a look, Hadimir knew he had offended the man. He immediately held his hands up, palms open, but the Old Knight already went on. Hadimir’s eyes widened when he heard that the man used to hunt Daedra. Damn. Not just a regular veteran then. Hadimir had not sat by the table after introductions to talk but instead had gone after Emily, and so he must have missed that little tidbit.
But more than that, Daerus next words made everything click into place for Hadimir.
A religious order that hunts Daedra. A holy knightly order. The Knights of the Nine.
Hadimir’s father had been a priest of Talos. In his early childhood, Hadimir had learned the rules and regulations of faithful ministry in the secret, underground Order of the Sun. He had learned the histories of other religious orders that spanned the length of Tamriel. Most recently that of the Vigilants of Stendarr, but also that of the Knights of the Nine that fell, rose, and fell once more.
When the old knight finished speaking but before Scipia could get a word in edgewise, Hadimir quickly interjected. “I did not mean it like that. I was truly only asking about your skillset. For example, I think you both think of me as a Warrior. While it is true that I am handy with my maces, I do lean on the Rogue.” He would not say Thief because it was sickeningly untrue. “I am skilled with the bow and can move silently. Most of the time when I have struck at Thalmor they have been ambushes.”
Whatever they would say about their own skills brought to the table, a silence would then fall. One where, with practical matter set aside, no words could be found. But Scipia found them, changing the topic to the matter of Daedra. In this case, Hadimir could not help much as he had never come across the beasts, but the man’s last words did touch home to him.
“Aye. Like that Dunmer, Daryn.”
Once more a silence fell upon them. This time not due to awkwardness or need to search for some sort of topic, but due to the weight of the subject matter – so recently done, so recently forgotten about. Hadimir leaned back in his chair, glancing up at the ceiling. One would think that was all he would say on the matter, bringing the matter up only to let it die.
They would be wrong.
“When I first realized that something was wrong, I rushed down to the tavern floor to see to the poisoned man. I didn’t carry the antidote for chokeberry on me, so I hurried to make one then and there. Would’ve worked too if I had been quick enough about it. I hadn’t been. The man died – spat some blood on my face.”
Hadimir turned his gaze from the ceiling onto the two men. This next part…This next part they had to understand.
“I was not going to kill him as I climbed the stairs. I was numb, more or less. But then I heard his voice. Through the haze, it was hard to make out, but I heard it nonetheless. The amusement in his tone.”
His face darkened.
“I couldn’t see from behind, but … that fucker was smiling, wasn’t he?”
The anger remained for a moment, but then it ebbed away to leave exhaustion in its place. Hadimir sighed. The anger that had bubbled up in him, just extinguished in a moment. Immediately after the kill, he had looked down on the Dunmer as a thing and not a man. His own attitude against mer played into it, no doubt, but the fire was deeper than that. It was only when he had tossed the body into the Niben that the last embers of Hadimir’s ire faded.
“So, yes, I think that Daryn fellow had some similarities with daedra.”
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Salvahkiin
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Post by Salvahkiin on Oct 21, 2015 18:12:18 GMT -5
"I hadn't particularly heard that the Dominion - or the Thalmor - used Daedra that much in their warfare. I'm guessing hunting Daedra was your day job? Elf slayer by night, or as a hobby maybe?"
"We served the Nine. Rooting out daedra and destroying them was only one part of our duty. Our faith was threatened when the Aldmeri marched on Cyrodiil, and so we fought them too."
"Personally, I can't stand the bloody things. Daedra, I mean. Inhuman things, unnatural. We had a College of Whispers Mage serving alongside our centuria, kept with him this little Imgakin-esque thing. A scamp he called it. Bald for the most part, scabby skin, teeth like a slaughterfish."
Daerus nodded. He knew all too well of scampkind. Although they were small, they weren't to be underestimated. Their vileness matched Dremora, and they were particularly nasty to handle.
"Saw it light up a Khajiit spy that tried to assassinate the Mage. Just hit him with a stream of fire... Should've seen the sick little grin on its face, it's not a pleasure any mortal thing would have. Or, should have... There are some 'people' like that I guess..."
Killing should never be seen as a pleasure, but a duty. Hunting daedra was second nature to Daerus, second only to his bladework. Daerus had made the assumption that Daryn had been either a member of the Morag Tong, or the Dark Brotherhood. Both were vile in his mind, death for coin. They lacked morality, a trait that Daedra were also missing. Monsters, the lot of them.
“When I first realized that something was wrong, I rushed down to the tavern floor to see to the poisoned man. I didn’t carry the antidote for chokeberry on me, so I hurried to make one then and there. Would’ve worked too if I had been quick enough about it. I hadn’t been. The man died – spat some blood on my face.”
"You must not dwell on it. Twas not you who killed the man. The knife-ears knew what he was doing, this was just the latest in a long line of victims, I presume. He won't be killing any more, thanks to you. You may have not saved his life, but you saved quite a many people from his blade, or poison."
“I was not going to kill him as I climbed the stairs. I was numb, more or less. But then I heard his voice. Through the haze, it was hard to make out, but I heard it nonetheless. The amusement in his tone. I couldn’t see from behind, but … that fucker was smiling, wasn’t he?”
Daerus nodded, a grim expression was seated firmly upon his face. Honestly, Daerus did not feel safe around assassins and thieves. They could not be trusted, and he would not have slept well if Daryn was accompanying them. But Hadimir and Scipia? He could sympathise with them. Hadimir knew the sting of the Aldmeri. And Scipia knew what it was like to be ignored and shunned by the Empire he served, and bled for.
“So, yes, I think that Daryn fellow had some similarities with daedra.”
"Daedra are often worthy opponents. I doubt he would've been worthy." Daerus chuckled some.
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Dec 24, 2015 12:45:43 GMT -5
Scipia closed his eyes when Hadimir recounted his version of Daryn's death. It wasn't something he wanted to hear, but he knew he had to let the Nord get it out. It wasn't a particularly good experience the three - well, four - of them had shared. By all rights it was terrible. Scipia only nodded when Daerus reminded Hadimir that he acted the best he could, that taking one life and failing to save the poisoned man would save many more in the future. His words were right, there was nothing more to be said about it.
The gladiator didn't respond to the question of Daryn's smile. He just locked up in anger.
Scipia let out a crooked smile at Daerus' comment. Maybe Daryn wouldn't have been a worthy opponent, but Scipia had to remind him "It's not wise to speak ill of the dead, grey knight. Especially the freshly deceased, Divines know what manner of apparition might spawn from the broken body of the Elf if he hears you challenging his worthiness in combat. Not that I'm the superstitious type... But y'know. Better safe than sorry when you're trapped in a floating coffin." He ended with a smirk, "Not that I want to scare the two of you with ghost stories."
He let out a light sigh, and broke the silence with some words. "Just know, Hadimir, if you hadn't struck the Elf down I would have. Do not take the weight of it all upon your shoulders, we share the motives of his death if not the means."
The boat creaked audibly over a particularly harsh wave, and footsteps echoed from the corridor beyond their quarters door. "Today has been a heavy day. I think it's best we end it. Sleep well, companions." Scipia didn't turn away, he was already comfortable in his current position - but it was clear he didn't want any more part in conversations.
It was the Khajiit, Ra'jidar, who walked passed the group's door. He had heard their talking as he passed, his feet carrying him silently to a point where he could pause to listen in on their prior conversation. It was only when he had tired of the morbid discussion that he made the effort to continue his journey without creeping - and made the audible footsteps. The Khajiit was somewhat of an accomplished footpad in his youth, so knew the art of remaining undetected until you needed to be known.
His bare padded feet carried him on towards the quarters he had been granted with Emily. He slowed his pace to remain quiet as he moved up to the door. He listened, ears twitching at the rustling of papers inside and the surprise squeak of a mouse or rat further down the corridor. There was no further noise from inside, the Khajiit guessed she must be writing a report on the day. He knocked twice on the door, not quite asking for permission - more a warning not to set him alight as he entered.
"Emily," the Khajiit purred as greeting when he entered, "didn't go as planned hmm?" he continued, stepping fully into the room and closing the wooden door behind him. He set himself down on his bunk, which he noted had been partitioned somewhat by a sheet from the other bunk. It was a far more welcoming room than the quarters the 'hired hands' were sharing, and the two Oculatus had been afforded some amenities. Notable a desk and a chair, which Emily currently sat at.
She didn't turn to face him, instead she remained hunched over several sheets of paper. The sound of her quill scratching against the pages and the wood beneath filled the silence for a few moments. "No." she eventually managed through gritted teeth, "The Dunmer was a mistake. A poor choice made on poor intelligence. I'm currently writing a reprimand on the agent that checked if he was still abusing skooma... Because clearly," she slammed the quill down against the table, leaning back and letting out an annoyed sigh, "he was."
Ra'jidar shrunk back from the display of anger, his ears flicking back against his head. "Yes... But perhaps tomorrow will be a better day. The Captain says we should arrive by late evening with this weather. That is good, it means we won't have to eat too many meals here." he let out a light growl accompanying his next words, "This ship has rats."
"Don't all ships have rats?" Emily piped up, turning around to give the Khajiit a questioning look. "Or do you just choose not to notice?" She gave a little smile, the frustration of the day easing somewhat on her features.
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Post by Endicott on Jan 30, 2016 17:17:25 GMT -5
"The Listener is wise...", muttered Rafiq. "It would be unwise of you to forget that, my child."
Hands-Eyes-Ears was a loyal servant of Sithis and trusted his master, Rafiq the speaker, with his life. This job however... something didn't feel quite right about it. The Dark Brotherhoood weren't keen on the Imperial Legion ever since the Falkreath Purge, but they had some respect for Titus Mede II's reverence in his final moments of the Dark Brotherhood's prestige; an anecdote that was passed on to the Argonian assassin by a former initiate from Dawnstar. It wasn't even clear if an assassination was to take place on his mission, but Rafiq assured him that the Listener was certain of it... Hands-Eyes-Ears was always sceptical of his star-crossed precognitions, however. The reward remained unbeknownst to him, in accordance with Rafiq's usual vagueness, but he was assured that it would be what would restore the Brotherhood to its former glory (Hands-Eyes-Ears' scepticism remained impenetrable despite this).
"It will take me several weeks to reach Bravil, great Speaker. I will require the dark horse..."
"Of course. We have it ready for you outside the sanctuary. You are to arrive in Bravil, as I have already iterated, in civilian clothing... there, you will wait for a ship to arrive and meet you outside the city limits. You will receive further instruction from there, though remember to be always on your guard. We are aware this could be a trap... but, the Listener is wise, and the Night Mother even wiser. Meditate on Sithis and the Void if it comforts you before you venture out tomorrow."
"I shall, my master. Hail Sithis!"
"Hail Sithis..."
The black lizard returned to his quarters briefly, and meditated on his eternal master, Sithis. Feeling the Void's presence filled him with determination, but also with dread... reverence and fear intertwined like the tails of two serpents. The best of rest is sleep, and the silencer gave in to his bodily urges by doing so. What the morrow might bring was a mystery indeed...
Three Weeks Later
Hands-Eyes-Ears had arrived at a tavern about five miles down the road from Bravil called "Hlaalu's House"; based on those within the dingy pocket of vice, it appeared to be populated mostly by Dark Elf refugees who had fled from the Morrowind crises, and they did not appear at all happy to see an Argonian of all races enter through the door. Hands-Eyes-Ears thought to himself: "Of all the bars in all the world, I had to walk into this one...". It was nighttime however, and he had been traveling for most of the day; hopefully the morrow would bring better tidings. He approached the bar and grabbed the last remaining stall, to the disgust of those around him. The assassin was not at all intimidated.
"Water.", he muttered to the bartender, who proceeded to fill up a rather morose-looking cup with water. Before placing it down, he spat in it rather obtusely, still pokerfaced. The Argonian did not appear amused.
"Did you spit in this?"
"N'wahs like you should appreciate the flavour of my spit! It must take a dozen times better than that hist you lizard-folk are so fond of."
And the crowd goes wild. The room roared with haughty laughter; a distinctly Vvardenfellic accent permeated throughout. Gradually, more people in the room began to verbally abuse Hands-Eyes-Ears as he stared at the cub in front of him.
"My grandfather owned lizard filth like you!"
"Your race pillaged and raped our women during a crisis!"
"Shame on Black Marsh and all of their ill-bred uppity serpents!"
A deafening silence washed over the dark room after Hands-Eyes Ears spoke next.
"My great-grandfather fought in the Oblivion Crisis. He entered one of the gates and never returned, but those that did return spoke of how many of the demons he killed. He was once a slave to a Dunmer."
It was clear from his passive aggressive tone that he was furious.
"Pour me another one. This time, let me watch."
The Dunmer, to everyone's surprise, complied. A clean cup of water was placed on the bar... but it was already too late. One of the Dunmer behind them both placed his hand on the Argonian's shoulder.
"Reforge the Morrow!"
The beginning of the end.
His slimy black claw gripped the grey hand on his shoulder and within seconds the elf flew over the Argonian's shoulder, straight into the glass bottles of alcohol and other beverages behind the bar. The bartender reached for iron dagger and thrust it in Hands-Eyes-Ears' direction, the tip almost coming into contact with one of his nostrils as he slid across the stool and got to his feet, assessing as the situation; there were five Dunmer, and one Khajiit in the corner high on skooma. The stool was tossed towards the Dunmer on the right, smashing into his head and dazing him badly; the Bartender slid over the counter and began stabbing the air ferociously, with Hands-Eyes-Ears being barely even able to dodge his swift attacks. In a fell swoop, he grabbed the elf's wrist and snatched the knife, stabbing straight into his abdomen. Men had screamed at Hands-Eyes-Ears before, but this Dunmer rivaled cliff chasers in decibels. He knew he had to stop this noise if he was to detract attention, and so he struggled with the Bartender briefly before slamming his head against the counter, his skull making a crunching sound as his cranium connected with the solid wooden bar. The other two elves had managed to sneak up behind him during this time, one of them armed with a blade. The blade pierced Hands-Eyes-Ears' shoulder blade, and the elf opposite him wrapped his inner elbow around the Argonian's throat in an attempt to choke him. Little were any of them aware that an Imperial Guard was about to open the door, and that the elf dazed by the stool was about to reach for his axe...
A guard, dressed in traditional Imperial leathers, opened the door and saw the two elves scrapping with Hands-Eyes-Ears. The guard reached for his sword, and as he began to quiz them on the nature of the situation the elf in the corner came in swinging with his axe.
"What in the name of Tiber Septim is-"
The guard had a rusty iron axe protruding from his chest, and in immediate reaction he swung his sword towards the attacking elf's already-splinter-filled head. The sword slashed halfway through its neck, and blood sprayed across the room. The attention of the two Dunmer attacking Hands-Eyes-Ears was drawn away, which brought him enough time to reverse-headbutt the man gripping his neck with his Argonian horns, splitting the elf's eye in half. With haste he removed the dagger from his back and thrust it directly into one of the Dunmer's chests before drawing his own Blades' sword and slicing open the abdomen of the other. Both of them managed to still give him a few kicks and punches before they collapsed and succumbed to their wounds. In the time he had fought them off, the guard had brutally killed his attacker and in his blind rage, blood spewing his mouth as it filled his lungs, he began weakly swinging his swords towards the Argonian. They parried for a while and the guard proved to be a formidable swordsman, cutting Hands-Eyes-Ears several times; nonetheless, the assassin won the battle by cutting off the arm of the guard when the opportunity arose during their swordplay.
Not all of them were dead yet, however. The Bartender was regaining consciousness, and to prevent his awakening Hands-Eyes-Ears removed the blade from the elf's abdomen and planted it into his skull, extinguishing the life of the Dunmer. The other two in front of the bar had bled out, as had the guard and his attacker. All that remained was the Khajiit...
Only the Khajiit. The man who had been thrown behind the bar was gone, and a trail of blood lead to a backdoor. No witnesses could be afforded, but the Khajiit had witnessed nothing in his skooma-induced catatonic state; perhaps it would be better to leave him and let the inevitable investigative process blame this mass murder on him. To satiate his thirst, he drank his precious water before heading for the back exit, grabbing one of the torches near the door frame. It was almost midnight, and the darkness made the very best of hiding places; Hands-Eyes-Ears knew this better than no other. His own wounds were not severe, but they would have to be addressed soon too. As he began following the trail, the moon revealed itself from behind the shadows of the sky, and any moment now it would transition into the earliest hours of the new morning.
Who knows what the morrow might bring...
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Jul 25, 2016 4:49:42 GMT -5
Scipia awoke to the sound of angry gulls. There was a yell above deck, causing the instinctively Imperial to jump tensed to his feet. River pirates? Lamia? Nereids?
"GET OFF! THAT'S MY FISH!"
"KAWWW-KAW-KAW!"
Scipia relaxed, dropping back to his bunk. The barge continued to creak it's way down the Niben, there was no window in the cabin - only the sound of crew milling about told him it was at least dawn. He rose once more, this time giving himself a stretch. Reaching into the pack he had been afforded he changed into some spare clothes, leaving his Imperial-styled armour at the base of his bunk. He turned to the empty bunk next to his own, reaching over he grabbed the pack that was left abandoned. Was it grave robbing if they never knew it was there? He tipped the contents onto his bunk. There were some rations, hard biscuits and dried salted beef, that he stuffed into his own pack. The clothes didn't look like they'd fit him, chosen for the lither mer's frame. A small knife and some oil followed his looting, he'd take the cording but feared over encumbering himself for the long journey.
The Nord, Hadimir, was already sat up by the time Scipia had finished. "Don't let anything go to waste do you, Imperial?"
Scipia shrugged dismissively, "I'd rather we all got there in one peace, but if we don't then I won't complain if you take my things either. My spirit will be concerned with other matters, I'm sure." The Imperial fasted up his pack and let it drop back to the bunk. "I'm going to go topside, try and see where we are."
Hadimir motioned to the still form of Daerus. Scipia let out a slight smile, "Think he's finally kissing Arkay's boots?" Scipia said. Hadimir let out an amused hoof, before he reached over and gave the greyling a nudge. The Imperial grabbed his sword, taking a moment to fasten it up to his clothes. He gave the Nord, and the old Imperial who was just waking, a slight nod before exiting the cabin.
The sounds of the Niben were more audible here, the great river was almost a sea in itself - seabirds were a common sound even so far from the coast. The creaky wood signalled the crew to his presence as he rose the ladder from the hatch. The crew gave him a momentary stare before turning back to their tasks - some were fishing, others maintaining sails and rope. The sun was just rising over the distant snow-capped peaks of the Valus Mountains. Scipia took in a deep breath and headed to a quiet part of the barge, towards the front. The great stone bridge, the Red Niben, which seperated the Upper Niben and Lake Rumare was just behind them. The structure was a feat of remarkable architecture and engineering, always a grace to look upon. A welcoming door to the weathered Imperial Navy as it made its way to the Waterfront, or a fond farewell to a merchant vessel at the start of its journey.
Or, if you were Scipia who didn't quite like the thought of boats and drowning, a much easier way to cross the Niben.
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Salvahkiin
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Post by Salvahkiin on Jul 28, 2016 5:06:40 GMT -5
Daerus woke with a long sentence of gibberish escaping his mouth. Something about the old days, if either of his companions attempted to make sense of it, or even pay attention to an old man. He lifted himself to sit on the side of the bed, and stretched his neck to watch Scipia exit the cabin, leaving he and the Nord, alone.
Daerus pulled his supplied rucksack towards him, and inspected its contents. Most of it was standard, except for the spare clothes that the Empire had graciously provided. They would do him nicely. He rose from the bed and changed into them. As habit, he grabbed his sword, and tied the belt around his waist. He, like Scipia and Hadimir, decided to leave the cabin.
The morning sun shone brightly into Daerus' elderly eyes, and he raised his hand over his eyes to block some of it. He spotted the Imperial, and decided to join him.
"Lovely morning. Best to savour it. Could be our last few lovely mornings, if this goes awry. So what was it you said you did? Training wise? Would be good to know the proficiencies of the men that have my back."
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Aug 9, 2016 6:33:17 GMT -5
Scipia turned from his viewpoint when the greyed warrior came up to him. "We'll have plenty of lovely mornings, don't worry yourself old man," He gave him a smile as he turned fully to face him, "Anequina is a beautiful country - except for the deserts. Unless you like sand dunes. At least there won't be rain, though."
He pulled his gladius from its sheathe, showing its emblazoned side to the older Imperial. "My training was the legion. I was trained not far from Bravil, actually. Close to the border. Trained under the shadows of veterans of the Great War, they decided I should be a Decanus."
His smile became somewhat forlorn as he looked down at the sword, the ruby signet ring on his finger sparkling in the dawnlight. "That ended eventually." He flicked the sword back towards him, holding it down passively by his side, "Became a gladiator after that. You can learn some astonishing things in the pits. I'm a fan of the Rain-of-Sand techniques, but I didn't nearly get long enough to practice them - I also don't have claws. I had a shot at learning Anka-Ra from a Redguard too. Picked up some other things here and there to make the fights flashier, like Argonian hook-and-net."
He span the sword around in a flashy attempt to make his training somewhat clearer. "Imperials say the best way to win a battle is not to get stabbed, Redguards say the better way to win is stab first. I think both are equally valid. What about you? I bet there's some useful information locked up in there somewhere, under the cob webs."
He gave the Imperial a smirk, and managed to illicit a short laugh from Hadimir who had appeared suddenly and leaned against the mast behind Daerus.
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Salvahkiin
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Post by Salvahkiin on Aug 18, 2016 5:11:09 GMT -5
He was young. Too young to truly understand battle, too young to understand what it meant. Such as Daerus was in his youth. Before the Dominion's endless hordes.
The Gladius was quite well designed, but Daerus doubted it’s ability to slay the Aldmeri. In his experience, it was far too small to be effective, Daerus preferred to keep the Aldmeri at a decent distance, hence his lengthy sword.
"My training was the legion. I was trained not far from Bravil, actually. Close to the border. Trained under the shadows of veterans of the Great War, they decided I should be a Decanus."
"That ended eventually."
"Became a gladiator after that. You can learn some astonishing things in the pits. I'm a fan of the Rain-of-Sand techniques, but I didn't nearly get long enough to practice them - I also don't have claws. I had a shot at learning Anka-Ra from a Redguard too. Picked up some other things here and there to make the fights flashier, like Argonian hook-and-net."
Daerus had never been a fan of flashier maneuvers in combat, he'd seen plenty of his brethen fall from a movement that left them wide open. Gladiatorial styles were not true combat, Daerus realised that. It was entertainment, a brutal form, at that. Scipia's training originated with the Empire, and so he had hoped that Scipia wouldn't underestimate the threat of a Dominion soldier.
"Imperials say the best way to win a battle is not to get stabbed, Redguards say the better way to win is stab first. I think both are equally valid. What about you? I bet there's some useful information locked up in there somewhere, under the cob webs."
"If you've had to draw your sword, the battle has no victor. Too few manage to realise that before they’ve lost."
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Aug 18, 2016 10:43:14 GMT -5
Scipia mulled over the old man's words, he was right in a sense. Everybody lost to some degree in battle, but often one side had more to lose than the other. He gave a slight nod of deference to the wisdom, it wasn't quite the tale of bravery and swordsmanship that Scipia was expecting when he asked what the old man knew but... Well he probably forgot.
Scipia mulled over his sword for a short time, staring at the fine edge of the blade. "I agree, in part, but sometimes a blade can end a battle before it has truly begun. Imagine," he quickly diverted, "if the Thalmor had been struck down during their rise to power before the Great War."
The Imperial tapped the edge of his gladius to the floor before him, it was a challenge. "Sometimes a fight is also a brilliant way to learn something about a person. Like in a tavern brawl when somebody comes out and says they don't like your face." The Imperial dropped back into a loose battle stance, sword held pointing up in a single hand. "Sometimes a fight is a great training exercise, care to partake old man? I could teach you a few things from the arena. That is, I assume you're here to help us fight and not just to carry the bags."
He flashed a sharp grin at the Knight, and noticed Hadimir smirking in the background. The Nord would be next, if he was lucky.
Emily sat at her cabin's table, writing onto a piece of parchment in ink that seemed neither here nor there. It swirled in the bottle, blue like Aetherius itself, but came out clear. Even the quill looked clean, as if it had never touched a drop of the fluid nor any other. As she wrote, whispered words left her lips. Echoes of Spellcraft wove into the words to hide their true meaning.
There was a knock at her cabin, and with a quick shuffle of papers the Breton hid the apparently blank page beneath a number of smaller, less sensitive, documents. She let out a cough, before politely issuing an invitation.
It was the ship's Altmer captain, "M'lady." He said rather curtly, perhaps he wasn't too keen that he was potentially an associate to murder. "I brought some food, and instructions that we will be in port likely during the night. Weather permitting."
He produced a small wooden 'tray', more like an cast-off piece of hull really, that bore a hard biscuit and a thin strip dried meat. What passed for food on ships these days, even ships receiving a hefty purse for their services. She nodded and the Altmer reached in, passing her the breakfast. "Thank you, I'll be sure to ready my people for a speedy departure. Are they awake yet?"
The Altmer let out a little chuckle, "Your people? Awake? Your people are already up on deck fighting each other without even looking for breakfast. If you ask me they're going to just end up tiring themselves out." The Altmer, with what little of his Alinor charm the sea had left him, lowered himself in a short bow. "M'lady." He said, as he left.
Emily's brow furrowed (it was starting to form permanently into that shape these days), "Fighting?" She asked of herself, letting out a tut an a sigh. What a rabble the Penitus had collected for her this time. She reached into her pile of documents and pulled out the blank sheet, slipping it gently into a pocket sewn into the inside sleeve of her emerald coloured light robe. She rose, tussling her hair a little infront of a small piece of polished metal that passed for the captain's mirror in an attempt to tame it.
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Salvahkiin
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Post by Salvahkiin on Oct 11, 2016 5:55:49 GMT -5
"I agree, in part, but sometimes a blade can end a battle before it has truly begun. Imagine, if the Thalmor had been struck down during their rise to power before the Great War."
Daerus was quite aware of the fact that the Empire had knowledge of the Dominion's rise, but acted not. No outside force had challenged the Empire for many years, only infighting and power struggles.
“Were we to have taken the Dominion threat seriously, and relied on intuition and expedition rather than the status quo of the everlasting empire, much would have been different."
The war was gruesome and Daerus had a particular disdain for fighting directly rooted in the deeds he had committed in the war, and the deeds he had witnessed.
"Sometimes a fight is also a brilliant way to learn something about a person. Like in a tavern brawl when somebody comes out and says they don't like your face. Sometimes a fight is a great training exercise, care to partake old man? I could teach you a few things from the arena. That is, I assume you're here to help us fight and not just to carry the bags."
“I fear I wouldn’t be the most applicable for that task, either, young warrior. But I will indulge you.”
Daerus pulled his exquisite sword out of its sheath, and assumed a slightly sided stance.
"Try not to harm an old man."
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Nov 21, 2016 9:15:31 GMT -5
"If I were trying to harm you," Scipia began as he edged closer to Daerus in his loose battle stance, "you would already be harmed." He flashed a grin, his easy movements and relaxed stance an attempt to throw the Knight off before his first strike.
He slipped it in suddenly, striking forwards with a mid-gut swipe. His left foot stretched into the swipe, but he chose to keep the bulk of his body away from the fight during the return. It was a wide opening, a taste of the water. Normally he'd have a shield, allowing for a more defensive thrust, but the gladius was wide and heavy. Ready for hacking lightly armoured foes into smaller pieces.
Expecting a parry, he readied himself for a shift of weight to use the momentum of a clash into an overarm swing at the Knight's opposite side.
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Salvahkiin
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Post by Salvahkiin on Jan 24, 2017 4:33:02 GMT -5
To a less observant fighter, Scipia's deception might have worked, but Daerus, even in his old age, wasn't any dimmer then he was during the War. There was a constant among the men selected for this task. They knew how to fight. The Nord knew his way around a mace, and more than likely other weaponry. Scipia was a champion gladiator, and had the most chance to beat Daerus. Caution would serve Daerus well in this fight.
Daerus chose to hold his sword in both hands, as he had no shield, and there was little reason not to hold it in a single hand while not performing an attack that demanded that grip. Scipia lunged forward, and Daerus was more than prepared for the swipe. He stepped back slightly, and turned his body, and furthermore his sword to meet Scipia's gladius, using the momentum to knock it to the side. Daerus followed through with the swing quickly, and returned to his stance previously, with one alteration, his sword was held on an angle, ready to defend against a swing.
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