The Elder Scrolls: Voice of the Sky (IC)

[Dervish]

The room was silent except for the cackling of the large, stonewalled fireplace and the bubbling of a cooking pot warming the evening’s meal. For Damien, it was comforting. Quiet meant safety.

Quiet meant he could do his work in peace.

The screams had died down in about fifteen minutes. She really was a long time in dying, but the altmer had eventually yielded what he had needed. Her blood had seeped from her very pores, down her violently quivering body and into a cistern of sorts as the spell released itself from the black soul gem he had placed into her rib cage while she was rendered immobile by a paralysis spell. She wasn’t able to scream then, but he could see it in her eyes, the blinding indescribable agony that would drive a person insane, make them do whatever it took to get away from it. The look of terror in the eyes of someone who knows they cannot get away from the pain. A look of someone who does not understand what they must endure, but knows they will die. Damien smiled at the memory. He cherished those last moments with a victim before the spell was activated and death finally came to take them to the void. If only they knew what glorious things their sacrifice would grant. It was almost hypnotic to know what a life was worth. What it could accomplish.

Damien grunted. Of course they wouldn’t share his enthusiasm or vision for what their sacrifice would ultimately accomplish. People were too easily distracted by their own mortality to see the big picture. He moved past a wooden support pillar and checked on his stew. His work was exhausting, but he prided himself on his ability to cook. He pulled the red and black sleeves of his robes back as he stirred the pot, savouring the aromas that were released from the shifting conglomeration of fresh vegetables and meat. The mage inhaled deeply. He liked to keep the room dark when he was cooking. When your eyesight was dimmed, your other senses become much more acute, and that made his supper all the much more appetizing.

He realized he needed to update his research journal, and he figured he had time to put in a new entry before his stew started to burn to the bottom of the pot. Damien moved to the table where he had left it and an ink well and quill.

The journal wasn’t there.

His heart began to race. Where had he placed it? Or was somebody there? He looked around, suddenly petrified of the darkness. Who could possibly have known about his abode? The very thing he loved about his sanctuary was the very thing that was working against him. He was about to cast a mage light spell when he heard the sound of a page turning in what could only be a hefty tome. His hefty tome.

Damien turned to the sound and noticed a pair of buckled leather boots resting on the table, but the figure was shrouded in darkness. The mage was too afraid to do anything but step back. The wooden support beam was behind him, as if to keep him from going anywhere. To face this figure who doubtless would make him pay for his research. He found himself caught between being petrified and furious. Who did this person think they were? Didn’t they understand what he was trying to accomplish?

His train of thought was cut off by a voice, a smooth and accented Southern voice that could only belong to a khajiit. “Tsk. Your penmanship is quite exquisite, but I must say your writing could use improvement. It is choppy, you do not finish your thoughts, and each page is soiled by blood.” Another page was turned over. “The other man was just like you, with the ridiculous outfit and the unsettling play room. May I ask where you keep the bodies after you finish? Never mind. The last man simply cooked and ate what was left. Efficient, but unsettling, to say the least.” The book was shut suddenly and tossed on the table. “Although, I do say with no small amount of satisfaction that he cried when I carved him to pieces with my claws.” A quiet chuckle came from the khajiit. “Fortunately for you, I do not have the time or the desire to go through that again.”

Damien must have made an audible gasp. His mind screamed Run! You fool, he will kill you and ruin everything! but his body was locked in place. Was it a spell? No, the mage realized, he was simply a coward too scared to respond to a filthy khajiit’s threat. All he had to do was burn him alive with fire. Yes, he thought as he begun to raise his hand, a quick spell and this will all be over…

Something moved in the shadows and Damien could only twitch as something flew out of the darkness to be lodged in his throat. The pain was excruciating! His mind couldn’t comprehend what was happening, and when he went to scream, all that came out was a pitiful gurgle. He tasted blood. His blood. No one could possibly understand the agony! Why did he have to feel it? What did he do to DESERVE this?

Damien slumped against the wooded support beam, helpfully holding him up. His vision blurred and he tried to breathe, only drawing more blood through the wound and in his mouth. He felt it running down his lips. He focused enough to have noticed the khajiit walk confidently across the room. He could see him clearly now. Dark grey fur with black stripes and a white jaw with haunting blue eyes. The look of a hunter. Funny, his armour looked like that of a thief, not an assassin. The khajiit crooked his head, as if studying Damien. “I would say make your peace with what ever god you wish, but I think it’s a bit late for that, don’t you?” The khajiit wrapped his paw around the dagger’s handle and placed his other on the hilt. Damien felt the blade slide in further and bite into his spine. His head slumped forward and blood dripped from his mouth and onto the blade that didn’t go in through his neck. The blade was the last thing he saw before the tendrils of darkness crept in and blotted out his sight forever.


He could tell when the Breton finally gave up fighting for his life when the blood in his neck stopped bubbling. Even before he had died, his eyes had begun to glass over. It was a change that Zaveed found most intriguing to watch. He wasn’t usually a killer, but he was no stranger to it. It came with the territory of having a lifetime of struggle. He observed the dagger. He had shoved it hard enough through the mage’s throat it actually pierced through and was sticking into the support beam. He placed a clawed finger on the leather grip of the blade just before the dead man’s eyes. “You know, you shouldn’t leave knives like that. Someone could hurt themselves.” He said, stepping back and approving of his work. The khajiit decided to return to his seat where he had observed his target for some time. But first, he had to get more comfortable.

He slid his bow, a heavy Imperial thing, out from the hoop on his back and hung it gingerly from the dagger hilt that was sticking out of the Breton’s throat. It hung there like it was a coat rack. Zaveed theatrically threw his paws out and grinned. “Marvelous.” He returned to the seat, propped his boots up onto the table, and ran his paw through his mane, which was styled into a mohawk. The others would be coming down here soon and would have a lot of questions. He knew he did when he was in their shoes.

The khajiit looked at the door across the room and got the chills. He knew what lay beyond the decrepit wood. It was the sacrificial chamber where possibly dozens of people had been killed already. He opened the journal to the last entry. All of these names were people who did nothing to deserve what happened to them and this is all that’s left of them. If it weren’t for fate intervening, he would have faced a similar fate.

On the table before him was a loaf of bread. Probably one of the few things safe to eat in the unsettling crypt, in any case. Zaveed ripped off the end and took a fair sized bite, chewing thoughtfully as he flipped through the journal, looking for clues. Somewhere in the puzzle was a way to make things right again, and the last piece was the emperor. The khajiit grabbed a bottle of wine off of the table, it sitting next to the spot he had found the dagger that was pinning the Breton to the wall. Using one of his claws, he pieced the cork and pulled it out in a single, swift tug. He held the wine up to his nose, not only to see if it was aged, but to make sure there weren’t anything that could be reasonably considered poison. Satisfied, he took a swig from the bottle and set it down. The door next to him opened, and he supposed he’d have to introduce himself to the former prisoners he had saved.

[Chanda]

The moment the door crept open, a blue blur flashed into the newly darkened room with a sense of urgency.

"Cooped up in sssssome cage with a bunch of rubesssss!" hissed Kerotan, who was obviously not in the mood to express gratefulness for being freed. Being captured in the first place was humiliating enough, and having to rely on someone else to bail him out was just the icing on the cake. With an insect-like series of furious chirps, Kerotan overturned a nearby table, sending an assortment of papers, glasses and silverware to the ground in a shower of loud noises and broken cookware. Needless to say, he was not happy.

He breathed a sigh of relief, checking the folds of his cloak for his journal just to make sure it was still there. Everything on his belt seemed to be intact as well. Finally he turned to see the Khajiit eating casually next to the murdered body of their captor.

"You murdered the poor man? I wouldn't exsssssspect an uncultured furbag to operate with any ssssemblanssssee of ssssubtlety," chided his Argonian voice, with an added hiss. Insectoid form or not, some prejudices never disappeared.

"Leave thissss plasssse, houssssecat. I don't want to embarrasssssss you anymore than isssss nessssesssssssary," ordered Kerotan, pulling a firebomb vial from his belt. "You musssst work for the Brotherhood. Uncultured cutpursssessss and murderersssssss, they are. Any Khajiit would fit in jusssssst fine," he spat, hoping to intimidate their attacker into leaving. These Brotherhood types were usually only out for their contracts, meaning they tended to scamper off if things got too hairy and they already accomplished their task.

[bebka33]

After a very long time spent in absolute darkness, the door began to rattle, and eventually to open. Keep your wits about you Jaganvir he told himself, there is an evil feeling to this place.

As the door swung agape, Jag was given hurried instructions by a dark figure. At this point, the person (by the sound of him a Khajiit) had been nothing but helpful. Jag decided to take the instructions he was given and he quickly made his way to the leftmost end of the hall. His axe was leaned against the wall along with his armor and the rest of his things in a pile. He collected them and hurriedly threw his armor on; this was most relieving, as the robes he had been given were uncommonly uncomfortable.

As he began to make his way to the opposite end of the hall, Jag could just make out the outline of something entirely unfamiliar to him. Jag kept a good distance, but was forced to quicken his pace when he heard footsteps behind him. At the end of the hall, the figure came into light and turned out to be far more interesting than he had expected.

Over the creature's shoulder, Jag glimpsed a khajiit that he supposed to be his rescuer. He caught the majority of the conversation between the two, and by the sounds of it, the creature was threatening the khajiit. "Excuse me, Beetle-man, let us not jump to conclusions," Jag started rather diplomatically. "I know not who either of you are, but it seems that we may owe a debt of gratitude to this khajiit. If I'm not mistaken, this is the same one that sprung me from what seemed like endless confinement."

[Slim Shady]

Darkness...

That's all that Ash saw for many days. Pure darkness, not a hint of light, except for the faint glow of the runes on the very uncomfortable robe that he was wearing. He didn't know how long that he had been there, but he knew that it was long enough. Oh how that wicked mage tricked him into following him and then being captured, locked away somewhere in that dark prison. The only sound that would fill the lonely nights of captivity was the cries of pain, agony, and torture. The only thing that he did was sleep and plan. To try to create a plan of escape. But, right as he was about to finish his planning, it seemed like a certain Khajiit beat him to it...

At the time of the break out, it sounded like the mage had just finished up torturing his latest victim. The screams were unmistakeable, and Ash new his day of torture was only a matter of time. Ash's eyes had somewhat gotten used to the dark, being in there so long, but he did not see the Khajiit come to unlock his cell until Ash could see the glow of his eyes. He heard him coming, however, but he just thought it was the mage going to take the next person in line. The door swung open, and the Khajiit gave a breif and not very detailed explaination as the Khajiit went through the door torwards the mage, Ash's cage being closest to the door.

Sitting in the corner of the cell the whole time, Ash slowly and silently got up from his position and looked down the hallway. A bug creatuew passed by him and went through the same door that the Khajiit did, and odd sight indeed, but Ash didn't pay much attention to it as he made his way down the hallway an into where his belongings were being stored. On the way there, another person had passed by him, though he didn't get a good look at him as he walked a little bit more and arrived at the stash of equipment. In a small chest off to the side, Ash had found his armor, his bow and quiver, and the other things that he had on him when he was captured.

Ash put on his armor and cloak, slung on his quiver, and stored away his poitions and poisons in his two pouches, along with a couple red apples. After gaining all of his equipment, Ash put his bow at ready and notched an arrow, slowly walking down the hallway and towards the door that everybody had exited out of. He didn't really want to deal with the rest of the people that were in the room, but there didn't really look like any other way out of that place. Keeping his guard up, Ash slowly opened the door and looked around the corner. Inside, there was the Khajiit resting upon a chair, the bug creature holding up some kind of test tube type item, like he was going to throw it at the Khajiit, and a Redguard, the person he had passed by in the hall, trying to break up the conflict.

Ash was ready to just kill the bug man, who was causing conflict in the room, and maybe any others that caused any other problems. But, he decided against it, and only sighed quietly as he walked past the group and leaned against the wall. Pulling up his hood of his cloak a little, he waited for the three to hug it out so Ash could ask the Khajiit where they were, or at least, how to get out of the dark and mysterious place.

[FMAlchemist]

Probably... probably...

Who?

You know who.

You think he did this? You think he did this. You think...

Doğramak... doğramak... doğramak....

Wysteria stared at the darker corner of her cell, her jaw slack and eyes unfocused. She couldn't sleep. They were keeping her up. She'd long outgrown childishly covering her ears and screaming such nonsensical demands as "Shut up! or "Get out of my head!" Now she only sat and quietly listened to the low whispering voices in her head, exhausted from lack of sleep and trying to focus on remembering what had happened before she blacked out. She refused to converse with them. So she let them have at it.

It'd been a long time since she went so long without her medicine... and with no one there to engage her and plenty to be paranoid about, her voices were very much active. She picked thoughtlessly at the irritating runes on her robe. She hated being alone. It was impossible to think....

The click of a lock being picked caused a screaming in her head. She jumped up and held her balled up fists out in front of her. Hand to hand fighting had never been a particular talent of hers, but if she could only get her hands around the attackers throat, she was sure she'd be able to hold on just long enough....

Leonce... what happened to Leonce...

It seemed there would be no attacker, however, as she was given vague instructions and, just as quickly as he had come, the hooded figure left. She wasted no time. All the way down the hallway, her voices protested loudly against trusting the hooded figure, but she ignored them. She needed her weapons. It was the only logical risk to take.

Reaching the chest, she checked and triple checked every piece of her equipment to ensure nothing had been tampered with. Leoncccceeee.... She spent extra time smelling and tasting the contents of her medicine viles before quickly, with desperate haste, downing it in a single swallow. She then picked up her swords and ran quickly to the room she'd been told of. She stopped outside the door. She heard voices, but definitely not the ones inside her head, which had quieted down significantly as the medicine began to take effect.

The door creaked open as she entered hesitantly, holding her swords crossed below her waist. One man dead. One Khajiit- the one that released her. One Redguard. One Wood Elf, by the looks of him. And one....? She quickly observed the scene that lay before her. They seemed to be discussing something... something unimportant.... She couldn't be sure of who was friend or foe; even more so than usual. It was frustrating and she didn't want to kill anyone that might be able to get her out of this mess....

"What's going on?" she growled to the Khajiit. There was no time for petty talk. If they were going to escape, they needed to escape now.

[Robeatics]

Almost as soon as the Khajiit had unlocked Urzoth's door and given her a few words of explanation, she was barreling down the hallway to reunite with her warhammer. Muttering curses about damn mages and their stupid rituals as she slipped into her armor, she glanced about the hallway as a few other freed prisoners limped down the dark hall. She followed the sound of commotion, gripping the handle of her hammer tightly, to both reassure herself and to prepare to bash an enemy's head in if that problem arose. The door was already ajar, a giant bug she only assumed to be a monster she was meant to kill shouting and waving around a vial of something probably dangerous.

She burst in, warhammer-first, stopping only to glare at the insect, brandishing her weapon and baring her teeth. "What the hell is going on?" She demanded, preparing to strike. This would prove to be an interesting encounter if the bug-monster attacks, she had never fought such a beast before. The thought of slaying a new creature sent a wave of energy through her arms and into her weapon in the form of a swing, splintering the pillar the slain mage hung from in a grotesque display she would have likely done to garnish the Arena's Red Rooms. She wanted to imprint a show of her power into them, if they were smart they would get the message and tell her what was going on. She propped the hammer onto her shoulder and tensed herself, glaring expectantly between them.

[Joshy]

Aldis awoke in a cell filled with other… people. It had to be magic. Bloody magic that lit up his world and thrust him into unconsciousness. As soon as he had awoken he began to rage. He didn’t know where Murie was, he had failed her, Ysmir help him… and then he was overtaken with calm. It was unnatural and it took over his entire being. He let himself relax for just a moment, knowing that it was she who he sought that bewitched his senses. Of course she would know how he would react upon waking.

Time became meaningless in the dark cell. He didn’t talk to any of his fellow lost souls. After he realized nothing he could do would break the door open he relented into a protective stance around Murie. Aldis began to keep track of time by the appearance of a foul mage. Sometimes he would mock them. Other times putrid fumes would drift their way. Finally something familiar happened to Aldis. He let out a soft laugh as he heard a shriek of terror. Something bad was happening to the mage. Minutes later he could taste the metallic tang of blood in the air.

After the Cat who dealt with their friend had unlocked the door. The other occupants of their room raged out of the cell quickly. Aldis waited until he was sure he could take a quick look around, making sure it was safe for Murie to exit. He saw the mage then, bled out from the neck. It was satisfying to see, Ysmir help him Aldis smiled. As much as he wanted to don his gear again he had a duty. While locked up he could see his honor and glory slipping away, he had a second chance and it was all thanks to Ysmir, Talos. As he waited for Murie to exit the cell he looked at their rescuer, “Ysmir must have guided you here.”

[Vanquished]

Pitch black. Her head hurt. Her stomach roiled. Her Nord guardian, he was not awake yet, but many others were. There were cries of anguish and rage. Murie sat up in the darkness, feeling each limb for harm. There was nothing except a feeling of loss and confusion. So she prayed. Talos guide me, give me strength, give me revenge. Over and over she prayed this simple prayer as some crazed man came and went. Others were taken, yet Talos seemed to grant her protection. Her attempt to track the days failed, and when finally it seemed they were freed, she had no idea how long they had been there.

She waited until several had fled the cells, Aldis would not allow her to move out even if she had been stupid enough to do so so quickly. If this was a trap, let the others step into it first. She waited, and hearing no signs of an ambush, proceeded out with Aldis. Not one to be careless, she readied two spells; calm and a weak shock spell in case there were aggressive mages present.

Once out of the cell, she quickly tried to take in the scene before her. She blinked hard, even the low level of light present, stung her eyes. She heard Aldis speak. The fool, Nords were strong, but he trusted too quickly. The shape he addressed seemed to be Khajit, and she smelled blood. A quick glance and she saw the source. Someone has a sick sense of humor.

The calm spell was cast without much of a second thought. It landed on its target, the khajit sitting so pretty. She turned quick, ready to cast it on anyone else who seemed a danger. "Now then. It won't last long beastman. Don't think I'll hesitate to cast again on any of you. We will talk first, and give thanks later."

Between the calm spell, and a quick zap from her other hand, combined with the brute strength of the guardian, she felt safe enough to continue. "Who are you, and who was he?" She gestured to the body. "We will hear what you know. You will tell us the truth, or Talos help me, you will be the first to feel the vengeance I prayed for."

The spell lasted mere moments longer, but Murie had already readied to cast again if she needed to.

[Dervish]

The first one through the heavy oak doors was not who… or even what Zaveed would have expected. A tall, stick-like insect creature with blue skin and a bunch of strange little vials about him came through, cursing about something or another and overturning a table, spilling the contents all over the floor with an unpleasantly loud clamor. Before the dishes finished their momentum, the thing rebounded towards the khajiit, demanding answers for the dead Breton and for him to leave. He thinks I’m with the Brotherhood? Peculiar, this one.

Before he had the opportunity to respond, or attempt to justify the hanging corpse, the Redguard warrior came in after, and attempted to defuse the situation. Zaveed approved, at least this one wasn’t so quick to jump to conclusions. The khajiit felt his paw go down to his axe hanging from a loop on his belt. He didn’t think he’d need it, but one should never leave things to chance. He watched as the bosmer walked in without saying a word, taking position against a wall out of the way, but in a place he could see everyone who may approach. A cautious type.

Without much in the way of a warning, a somewhat feminine roar filled the air and the sound of splintering wood filled the air, causing Zaveed to flinch somewhat as he was pelted by small chunks of wood. The body hit the ground with a thump, and Zaveed quickly looked over to see if his bow was still okay. Fortunately, the brutish orc managed to not break it. He shook his head in disapproval and disbelief. He was rather hoping for more people like the Redguard and the bosmer. His eyes met with a woman who appeared to share features of a darked skin human and elf, who demanded to know what exactly was going on. Zaveed still bided his time, as there were more on their way through the door. The procession would have been comical if everyone weren’t so quick tempered and ready to maim him. It would take much less time and effort if he explained the situation once. He didn’t have to wait long, however.

The next was a young Nord man who offered a sort of blessing, Zaveed supposed, and a tall altmer woman, who instead of offering a way in greeting decided to cast a spell. Before he could react, Zaveed felt whatever tension he had been feeling wash away. He hadn’t felt so relaxed in some time, and wasn’t sure what the fuss was with everyone else. He shook his head clear. What the hell was that about? Deciding that that was most everyone, and waiting longer would involve more wanton destruction of property or body parts, Zaveed let the chair back on two legs, put the Breton’s journal down, and picked up his bow, slowly, slinging it onto his back. He hopped up on the table, giving him a platform to speak. He looked over each person in turn as he strolled from one end to another, avoiding the various things left on the table. The bottle of wine remained in hand, however.

“Let me begin by appealing for calm. It would do nobody any deal of favours by deciding to make me look like our friend here, whose corpse was almost desecrated by the Orc woman.” He said, gesturing with a flourish to the crumpled Breton on the floor. “I was not your captor, but the man on the floor had that dubious honour. He paid for it with his life, and for good reason. The book some of you may have noticed me reading contains his research notes that detailed physical descriptions of the other prisoners who once shared the block with you. Do not bother looking for them, they are gone. And by that, they died a most unpleasant death at the hands of the dead man.”

Hoping off the table, he landed quietly before the blue bug creature. “It is strange, you speak with the same difficulty to enunciate like an argonian, but you look like a bug. If I didn’t know the situation here so well, I’d say he did some weird tests on you. But to alleviate your concerns, I am not a member of the Brotherhood. Such a grim, dour bunch. They are obsessed with death. Quite uninteresting, to be honest.” He crossed the room, handing off the bottle of wine to the Orc. “If anyone needs this, it is likely you.” He stood before the door across from where the group came out of. “In this room is a chamber that is warm, damp, and filled with more blood than you’d ever care to see again in your life. I would know, only a couple weeks ago I ensured the same tribulations you all have. Someone helped me escape, and it was the same set up. Creepy mage in the red and black robe, wearing the odd scratchy robe with the runes, my equipment stuffed haphazardly in a storage room.” He looked over his shoulder before turning to face the group. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Allow me to explain what it is I know. Then you can decide if you want to help me, or go about your merry way to tell your friends about what a wonderful weekend you’ve been having.

“Doubtless you’ve all encountered the dancing lights in the sky, and how the people all around us are acting rather strange. As in, suddenly they all love the Emperor unconditionally and are willing to remove your kidney with a caliper if you say otherwise. There is a connection, and while I do not understand the specifics, there is something about each and every one of us that makes us prime candidates for these experiments.” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

“To save you the fine details of what was to happen to you, our Breton friend heaped against the wall in his own blood would use the same spell that knocked you unconscious again, only this time you’d wake up chained to a pillar with a sluice that drains towards a central cistern, which is collecting blood.” He waved a hand from left to right, indicating each person in the room. “Yours, to be precise. The procedure more or less involves an incision and a parting of your rib cage, inserting a black soul gem, and using a healing spell to close it off. He activates another spell, which causes the soul gem to react and the energy to force its way out of your body, forcing your blood through your pores and various openings until its energy is expended, the crystal bursts, and you are hopefully by that point dead.

“The blood that drains from your body to the cistern mingles with the other sacrifices, and somehow powers another spell that I cannot begin to describe how it works, but it somehow causes the auroras, which you can see during daylight and all point towards Imperial City, if their notes are to be believed. Another fun bit of information is this, it appears the Emperor found something extremely valuable and is behind this unpleasant business, and everyone in this room may be the only people left alive in Tamriel who are immune to having our minds controlled by the Emperor.” He said, returning to the group.

The khajiit stopped before the Redguard warrior in the Imperial armour. “You surely are familiar with the trait all Imperials have, they call it the ‘Voice of the Emperor’. Imagine an exponential boost to that ability to influence people on a continent wide scale that will never wear off as long as the person who summoned the spell lives. That is what we are facing, to my understanding.” He returned to the still upright table, and sat on the edge of it, looking each person in the face. “What has to be done is someone has to kill the Emperor, and that someone needs to be one of the people in this room. If any of you wish to depart now and have no part in this business, there will be nothing baring your way to the exit and I wish you safe journeys. However, know this; as long as the Emperor lives, they will never stop hunting you, and they found you once. It will happen again.”

The khajiit suddenly grinned charmingly. “And forgive my lack of manners, you may call me Zaveed.”

[vTempest]

Akari awoke to the voice of his captor, instructing him to take his equipment and then go the other way. Akari had done so, equipping his pouches filled with various items and then his straps which held his various daggers. He then left the room and walked towards the remaining door. Just as he had reached the doorway he saw a female orc violently swing her large hammer, destroying a pillar which held a grotesque corpse. Typical. Akari thought to himself. He had always been prejudice towards orcs since a group of them had murdered his family. There was a variety of other people in the room as well, including a an looking insect like individual. Akari was about to speak when the khajit began explaining the situation.

Akari looked towards the dead mans corpse, glad that the man was dead. He was the only one that knew of Akari's crime. At least as far as he was aware. Akari began weighing his options. He could either work with this Khajit that he did not know if he could trust, or he can depart now and take his chances. Akari knew he was not one for trusting people ever since his master betrayed him but he knew he would need help if he were to survive. Not only is the emperor searching for him, but also possibly the members of the Mages Guild. He must have looked awfully suspicious fleeing right after his masters death. There was also the possibility that Eldin had some followers that were willing to skin Akari alive. Well I'm screwed either way. I might as well try and get some help.

Akari took a deep breath and then exhaled before stepping into the room from the doorway, making his presence known to those that have not noticed him yet. He looked at the khajit before beginning "Well Zaveed, it appears that I have no other option but to join you." Even if this man was lying, he looked like he knew his way around a blade and could be helpful if Akari were to be attacked. "My name is-" At the last moment Akari quickly debated whether or not to give the group of people his real name. "Esper." He told them, deciding against it.

Akari began silently wishing he was back at the library in Anvil. It was so much more peaceful there. Sure Akari worried everyday that he would be discovered, but still at least it was not as complicated. It had then sunk in what Akari had agreed to. He had just agreed to help murder the emperor.