The Elder Scrolls: Rising Sun of the East IC

The storm has subsided hours before Muahul awoke. A rather large wave came in and crashed against the side of Muahul's face. The water pushed into his throat and he woke up coughing. Once he had gathered himself, and gotten to his feet, it dawned on him that he was no longer on the ship. Rather, he was standing barefoot on a beach with large forests behind him. Muahul turned his attention out to sea. He could see debris from the ship floating towards shore. Muahul rubbed the Mark on his chest, "finally some justice in this damned world". With that he spat onto the ground and began looking around the beach. A couple of yards down shore Muahul spotted something. He started walking towards. When he came upon it he saw the Imperial emblem on it's side. The object was a large wooden box. Muahul ran his eyes around the box, looking for an opening of some sort. There was none. It seemed the Imperials closed these with the intent to have two soldiers pry them open later on. Muahul figured it was so bandits, who are not known for their wit, wouldn't be able to get the supplies. This was a good idea, however Muahul was no bandit. He felt around the sides, looking for a side that was weakened. Eventually he came to a loose piece that had some wear to it. Muahul swung his hand down with a significant amount of force. The first blow cracked the wood, the second one broke it completely. The hole was big enough for Muahul to reach his hand in, no larger. He pried at the pieces until the hole was larger. The sun lit up the inside revealing some Imperial swords, two shields, and some papers. He had no interest in the papers or the shield, it was one of the swords that gathered his interest. It was no different in make than any of the other swords, it just caught his eye first. With a couple of swings and a jab, Muahul decided it was now his sword.

Muahul grabbed two other swords, and their sheathes, and set of down the beach. The sun beat down on him as he walked. The only clothes he had were some ragged pants, a leather belt, and a pair of sandals. The Imperials had given him a shirt but he had long since stopped using it. Because he was so large, they had him doing a lot of the hard work on the deck. Muahul walked for a few minutes before he spotted something off in the distance. It had the shape of two buildings, but Muahul was not sure. He walked a little bit closer so he could watch to see if there was anyone walking around. After a few minutes of watching Muahul decided it was safe to approach. He walked the few hundred paces to the two buildings and leaned against wall. He listened. "Ship capsized up shore a bit. What's say we check it out?" There was a small pause. "I'm sure the Thalmor have already spotted it. Damn Elves got scouts all over these parts" Muahul heard some footsteps and adjusted himself to the side a little. "We gotta cook this meat and we can't if this fire's dead. Go round back and grab some wood". Muahul heard some more footsteps and then a door open. He saw a shadow coming closer and closer. Muahul placed the extra swords on the ground, crouched, and drew his. When the man, a man of around 25 by the looks of it, Muahul jumped up and grabbed the back of the man's head. He drove the sword into the back of the man's neck, killing him instantly. Blood spattered all over his face and chest. Usually Muahul was not this brutal, but he learned through his life that it is better to speak with a sword. He had dropped his guard to many people before, and been betrayed. This time he was not going to let that happen. Muahul walked to the front door and peeked inside. The other man, a slightly older looking man was walking around. The nearest weapon was a sword on the table. He placed his hand on the door and flung it open. The man turned and drew a knife from a sheathe on his waist. The man slashed at Muahul and caught him on the chest. This just angered the Orc. He swung the sword, slicing halfway through the mans hand. The man let out a yell that was cut off by Muahul's blade piercing his chest. The man yelled loudly and it was probably audible for a few hundred feet or so.

Bron groaned and mumbled, the discomfort of waking to a pounding headache making him disorientated. How much did he drink last night? He opened his eyes to a lush rain forest of sorts. How drunk did he actually get last night? Then, he remembered. The loud crackle of thunder off in the distance, the swaying of the ship. Staring at the floor while the wood groans and creeks. Being flung around the slave pit as the ship capsizes. Ugh. Did he really survive all that? Now that he was fully awake, he noticed the sore muscles on his arms and legs, and the growling hunger in his belly.

He wore a simple garment, rotten clothing barely fit for a person, a tunic and pants with a belt and a pair of wooden sandals. Not much, but it would do. Brom noticed the trail lined in the sand at the beach a few dozen meters away from his position. He must've barely been able to pull himself onto land and collapse in exhaustment. Brom dusted the sand and dirt off himself and got up, a keen eye searching around for anything of keen interested. Nothing. Just more trees, sand, and water. His left hand twitched for the grasp of his hammer, but he reminded himself that it was not his to use anymore. He had that right taken away from him. He'd been given a fine hammer when he'd grown of age, but now it was gone, smashed to pieces. He wasn't a Stronghammer anymore.

The question was, which direction to go?

Brom could go up the beach or down it, or head inland. Each choice could change his fate heavily. For sakes, well, sake, he chose right, beginning his walk until he found something. Walking for miles upon miles is boring, and Brom hoped he wouldn't walk for too long. Thankfully, what came next was either a blessing or a curse.

A man screaming, a death scream, one only a person about to die would make. The source came from a pair of buildings tucked just after the beach sand. Brom proceded cautiously as he could, moving slow with an eye on everything. One of the buildings door was open. And, upon looking inside, Brom was not very surprised to find a corpse and his killer. An orc, tall and stocky and muscular. He wore similar clothing to what Brom had on. It seemed like he wasn't the only survivor from the crash. Brom cleared his throat, hoping the orc wouldn't simply just attack him. Hopefully it wasn't just a brute.

"Ahem. Not to intrude on your murdering, but you wouldn't happen to be a kind Orc, would you?"

Valeria was coughing out water out of her lungs as she was awaken from her slumber and tried to remembered what happened. She looked around her and saw bit and pieces of the slave ship that was suppose to transport them to the next prison, it would be just a matter of time before they send some soldiers to search for survivor. Valeria looked at this as a miracle, finally being able to be free from the watch of those soldiers. Her shackles doesn't hold her at all ever since they handcuffed her, those lock were child's play to her. She tried to look for survivors along the beach but saw no one, they might have drifted even further than her or maybe they already woke up and escaping. Without wasting anytime, she jogged along the beach finding some chest to crack open, she needed some equipment or dry clothes to warm her body and not to mention, FOOD. Just about a few minutes, she came across a broken box, it was damaged by blunt force, looking around her once again, she would figured that some strong prisoner broke the box with his fist. As she continued to jog further, she came across a few locked chest and smiled. She took out a few metal pins out of her boots which she has been gathering from the slave ship and began to pick lock. In a blink of an eye, one box is open and then the second one. She opened the cover of both chest and smiled. "God lord Talos." In those first boxes, she found a jewel dagger, a bottle of wine and some blue cheese. The second one is a brown coat, it looks quite luxurious but a very thin coat, not enough to keep her warm but that will do for now. She took the clean cloth that was used to contain the wine and the cheese and put it inside a ragged bag that she found near the coast.

She covered her body with the coat, the dagger on her right hand and quickly hid herself into the forest. She stopped after a few minutes jog and climbed onto a tree so that scout won't be able to spot her easily. She then stabbed the dagger at the branches and opened the bag, taking out the wine and cheese. She smiled when she opened the cap of the wine bottle. She took a mouth full of wine and inhaled slowly as the fluid slowly filled through her throat, it was good, she never had these babies for god-knows-how-long now. She cut the cheese with her dagger and then looked at the sky and enjoyed her freedom. The cheese was tough to eat without heating it up but that will do for now, creating a fire would be creating attention and she would not want that. Suddenly, she heard a man scream and it was not a very nice one, it sounded like a man in pain. Valeria then put the wine bottle cap back and the cheese of course, detach her dagger from the tree and jumped down going to the same direction where the scream echoed to her. All she thought about now would be survival and not to mention, to warm up her stealing skills. After awhile, a hut appeared to her view and saw one man walked into the hut, began to talked with someone that's inside the hut. She grouched, continue to observe what will happen next.

Debby awoke with a start, and instinctively started flailing around. Her movements felt... off, somehow, as though they were being impeded. And then she noticed that she was, in deed, underwater, and still breathing, and then remembered how she got to that point.

On the ship, as Debby was much weaker than the others but magically inclined, they forced a bracer on her that severely hampered her magic, and set her to do the cooking for the ship. The bracer was made of enchanted leather that both decreased her magicka greatly and was nigh-impossible to destroy, and it was held on via steel lock and key. Then at one point, the sky was alight with thunder as the ship swayed to and fro under the powerful influence of the waves. Debby was on the top deck at this time, and the frantic rocking of the ship started tossing her around. Before she knew it, she was tossed off the boat, and submerged underneath the waves, She frantically struggled to swim to the surface, but the effort just exhausted her. She was able to gather the strength, miraculously, to cast one spell before she blacked out...

...Ah, water breathing. Not the most useful spell in day-to-day life, but a lifesaver when the situation calls for it. The damned bracer was still on, however, and her spell was probably going to wear off soon, so she leisurely swam her way upward and latched onto a nearby crate that was bobbing in the gentle waves, and let herself get pulled along towards a nearby island.

As she slowly beached herself with the crate, she got up and started looking around, trying to get the kinks out of her body. As it turns out, without her magic and after spending an extended nap in salt water she could hardly stand, especially since she couldn't really use her magic as a handicap like normal because of the bracer, and she fell back down. She at first tried to look in the box for supplies of a sort, but couldn't find any way to open it. Then again, her extremely thin stature did have a benefit of not requiring nearly as much nourishment as the average Joe, but she had hoped to find a knife to cut the bracer off or something, or some replacement clothes. Her current clothing was essentially prisoner's rags that were also wet and torn and in general hardly clothes at this point. Luckily, however, the bracer's steel lock was rusted and worn from spending a few hours in sea water, and it was an older lock to begin with. Gathering what little magickal abilities she could conjure with said bracer, she casted a small flame in her hand. It wasn't enough to be used in battle, but she held it on the lock until the old thing fell off and she could take the bracer off.

With the slave's bracer now gone, she could slowly feel herself regaining strength. She started channeling some minor healing and stamina like she normally does so she can function normally, and was able to stand up now. With her strength returning, she started walking down the beach trying to find something interesting or useful, abandoning the box for now. It was around this point she heard a deadly scream, that of a man close to death. Doing what she thought the most logical, she went the opposite way of the yelling, and found herself in a small clearing in the jungle after a bit of wandering. She sat down on a rock and figured that would be a good place to rest for now.

Jilika woke to the sound of a deathly wail, carried across the water to the sunken ship Jilika was stuck in. He looked around and couldn't help but shudder. Hundreds of bodies floated in the hold of the ship. He looked down to his hands that bound him to all the bodies. He wiggled his hands free of the cuffs, able to do so with the cold water making it an easy feat. He began to swim around to make his way to the deck of the ship, but the grate was closed shut. He started pushing pass bodies, trying not to look at the faces. Eventually he found a hole ripped into the Cargo hold when the ship went under. He swam out from the dark depths of the ship to the bright surface of the water. The moment his head broke water he looked around. about a kilometer from the ship was an island. Jilika couldn't make anything else out from the distance. Not having any better choice, he began to swim.

"Ahem. Not to intrude on your murdering, but you wouldn't happen to be a kind Orc, would you?" Muahul was caught off guard. Usually he was able to detect someone sneaking up on him, but spending enough time on a ship had hindered his senses. He quickly spun around and pointed the sword at the man. "You approach an Orc covered in blood. Has madness engulfed you?" Muahul scanned the man over and noticed something, a partially revealed mark on his chest. "You bear the Imperial slaves mark" Muahul placed his hand on the same mark on his chest "as do I". With that, he brought the sword to his side. "Slavery is something we have in common, but that does not make us friends". Muahul turned and started rummaging through the house. He managed to keep an eye on the man while he did so. The man he killed has some gold coins on him, Muahul took them and placed them in a small pouch that had six more in it. Near the fireplace he found a larger pack that had a some papers in it, maps by the look of it. He picked the pack up and slung it over his shoulder, then tied it. On the table was a piece of bread, cheese, and a half empty glass of water, Muahul made quick work of them. He then turned his attention back to the man standing in the door. "What's your move?"

One Mile Inland

The storm had passed. Leaves were still wet, the ground moist, but animals had come out once more. The muddy forest floor made the Bosmer scouts use trees. Usually they were fine with moving about at ground level but they preferred to be undetectable. Three of Bosmer jumped from tree to tree. Two of them wore normal fur garments and had bows hanging from their back. The third one wore Thalmor armor and had a fancier looking bow as well as a sword. They eventually came across a small pond and jumped down. "The Imperials are going to want any cargo that made it to shore" one of the Elves said. The Thalmor soldier looked at him for a moment then spoke. "The Imperials refused to tell us what they were transporting. My best guess is it was either slaves or weapons, or both. Imperials seem to be only moving those kinds of wares as of late. It does not matter though. Slaves or weapons, we will collect them before the Empire arrives". The other two Elves nodded. "Eat, drink, rest. We will be off soon".

Elrano had worked his way inland, having awoken only a few minutes earlier on the beach. As he gained an better understanding of his surroundings he quickly realized that he had returned to his homeland, Valenwood. This also meant that the Thalmor would be present and that most likely would not hesitate on taking him back to his captors in Cyrodiil. He made quick work of climbing a tree making sure that a sword he had grabbed made as little noise as possible, unaware who could be watching him. As he made his way along the canopy of the forest he heard the scream of a dying man, one that he was all to familiar with. Against what he would call his "better" judgment he decided to follow the sound to discover its source. He came across what appeared to be a home, as he made his way down from the tree he was in he saw a tall muscular man standing in the door way. A Nord by the look of him, he was standing in the way of an Orc covered in blood an unwise move. From what he could gather the were both slaves from the ship that was taking him to Anvil. He wondered to himself who else could have survived the shipwreck. Suddenly he heard the sounds of someone else moving through the trees, so he hid himself within the foliage of the forest floor making a quick decision to follow these survivors to see what would happen. After all if the Thalmor should happen to come through with an Orc and Nord he should be able to pick off the survivors and get better equipment.

Jural-Lei knew an opportunity when he saw one. As soon as his chains became unbuckled in all the chaos, he made his way towards the closest way to get off the ship. He actually had managed to get on deck before the ship had crashed. He wished he could've said he dived off of the thing at the last second, but in truth it was the impact that sent him flying off and into the briny deep. if it wasn't for the fact he could breathe underwater, he would've surely died. As soon as he was able to, he swam as fast and as hard as he could towards the shore, crawling up on the sand on his claws and feet as he laid there safe and on land. He knew he had to start moving soon, but he wanted to savor this one moment of freedom before anything else happened.

As soon as he was rested enough, he sat up and reached down to his side, making sure the satchel he had on him when he left the ship was still there. Thankfully not only was it still there, but he didn't loose any of it's contents. Knowing that sent much relief through his body as he proceeded to crouch low to the ground and proceeded to silently make his way through the nearby woods, making sure he wasn't seen by anyone to end up being caught. He needed a weapon. Two if possible.

The darkness behind Canutte Maybus’ eyelids turned from a total blackness to a dark grey as he registered the sunlight shining upon his face. Rolling onto his side, the Imperial opened his eyes and sat up, yawning and stretching out his arms. Rubbing his eyes, Canutte look around, taking in his surroundings. He was stranded on a beach, the rubble of the wrecked slave ship that had been transporting him to the Imperial Embassy in Valenwood either floating in the water behind him or scattered around him. Canutte saw something of interest: an intact crate. Breathing a sigh of relief at the promise of food, Canutte got up, walked over to the crate, and kicked it. Unfortunately, due to his less than stellar strength, all the Imperial gained from this endeavor was a stubbed toe. His shoes were missing, probably having been lost during the crash. No matter. Using his skill in the field of Alteration, Canute began to cast the skin-hardening spell Oakflesh. However, he was interrupted by a niggling feeling. What was it? Oh, yeah. The anti-magic bracer. Touching his fingertip to the stunting armwear, Canutte activated a simple Unlock spell, and the bracer fell away (He had not done this before, because there was nowhere to go). He then continued the casting of Oakflesh, feeling his skin wriggle and harden. Canutte kicked the box again, this time causing it to crack. With another kick, the cracks spread, and another finally broke through, creating a hole large enough for Canutte to put both his hands through. Inside the crate was a variety of items: A handbag, a piece of rolled up parchment, two Potions of Magicka, a bag of apples, and two books. One was of purple coloration and sported the Daedric Symbol for “O”, marking it as a Conjuration Spell Tome. But Canutte didn't care about this at the moment. Instead, he lunged for the bag, tore it open, and, picking out an apple, scarfed down the fruit.

Now, for the rest of the cargo. Reaching inside, he pulled out the handbag and slung it around it shoulders. It was flat, and had one large compartment, probably for carrying books, and several smaller pouches set along the front of the bag. Next, Canutte retrieved both books. One was the aforementioned Conjuration Spell Tome, and the other was Beggar, by Reven. It had been his favorite book as a child, and supposedly had a lot of hidden messages. Canutte placed it in his bag. As for the other book, the Imperial flipped it open at once. On the first page, it read “Bound Sword”. This alone was as good a finding as all the other items in the crate combined, as it provided Canutte with a constant weapon. He flipped the page, and began reading. As he did, the letters began to vanish, leaving a blank page, and he was filled with a euphoric sensation, signifying he had learned the spell. He would use it another time. He needed to conserve his energies. With no other idea where to go, Canute began making his way through the forest.

There were three bodies on the beach, Mienlyn appeared to be the only one moving. No other signs of life were present, so she was comfortable enough to stay in the open for now. She wasted little time taking in her surroundings, as much as she would like to admire her homeland and let the sense of relief watch over her, there was no time. Others could have survived the wreck, angry prisoners, imperials. The dead Khajiit to her right had nothing but the same rags she did. No surprise, slaves were the property, they owned nothing. Still she took them and tore a quick bandage around the gash on her arm. Most likely it would infect to wound more than do any real good, but it would stop the bleeding for now. She could heal it later, when she was safe and knew she wouldn't need the little magic she did have for something else. There was movement, possibly a silhouette on the horizon of the shore, there was no time to look at the second body, she ran for the forest.

Even with aching joints, the small elf was nimble and climbed tree easily. Her bare feet were better than the stiff fabric of the three sizes-too-big sandals she had been given. The tree was close to the edge of the forest, branches thinner than the ancient trees which the bosmer inhabited, but Mienlyn’s light weight and speed cut out that problem. Before choosing her direction, a cracking noise reached from not far off, on the shore. Hidden among the foliage she made her way to the source of the noise. A large orc, and a crate of supplies. Her mind raced, weapons, food, armor, money. But she knew better, last thing needed was a confrontation, one she would certainly lose. So she waited for him to leave before crawling down from her hiding place. Only to turn and find another escapee rummaging through the broken crate. A human woman, she couldn’t tell nor care which kind, all she could do was again wait and hope that she would not take everything that was left. The human left empty-handed, and Mienlyn was free to approach. There wasn’t much useful to her. An iron sword, it would rust from the seawater, and was nearly too heavy for her to lift with one hand. But it was a weapon, and it was best to be armed. Quickly she used what was left of the Khajiit’s clothes to wrap the sword around her back. It would be slow and clumsy to unsheathe, but at least she could move. The only other item left in the crate was paper, most of it damp and useless, but a few pieces seemed dry. She snatched these pieces and returned back to her tree.

They had passed the southern islands, and if she remembered correctly, Summerset Isle had barely been visible on the ship as the storm began. That meant it was best to stay along the coast, and go north to Falinesti or south to Woodhearth. It was impossible to tell which would be closer. Falinesti was much larger, but with a stronger Thalmor presence, and nearly on the border of Cyrodil. The southern city would be smaller, but it was more likely she’d find a friend there. If they were searching for her. She checked the sky, almost noon. Adjusting the awkwardly placed blade on her back, she turned south, now taking her time along the branches, on the lookout for unwanted travelers.