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A New Threat! - Elder Scrolls RP

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  • A New Threat! - Elder Scrolls RP

    The year is the 15th of the 4th Era, that era being marked by the death of Martin Septim. Chaos has begun plunging on Cyrodiil (As well as other areas of Tamriel) and order is diminishing day by day. The empire is doing its best to stay afloat, but, with the death of Chancellor Ocato due to the Thalmor, the lack of clear direction is showing its face and tension is rising. It’s a bad time to be a guard now because people show very little respect for strict authority. That is something that the one known as Ocanito is experiencing where he is stationed, in Anvil. Even just keeping the peace is proving more and more difficult, as he is only one of ten guards there. Many a night, he is driven to calm his nerves by having a few glasses of mead at The Flowing Bowl.


    This particular night is going to be one of renown, though the reasons are not yet obvious. Ocanito has just finished his shift for the evening, and walks in to the tavern, feet hurting as per usual from chasing several bandits out of the city. He walks up to the bar counter and takes a seat, surrounded by quiet conversation of peasants and commoners. He waves his hand to get the attention of the bartender, and the man comes to him immediately.


    “Well well well, if it isn’t Ocanito here to drown his sorrows again.” The guard laughs, knowing this to be partially true. “These damned bandits get more and more slick, and audacious! When will the time come when they best me, and gut me in the street for all to see?! We need more patrol, I tell you! But of course the money isn’t flowing like it used to. I grow tired of this. I may need a new occupation.” The bartender cuts him off to ask him if he wants his usual drink of mead. “Absolutely. That’s all I care to drink, you know this.” The bartender grabs a mug and pours Ocanito some of his favorite beverage. “So, what else would you want to do?” The guard lets out a heavy sigh. “What else is there for me, honestly? I could join the guild, but how is that any different? I almost feel like I would rather be the damned Emperor. At least then I would sleep in a nice bed.” The bartender smiles. “Hey, you never know. Of course with how we’ve lost two of them, maybe it’s not so nice after all.” Ocanito takes a few swigs of his mead.

  • #2
    The Fighter's guild was affected by the Oblivion crisis, much like all the others they had ended up fighting against the daedra, same as the others, and with this many lost their lives. Unlike many other guilds however, their numbers grew, not fell after this. While the intellectuals suffered catastrophe after catastrophe, conjuration looked on with more and more suspicion, the thieves barely managing to survive between the rise in security and the attacks from another plane, the Fighter's Guilds ranks would swell. Many of the poorer or even well to do sort, having lost friends, family, or come far too close to losing them, made the choice to give up their previous life in favor of that for a Warrior.

    Here, in this bar, was one such person. Nolar was a Breton, having lived the better half of his life in Cyrodil as a simple farmer, until the Oblivion Crisis came. His family just barely survived, their farm trampled under, and in order to provide for his family, with his parents being too old to find other work, and his siblings being too young for well paying work, he took up the role as the provider.

    Magic would have been long an arduous, and while he had fascination with the subject, it was not something he dare study while they still worried about food on the table. So instead, he took his bow, a small leather quiver, and set forth. The guild, under new leadership but still the same as it ever was took him in, trained him in martial arts, showed him the differences and similarities between archery in war and hunting. He earns a tidy sum, enough that he can afford to outfit himself with an iron sword, a better quiver full of arrows, and provide for his family.

    Nolar looked over and heard him speak of the bandits, as bad as it was that the bandits were so common now, he couldn't really bring himself to bemoan the circumstances. Bandits meant there were always jobs from merchants for people to defend it, and often, if they were rich enough he'd hire enough, that the bandits wouldn't dare attack. Most of his most well paying jobs ended up basically being observing the bandit scouts, and watching them immediately dismiss their large contingent. Sometimes bandits would still attack, and those were often the closets he came to death, but it was rare enough, and the pay good enough that it was worth it.

    It helped provide for his family, and that was what was important to him. Still, speaking of being Emperor in here, with mead in his system his better judgement, to stay out could not overcome the blunt urge to speak. "You're a drunk, hows you gonna be an Emperor?" He said, before letting out a hoarse laugh.

    Signature and Avatar by NinjaSushi

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    • #3
      Ocanito looks over his shoulder to see a somewhat familiar face; that of Nolar, a high ranking member of the Fighter's Guild. He waves at him, replying back to his snarky remark. "Hey now, if I was to score a well-respected occupation, I wouldn't feel the need to rely on this here mead so much. Besides, you have no room to talk, you drunk!" He finishes his first glass, letting out a yell of excitement. "What else am I supposed to do to finish off a rough day on the job?"

      The guard, although fairly versed on the current politics of Cyrodiil, is not really one to understand what it means to run anything but his own life. He actually looked up to his higher ups, hoping to learn how to be a good leader and not be so focused on mere grunt work. "Say, how is it to be a person of authority?"

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      • #4
        "Fighter's Guild eh?" A particularly powerful voice says not so far aways off in a corner of the building, ashing off a lit thin paper in his mouth that was giving off the smell of fruit. Large washed out green coloured hands resting behind his head. An Orc adorned in leather armour with a shield on his back and mace fastened to his hip. It wasn't exactly seen as nice to bud in to conversations that didn't involve him. But Grognok Gro-Belok didn't much care for the cultural norms of these over cautious Cyrodillic cities.

        "Not a bad living, pays well enough if you're looking to make enough just to pay the tax collector." Grognok laughs almost until he draws himself hoarse.

        "Personally, I prefer to have enough left around to have a meal or two. It doesn't hurt to be able to hit the inns either." The large Orc rises from his seat and walks over to the intoxicated and financially frustrated Ocanito, putting his hand on his shoulder and giving him a few playful shoves.

        "You want some good coin? Come along with me tomorrow morning, I ain't going to charge you much, only ten septims. Money's made in the loot, we'll split it. If you're interested that is, heard about a highwayman off ways that I have the jump on. Easy cash, figure out where he lives, we'll visit there after, see what else he has. Meet me here then, until then, have fun toiling for a guild, avoid the Mages Guild if you can, bunch of milk drinkers." With that, Grognok walked off through the doors and offways, his paper's smell still permeating throughout the building. It was somewhat pleasant, though given his bloodshot eyes, it must've been anything but for him.

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        • #5
          In a lone corner of the inn, a man in a hooded cloak wrote in a book by candlelight, a second book beside it that he occasionally read from before returning to his writing. He could have been anyone, writing in that book for a thousand different reasons. What his real purpose was, however, was simple: utterly naked spying. He had been listening to every word spoken in the tavern, content to let druno tongues spill their secrets, simply writing them down as he found particularly gifted bits of information. Silverhand, he was called. Named so by his fellow guildmates for his deftness of fingers being like quicksilver in a vial. The writings were coded, of course. That was the purpose of the second book, his dedicated cypher that he used. To anyone who knew nothing, it read like horrible poetry, and this world was filled with such that one more book seemingly added to the pile wouldn't be noted.

          A small smile lifted his lips as he reached over to sip from his tankard of beer. It was a poor replacement for mead but the Cyrodiilic taverns so rarely stocked enough of any real quality to make him spend the effort to hunt it down. The talk of the bandits were not unique, he had sent alot of the guilded among them on jobs in the area. It was the marauders that concerned him, he never had enough information on their goings-on for his tastes. And he always sought information......

          The Orsimer insulting the Mages' Guild was hardly surprising. They had come down on real bad times as of late. But one man's tragedy was another's misfortune; Silverhand had been lucky in 'aquiring' gifted alchemists who were otherwise unable to stay at the college in the Imperial City for one reason or another. He had put them to good work in the rebuilt Kvatch. Generally as a fence, but also a purveyor of legitimate goods. One could find a decent living as such alone, and extra coin in that particular pocket was hardly unusual. A handy friend to have.

          Still, there was other reasons to be here. Soon enough, Silverhand closed his books, carefully arraying them in his rucksack and dropping a small purse of septims on the table as he rose to leave.

          The work of a hands-on guildmaster of thieves was never done, after all....
          A Shadow is merely Darkness in the presence of Light




          Thanks Kid Buu for this awesome sig!

          The Emperor Protects

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          • #6
            Ocanito looked to the Orc mercenary who claimed to have work, contemplating the idea. Before he could even ask what exact time though, the man had walked through the doors and left the tavern. "Hmph, I guess I'll just show up at the crack of dawn to get more details. I'm not supposed to be on duty until close to midday, so I'll pull it off in time I think." He took another swig of his mead, hoping he would get a good chunk of money out of it. He's dealt with highwaymen on more than one occasion, so he felt confident that with skilled help it would be no sweat. There would obviously be several bandits assisting, but it mattered little to him.

            Meanwhile...

            "That's 10 more blades taken care of by my hands alone! Amazing what this lack of serious coordination is doing for their morale!" An Altmer dressed in a dark blue robe with golden edges walked into the main lobby of the Cyrodiilic Thalmor Headquarters, holding the head of what was presumably an imperial watch. He held it high in the air, letting out a victory shout. There were 5 others dressed just like him, sitting in chairs around a large round table. They looked to the one that just walked in, responding by holding their glasses of ale in the air and cheering back. "We're making good progress day by day," one of the Altmer sitting down said, "but we're going to need to do more than barbarically slaughter them. You know what our next step should be? Burning down a few of their houses! That will really send a message!" The standing Altmer smiled at this, nodding his head. Yes, but of course we will need to ask-" He was interrupted. "Never mind getting permission! I know this is what he will want," a third Altmer said, siding with his seated comrade. "It's perfect. It will let them know that even their very structures mean nothing to us. We will stop at nothing to get them to run like the cowards they are!" Everyone in the room laughs at this, taking a swig of ale. Everyone except the one standing, who was not impressed. "You guys need to take this order we have more seriously. You know how hegets when we don't directly follow his orders." In unison, all the others said, "C'mon! We deserve a little fun!" Continuing this, one of them said, "We've shown our loyalty many a time. I say we do something of our own accord to prove we can handle business without direct orders. You should remove that stick from your ass and join us." He smiled. "Or are you scared?"
            Last edited by Bendanna; 17-04-2019, 11:16 PM.

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            • #7
              "Not that much longer" Grognok says, light beaming on the back of his neck as he fixes the pole of one of his tents. Jamming it into the ground with solid heft behind it. Then moving on to the other one and repeating the same. Wiping his brow and keeping his hand to shield his eyes as he looks at the sun setting on the horizon. Nodding, he walks over to an incredibly large chest placed near his bedroll, opening it to ensure his belongings were there before closing it and locking it up again. Turning to his campfire that was currently cooking some slaughterfish he had caught, defanged and killed.

              "Oh hell, I didn't tell him I was here did I?" Grognok wondered as he removed one of the Slaughterfish and began to bite into it.

              "I'll go by the tavern in the morning, chances are he'll be there anyway." He says heartily laughing. His camp located not that far off from the bridge entrance to The Imperial City. Immediate right-hand side.

              "Should be a good haul, damn highwayman's been stealing for a few months. Bound to have a few bits of jewelry on him, more than enough nobles around here to make that a possibility."

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              • #8
                While Grognark and Ocantio did that, talk abounded in the fighter's guild, between the maintenance of arms, armor, and bodies, people were discussing the jobs. A ton of them, more than the local guild hall could fufill in time. With them and their services in such demand in such demand that they raised prices and still had requests rolling in. Good times for the guild members, good money being paid out of it. Nolar was certainly happy to have more work than he could do in this area. Amusos-Caleel on the other hand, didn't agree, in a latter sent.

                Disappiontment that the local populace was turning to mercenaries to fill manpower. How in this time of lawlessness, the fighter's guild was the closest thing people have to anything resembling the guard, if they couldn't keep up with them other, less reputable and kind guilds would pop up to compete. Nolar didn't agree with this, but either way, Amusos was sending some fighters down to help make up the difference, take in more jobs, hopefully cheaper too. Another swig of mead as he wrote back thanking him for the men. Wasn't worth it to disagree over something so trivial, and yeah, he could handle a few more fighters to take on jobs, more taken jobs meant more money after all.

                Signature and Avatar by NinjaSushi

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                • #9
                  Ocanito wakes up in his bed the next morning, looking around the room he's in inside the barracks which he calls home. It would seem he woke late, as nobody else was in bed, so he rushes to get dressed and head out on a dime. "Sonuvabitch, I can't believe I really had that much to drink last night." He noticed his head was pounding, but he did his best to shrug it off.

                  With his sword on his back and his shield attached to his buckler, he ran out towards the inn hoping that Grognok would be there. "Please still be around..."

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