Alfhedil

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

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The brightness of the moons on this night had given way during the intensifying riots to the reddish-orange haze of fires and the beacons lit across the walls of the Imperial City as little by little the Legions struggled to regain order. Yet as smoke filled the night sky and the calls to order sounded over angry citizens, a shift to the atmosphere could be felt as rumor spread like wildfire and fanned the rioters into a panic in the face of the watch. The guards in the prison shifted back and forth as they rested, swapping in and out with each other as some came in from the streets battered and bruised and trying to get a moment of rest before heading back in. Some just wanted a moment to breathe, a moment of relative silence in the wake of so much violence gripping the city.

But the rumor carried even down into the prison proper, the words said before anyone could try and stress the importance of keeping such things to one's self. "Murdered. At his own wedding." A man fresh from the Palace District sat with his back to the wall, blood spattered across his armor from his flight to Legion headquarters. Some of it looked clearly to be his own, a lot more civilian, rioter or otherwise. At first as he said those words, not many paid him much mind, a murder at a wedding was an awful affair but not enough to cause as much destruction as was ongoing. Then another man entered, pulling a dented helmet from his head and tossing it in the corner of the bastion up above. His face was bruised and split where he had clearly chosen to catch a blunt object with his face, though maybe not quite intentional.

His voice carried all the way down to the prison proper, outraged and over his fellow guards trying to calm him. "Dead! All of them!" A commotion sounded from above, and some of the guards down with the prisoners glanced nervously at each other, wondering if they should step in and help, but deciding it was probably best to keep out for now. "Geldall, his traitor-bitch wife, and all the others. People with masks and red robes all over the damn city stabbing anyone and everyone, took a knife just trying to get here." Where before the other cells had been just as packed as their own and rather busy with people arguing their own issues, a silence descended upon them for the first time all night. Hands gripped the bars and a collection of faces leaned in to try and get a look for themselves in disbelief. A soft murmuring, some questioning, others denying, the conversation building all around them as even the guards had their own takes.

Up above there was more shouting and arguing, the man trying to rally a few to go with him to the palace only for panic to set in and the sound of blades clashing. Though the prisoners could not see, it was clear a fight had broken out in the bastion and without any further information it seemed as if the city itself had gone mad. Screams, the sounds of rent flesh and steel, until one voice cut across all others and put some order to the chaos around them.

"Legionnaires! Phalanx!"

A woman's voice, one that may have been familiar to at least one member of the cell, and even if unfamiliar to the others this one was someone clearly in command. Imperial through and through, but with that subtle Breton lean, she needed no further insistence as the guards by the cell pulled together into an impromptu phalanx with a pair up front with shields and the rest drawing their blades and waiting. They need not wait too long, as with a scream of protest, a man in red robes and a black metal mask came cascading down the turn in the corridor, tumbling into the front ranks. Those two up front worked the shields to carry the robed man's momentum, sending him above the six guards in the corridor and into their drawn blades to die behind them. Then another came down, and they shifted to the sides of the corridor to allow the second rank to step forward, plunging their swords into the man's chest and pulling him out through the formation to the back. A third and the sounds of fighting up above went silent, replaced with heavy boots coming down the stairs and more distant shouts.

"Gaius, Titus. You two are with Lady Alexandria, help her rally the Legions and take back the city. Lucia and Marinus, gather whoever is rested enough to mount a defence of the Prison District. Assist Lady Julia with organizing relief and securing the isle."

The guards took several steps back, that same woman coming into view now as she turned to look into the cell, her disappointment clear as well as no small amount of disgust. It was clear that she was very unamused with the people within this cell, though the exact reason why was unclear at the moment. Yet for those who knew… Her armor marked her out as a member of the Blades, but the katana at her side bloodied and the scabbard dented was more than enough for even the most novice of Imperial Citizens to recognize the distinct danger they may be in. The Blades. Here. In the prison. Either someone within the cell had made a rather severe error in who they struck during the riot or-

"If it wasn't for the riot burning the Arena District to the ground, I would be having one or all of you in the interrogation cells to explain this, but we have more important matters at hand." Captain Renault beckoned with her hand and she was joined by two other dour-faced Blades, taking a look back at her charge and ensuring that the corridor was safe for now. The other cells had gone quiet, even Valen Dreth had somehow found it in him to keep his mouth shut and stay out of sight. "Open this cell and get these people out of here. We need through and we need-" Slowly another came into sight, this one not armored like his escorts but they gave him the kind of deference that made it very clear who he was. An older man gray of hair and with a weary expression across his features as he looked into the cell and shared a moment of disappointment with the captain of his Blades. All the more as someone actually asked the question of who the old man was, to which Yashar very quietly told said person in as kind a tone as possible, that they needed to be very quiet and be ready to move when told to.

"The one from my dreams…" Uriel Septim stood before them as the door was quickly unlocked, his Blades stepping in just in case someone decided to make a move they disagreed with. "Elara, this was written in the stars… Today is the day." Captain Renault frowned at this, though she gestured to one of the others to step into the cell and make his way through the throng of people to press at the wall behind Caddach with a brief apology.

"Okay." The other man stepped in to address the group, allowing Renault to guide the Emperor off to the side and to give a clear path up the stairs. "Your Emperor and his Blades is in need of moving through your cell, and in his benevolence is bestowing a pardon of all crimes to each of you, but either move up the stairs or down the tunnel." Baurus nodded to his captain, ignoring her disapproval and opting for expediency in this endeavor, watching a couple already taking advantage and rushing back up the stairs to the relative safety above. "Make your choice, but know there is danger no matter which direction you go."

Spearhead: A modern/near future Special Forces RP (Closed to new applications)

Karishma Jha
_{Time: 27 APR 25
Location: Taniland, Africa}

Much like the others, Karishma paid attention to the details of the operating area as they moved their gear into the rather unassuming safehouse. Just one building out of many, the only thing that would have been of note about it was the rather armed people peering out of it to usher them inside, and of course the operators themselves. She wondered if they were a little too bold about this, but there was a bit of safety in confident obviousness in a way. One by one, each crate of gear was moved into the building and downstairs, and she helped out as if this was something perfectly natural. Maybe the other locals in the neighborhood would assume them to be yet more mercenaries of the Order, some allies of the resistance or unsure enough of who they were to avoid reporting anything to the authorities that be. It was all things beyond her immediate concern though, something for the team leader to think about.

Inside she considered a few breach plans as she filled a bowl and thanked the woman, as a Marine never turned down a bit of food when offered and she knew well enough by now to take advantage of any kind of break in the action. All the better for the food being hot, but she appreciated a good homemade meal over MREs any day of the week. In between bites, she listened in and her view of the others started to consolidate a little more. Zaland was still a good boi, and while she knew it was best to consider him just another operator, having Arsala confirm that for Santi and the rest of the group helped establish things a little more. The Chilean himself had no hesitation towards making his thoughts clear, and she nodded along with him. "Any eyes up top beats having none at all, and I do agree on the power angle here." Karishma stood to head into the kitchen and clean the bowl herself, no use making extra work for their local friends, and then returned back to the group and set to going through her breach-bag to settle on a kit for the op.

"I'll pack a charge just in case we need an emergency exit, but I'll stick to the picks and a couple thermite pens. My personal recommendation will be the side gate for entry. Best case scenario will be that the Order is lax on the street level and the gate will be unlocked, I do like to count on the laziness of our fellow grunts. But if it is secured, then it will tell us a little about their stringency with operational security." In her mind it was a win-win in terms of greater operational intelligence, either they understood the Order as a mess of local untrained militia and hardened mercenaries, or discover early on the extent of their discipline and training. "The garage though... I think we can work that one pretty well depending on patrols. Though depending on how over-stretched the local opfor is we could work a distraction to draw off elements from the station. Honestly, it's your call boss." To that she gave a nod towards Megan, and then towards Juichi as their pointman. "Just point me where to make a hole or what needs destroying."

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

@Paingodsson A little light, but we've talked about it so you're good to go. Just pop him over to the characters tab and make your intro post when you're ready.

@Apollosarcher Alright, you're good to go as well.

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

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It was cold, at the very least cold for her and her siblings far from the gentle heat of the Alik'r warming their body and soul. Though they had found a temporary warmth in the inns and taverns of the Imperial City, moving from one to another as their visit slowly extended from just a few days to already weeks just wandering about the districts. It had been her brother's idea to begin with, who had never quite stepped away from the recent conversion enthusiasm of his embracing the Nine Divines. Their journey had taken them across the breadth of Cyrodiil and heading towards the eastern reaches in her never ending pilgrimage, but it seemed that just like always trouble loomed. All it was supposed to be was just a few days of staying around the Arena district, her doing some shifts at the local hotspot and Yashar helping the local gladiators mend their wounds in between plates of food as many tended to do. Day by day it had been pretty good for the two of them, and even her sister was pitching in off and on when there was need for a little extra muscle. Unfortunately though, she provided a bit too much of it this night and now the trio sat in the Imperial City prisons, thankfully together but also rather less so joined by a myriad of other people gathered by the watch.

To sate her idle curiousity she had been looking up towards the Argonians on either side of her, finding out one was a gladiator himself and the other rather more guarded about his background. Talk of their home was a little disappointing for her more worldly interests, finding neither knowing much of actual Blackmarsh, but it was something that still brought a smile to her lips as she was more and more seeing why Yashar had so much faith in the Empire. From beyond the borders of Cyrodiil the provinces seemed intent on doing what they wanted, but here everyone was welcome and everyone had a place. Even herself, someone who had caught a few questioning glances here in the city for her more elven features, but still never once felt out of place even while wandering completely lost in the city. It was as if the vision of the Empire was alive and well here in this cell, Argonians, a Dunmer, Bretons, Orcs, Redguard and the grinding of metal on metal announced a Khajiiti visitor to their group. Now that was one thing that quite easily ceased the young woman's questions, something that not even the shit-drinker did for more than a brief pause.

Kiffar as he was called, so large as to stoop under the entrance to the cell and give the guards outside a moment of consideration regarding their career choice. She had never known that Khajiit could even get so large, though her brother had told her stories of how different their people were depending upon the phases of the moon. Yet still... He was bigger than Yashar by a fair margin, something the half-orsimer man felt rather obvious as the giant weaved his way effortlessly through the throng of people to take a seat near the back. Only a slight hiss as a dark-scaled Argonian basically slithered out of the way and affixed the giant cat with a glare for his efforts. Bold, Khaliya thought, but she remembered that one as one of the people to have actually participated eagerly in the brawl in the tavern, so perhaps that particular Argonian knew something she didn't.

But friendly or unfriendly as the third lizard-man in the cell was, she had two to either side who despite being rather massive and intimidating were at the very least open to conversation. With as few words as the cat-man offered, he joined in with them quite easily though and she felt it would be inappropriate not to introduce herself in turn. "Hello Kiffar, I am Khaliya." As respect to the two Argonians she had been pestering, she offered her hand in turn to each of them as way of introductions, and to her fellow Redguard opposite her even if he was clearly one of the Forebears. "That's Yashar." Her brother nodded slowly in turn, still the rather uncanny but friendly smile greeting all those who turned his way. "He's my older brother. Well, half-brother but I don't really see much of a difference." A shifting on the stone bench to lean forward a little and her attention was brought to Caddach as he introduced himself and went over the events of the night that led him to be right there opposite her in this cell. Events that might very nearly have not permitted him to be sitting where he was if her sister had her way, though as she introduced Yashar as her brother that led to the very obvious implications. And she was quite conscious of that as it came to mind that it had been her wrist he had grabbed in the brawl as she had withdrawn his wallet from his pocket, and thus earned him the beating of three lifetimes. So maybe some apologies were in order, though more so on the part of her sister who-

There was a moment of silence as some of the other cellmates to join them slowly turned to regard the sound of metal grinding against stone and bear witness to yet another rather concerning development for their particular ten by six cell. With all the commotion, introductions, story-making and shit drinking, Roshanarra was becoming more and more irate with the situation. Rage boiled within her blood, the beating of distant drums of war sounding and she could feel the war-wind building as each moment passed. With a motion of her hands, she rolled her wrists so that she gripped the manacles binding her to the wall tight and started flexing with every bit of Orcish muscle she had. The dark-scaled Argonian noticed first, and Khaliya swore he turned a lighter shade as once more he decided that he should be anywhere except where he was sat. Then came the grinding, the creaking of metal protesting greatly at being bent in ways it shouldn't. A pair of guards slowly leaned in to watch as Roshanarra pulled the bolts fully from the stone wall and gruffly tore the mask from her face to reveal the bloodied tusks that had almost earned one man a visit to the temple.

And that was nearly where things would have gotten back to the brawl except for a hand on her shoulder, Yashar leaning in to offer his support and slowly the war-wind began to fade. She could hear the distant disappointment of Malacath echoing into the back of her mind, and then a smaller hand reaching out to gently touch her on the knee, and there was her sister, the only one aside from their mother that could pull her from those blood-stained depths and she gave a slow nod as she eased back against the wall and let the chains rattle against the stone. One crisis averted for her siblings, but she could see the look in her little sister's eyes and the slow direction towards the Breton boy battered and bruised from her actions back in Daggerfall Dan's. From rage to shame, she saw the damage wrought upon him and the anger in his eyes, fixing upon her like the animal she had indulged herself to become. And for that moment she felt a brief flickering of the war-wind trying to stoke her back into action, to violence no matter the consequences.

But she was not an animal, nor was she beholden to the whims of a prince who punished his people for sins not their own. So when she spoke, it was without the expected guttural growl befit of many Orsimer, but more of a dulled accent of Shimmerene, the City of Lights and her mother's home. "Roshanarra." She introduced herself to those listening, which considering her role in the brawl and how she entered into the conversation now would surely be more than a few. And then her gaze turned towards Caddach, fixing him with those amber hues and giving a slow nod of contrition. "I... Am sorry for trying to kill you. I will not apologize for the Altmer though." That one was more pointed towards her brother, who had chided her on throwing a man out of a window, but did bring a bit of levity as Khaliya laughed aloud despite the misfortune.

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

@spicykvnt Alright, went over it again and I feel it's in a decent enough place for an approval from me, so you're good to shift Deia over to the characters tab.

@Apollosarcher Just let me know when you've effected the edits and we'll circle back.

Otherwise, some excellent posts so far, if I have time I might do up a proper Khaliya post in the next day or so. Depends on how things go lmao.

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

Okay, with that out of the way there are a few notations and announcements to make regarding the RP and going forward. Firstly, we are now open to IC posts and with no specific order of posting beyond my request to do try and be aware of the pacing and try not to overwhelm the scene and slower paced players. Secondly is a note for anyone still lurking and debating upon submitting a CS. Until the Emperor arrives, there is still room to place new characters within the cell either as a random NPC that had been in the cell already, or someone freshly stuffed into the box by a passing guard. I will also maintain other opportunities as the RP goes on.

Finally, as the opening post makes clear... We are already diverting from Canon, and thus fate is officially in the hands of our party of unguided souls.

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

Dawn. A new day arose over the City of a Thousand Cults, home to well over a million souls and a god for every corner. It was where people came to make or lose their fortunes, to witness the beating heart of Tamriel and for many to become all that closer to the empire that binds it all together. Thousands come and go through the many gates of the city every day, so many that they have not shut in decades, not since the conclusion of the Simulacrum and when the Arena saw peace. Among those many who were waking to this new day and looking towards their own future was a man who also came from nothing, with only this ancient city's promises to act upon. The name Eldamil once could have been just a passing mention back home in the Summerset Isles. Perhaps he could have been a notable mage? Maybe a magistrate? He might have even found a trade and founded an empire of his own, but none of those things were enough for a boy with ideals. The Thalmor had been an ever evolving issue back home, lurking in the shadows and espousing their doctrine of Elven supremacy, and somehow the Empire seemed unconcerned.

For him though, it showed that there was something wrong with Tamriel, with this mundus. The Arena saw untold bloodshed spilling all across the provinces with grudges ancient and new forming the basis for wars, and the mortal realm shaking with the footsteps of Walkbrass. He had been there in Wayrest when the dragon broke, his mind fracturing as he had suddenly shifted from one life to another and another and another within those two days. Mortals had once more meddled with forces beyond their control and caused unending suffering to the entire realm, though they celebrated it in the aftermath with the so-called Miracle of Peace. He knew the truth though, and as he struggled to come to terms with it, that was when he first found that way of change he had been yearning for. A way to truly bring peace to the Mundus, to unite the realm in perpetual paradise and break the shackles that had so long bound them.

An end to mortality, to suffering, to disease, to petty conflicts and all other troubles of this imperfect realm. All that was needed was to usher in that new dawn, a hearkening towards the era when all was mutable and the chaos was a gift stolen away from man and mer alike. A gift that could be given once more, if but those wrongs were undone and Tamriel was made what it had always been meant to be. Under those ideals he had joined hands with other faithful, his purpose renewed, his idealism invigorated and a new goal in mind. The years passed and he proved himself useful time and time again to those of the order, working his way up and forward until the day came that he had been named a magistrate within the Imperial City itself. His duties had been simple but there was a purpose to them, and as days turned to weeks and months he slowly continued to move and advance until the time came for his true purpose to be fulfilled.

That day was this one, the 27th of Last Seed, in the year 433. His day began like all others, slowly contemplating the events on his schedule in the Imperial Palace and waiting for the Blade that would escort him until retiring for the night. Today was a momentous one for many reasons though, for one the engagement ball for Geldall Septim and his love Tamrialle, as well as the festivities being held across the Imperial City in celebration. The Arena District's exhibition match came to mind, where the Gray Prince would face one of the Companions of Skyrim, but his thoughts drifted slowly elsewhere as he turned another page in the book given to him by a man of ambition like himself. It told of all the ways this mundus was broken and twisted and how to bring about a new dawn, and he prided himself that despite the bloodshed that would take place on this day, he would be assisting in that great feat. But that was for later, for now he still had to wear the mask of a loyal servant of the Empire, and his Blade escort had knocked upon the door. So distracted was he by the day's events that he forgot something rather critical, stopping just outside as he noticed one of the palace servants working their way through the hall.

"Mr. Thraigyr, if you would be so kind as to lock up my study when you are done."

And that was that, Eldamil went off about his way towards the Elder Council chambers, unaware of the events he had just set in motion. Hours passed as morning gave way to day, and the sun sat high above. The time of the ball was soon and his own part to play was coming to bear. All he had to do was to excuse himself from the council meeting, something easily done as most had been invited to wish Geldall well this evening. Step by step he made his way back to his quarters in the upper palace, where all was just as he expected, the study locked and everything tidied up. It was a shame that he would not be able to return here after tonight, but small sacrifices for the salvation of Nirn. There was but one small problem that lay unnoticed as he gathered up the crimson robes from his wardrobe. A book was missing from his table that had been there when he left this morning, one that had not gone unnoticed by the humble servant, and had been dutifully reported to the Blades.

The Blades who just so happened to understand that warning for what it was and already were moving to desperately try and counter what he had set in motion. For some it was far too late, as conjured blades flashed in the dark across Tamriel seeking the hearts and throats of those Septims too far from the Imperial City and the watchful eyes of their guards. Geldall himself had received the warning too late, gasping on a mixture of wine and blood as his beloved cackled at the center of the ballroom only to be cut down herself in a storm of swords from the attending Blades. A dozen other members of the Imperial Family found the sharp end of a dagger within the chaos of the ball, though most managed to stumble their way from the fray and the battle of the Palace began as Legionnaires began fighting their own for the traitors hidden within their midst, and the Blades fell upon any who dared not sheathe their own in their presence.

Eldamil made his way through the tower as the flames lit the night sky in the Arena District, not knowing that the Gray Prince had been struck by debris from angry fans and the tensions of the fight had boiled over within the hour to escalate from a bar brawl to a full-on riot. Shouting from the city signaled the march of the Legions upon her own citizens, isolated squads forming shield walls and carving crescents of blood before them just to survive the onslaught. And there in the center of it forgotten by all, brothers Septim with their throats opened and left in the Arena stands.

All of that left just his task and that of another of their order. His comrade was already stalking the city for the most important duty, and he had just to find and deal with the grand-daughters of the Emperor within this very palace, who grew closer with every moment. All around him the halls were filled with rushing palace guards trying to make some sense of the chaos and the orders to shelter in place to lesser magistrates and the panicking servants. For him though they parted, and all he had to do was make his intention clear to them and soon an escort of two guards saw him speeding through all the way to the chambers of the Imperial Family. Now it was just through this door and… Immediately he noticed something was off, as both Juliana and Alexandria Septim stood before him, the younger seeming disappointed and hurt, the older enraged and hand upon the sword at her hip.

That was not what concerned him the most though, that was the coppery taste in his mouth, the strange sensation of tension in his chest that only became clear when he looked down. A longsword had seemed to sprout from his heart, steel reddened and fabric clinging to the worked blade. This… This wasn't right. And that was when he realized the mistake. He had left his robes within his wardrobe, which while suspicious in and of itself, there was that book written by the hand of a man whose name portended disaster in his wake. He couldn't even mouth the words as Baurus withdrew the sword from his chest, leaving him to slowly fade from this world and into Paradise where his master Mankar Camaron awaited…

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Meanwhile, on the other side of the city.

Normally the dungeons of the Imperial City Prisons remained dim and hopeless in the nights, barely illuminated by moonlight filtering in from outside mingling with the torchlight of the wall sconces and passing guards. Tonight though, each cell was bathed in a flickering orange-ish red, the telltale haze of not so distant blazes raging. Just the same, this section of the prison rarely saw much use and that much was evident as the incredibly over-worked guards did their best to shuffle beaten, bruised and some mildly singed citizens in and out of the cells as they worked to process them in batches. All except the foremost cells looking across the bustling hall from each other. For one a rather battered older Dunmer man took turns jeering from behind the safety of the bars, equally berating the guards as much as his fellow prisoners, many of whom were becoming increasingly irate for the cramped conditions of their cells compared to the distinct spaciousness of his own. The other however... For one it was packed just as the others, a collection of what looked obviously to be the patrons from one of the local taverns including at least one member of the wait staff.

The younger redguard woman seemed rather indifferent to the experience all things considered, chatting with whoever would give her a moment of their time and perhaps over-sharing on how she had never actually been in a prison before. Though the more she spoke the less "Imperial" she seemed, clearly one of the many thousands to be no more than a visitor to the greatest city on Tamriel. But as the blonde spoke and took turns trying to get one of the Argonians seated to either side of her to tell her of their own travels, another in the cell earned herself a fair bit of space and not so much for her endearing attitude. Despite looking every bit like someone who would have competed in the Arena herself, the woman appeared clearly as some kind of half-orc with her coppery-green skin, large fiery-red mane and just as battered as most of those surrounding her. The rather plain and simple clothing showed she was at the very least just another visitor, but all the same the stone seemed to protest greatly with each flex of muscle against the shackles. The half-orc growled through the mask fitted to her face, that particular implement earned after removing one of the city guard's fingers during the initial scuffle. At least one of the many stuffed into that cell had been on the receiving end of what the red-haired brute was capable of, a Breton lad with a bit of a bruised face nearby enough of a testament on his own.

Just outside the cell another half-orc of that same coppery-green hues tended to the guard as they tried to rest, going from one to the other and offering healing through spell or for one with a crunch and a groan of pain, a rather abrupt resetting of a shoulder. Despite openly identifying himself as the brother of the shackled one, his shaven head, rather plain robe and simple amulet hanging around his neck denoted him rather clearly as a man of the cloth despite the impressive muscle. "Blessings of the Nine brothers." Rather soft-spoken for an Orc, he spoke the blessings to each until coming to the end of the small group and checking where he had helped to re-attach a finger to one of the men. "Do keep an eye on where it was stitched back on, excessive strain will weaken the bonds of new flesh, as will any directed non-restoration magicka flowing through the digit." For his part, while Gaius had been rather bitter over losing the finger to begin with and knowing that he will never hear the end of it from his fellow guards... At the very least the Orcish priest Yashar had not only healed him but the others as well. So he simply nodded and directed him back into the cell, where Yashar joined his sister at the back of the cell and offered healing to his fellow prisoners.

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

@Spoopy Scary A very well constructed CS, even if tapping into the dark sorceries no mortal should dare contend with.

@avril Straight forward, to the point and without issue from me.

@MacabreFox Another mostly well-adjusted individual, I do appreciate a look towards a flaw such as illiteracy in a world such as this with not just the understanding of how debilitating that can be, but also how to work around it.

@Quest Abandoner Now we need one more small elf with gremlin energy and we can form our own ginyu squad much to the terror of literally everyone else.

So that said, all of you go directly to jail, do not pass the Imperial Palace and do not collect 200 septims. In fact, those are being confiscated. Yes, that means all four are accepted.

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

@MacabreFox@Spoopy Scary

Indeed, still accepting. I'm looking to actually start possibly on Monday, so although the cell might be getting a little tight there's still plenty of room lmao. Feel free to pop into the discord and let us know what's up.

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

@Kazemitsu@Athol

Kharne and Darmon look good to me