Adamiir Thiich - Kvatch Chapel - Listening
Adamiir watched the Bosmer before him carefully as she spoke, his lips pressed together tightly; the urge to interject and respond to the barrage of questions she was throwing at him was nearly overwhelming. Did he understand that it was all rhetorical just to emphasize a point? Well, of course. Adamiir, however, still very much so had to quell his desire to interrupt. That was a fascinating inquiry, however. Where did goblins go when they died? He suspected the naughty ones were sent to a very large box hidden somewhere in the Deadlands. He shuddered slightly at the blithe thought, for if that truly was reality, it was a grim one indeed. Countless goblins were slain everywhere, perhaps even daily. Overcrowding would be a serious problem by this point.
Before, however, Adamiir could complete that line of thinking, and properly respond to his new friend, his peace of mind was interrupted by the arrival of two surprise visitors and a fireball. The latter, thankfully, missing him by a wide margin. Adamiir turned his attention away from the new arrivals and back to the Bosmer before him as she began to speak. “Well… that was unexpected. I was wondering how a massive Nord and his female sidekick managed to close that portal outside; Nords aren’t known for their brains, and it’d take more than muscle to close one of those things, that’s for sure. No wonder they avoided the gate. Although, that does leave us all in the same predicament. We’re not all going to be able to climb over those walls.” The elf did make a fair point, however, Adamiir was quite certain in his own personable ability…
“...to scale the walls.” He quickly closed his mouth, his lips quirking into a guilty smile that his companion had no reason to understand.
“It would be a risk. Scaling the walls, I mean. It would be too risky.” Not that his words seemed to have any effect on his as of yet unnamed companion, as she was already marching away in the direction of the short Imperial woman who had arrived only moments ago, who had quickly enveloped themselves in an argument with the local priest. Adamiir watched with growing excitement as the brave Bosmer pledged themselves to closing the gate. Her words seemed to inspire others among the chapel to do the same. A rush of anticipation surged through him as his hand shot to the silver pendant around his neck. This was going to be terribly interesting. Before he knew it, Adamiir was stalking over to the congregation of bleeding hearts gathered around the priest. He cleared his throat, rather loudly.
“Hello, I am Adamiir. Well, my name is Adamiir, my chosen vocation is that of a mage. That is to say, I cast spells. I would very much like to join this expedition. With each seemingly senseless individual that lends their chosen medium of combat to this cause, the chances of success rise to levels higher than astronomic failure. Ergo, I am being helpful.” He beamed at the group, his generosity plain on the table for all to see. The logical part of his mind could only assume it was about to be marched off to certain death.
Veeza - Kvatch Chapel - Observing
Veeza saw them every time he closed his eyes. The unnatural, hellish demons that swarmed Kvatch, laying waste to all he knew and held dear. At this stage, there would be no point in trying to rescue the city; there was nothing left to save. Merely a handful of frightened civilians were all that remained of Kvatch’s populace. As he surveyed the assortment of individuals taking refuge within the chapel from his perch atop a piece of rubble where he sat, they seemed equal parts native and foreigner. Gods, had anyone made it out? Would anyone in this chapel make it out?
Veeza could not forgive the daedra for what happened there that day. His home lay in ruins, and his friends and mentors lay dead, their bodies littering the bloodworks. Ironic that the last fight he and Langurius would ever experience together was one spent battling side by side. Veeza was now Kvatch’s grand champion. How hollow the title now seemed. It was only the sudden arrival of two survivors seeking entry into the chapel that shook Veeza out of his brooding. He watched the two carefully, noting the errant fireball that entered in behind them with distaste. As the Nord ran to what Veeza could only assume was his family, the Imperial quickly entered a heated discussion with Martin, whom Veeza had exchanged a few words with on occasion. It was custom that the Argonian would pray to Talos before and after combat in the arena. Even though Veeza would not consider himself pious in the smallest sense of the word, the Nine Divines had proven themselves to be as real as the flesh and blood denizens of the world they watched over time and time again.
It seemed that for whatever reason, the newcomer wanted to escort Martin out of the city, at the soonest possible opportunity. The priest however, to his credit, refused to leave the chapel and all of the people inside, insisting that the gate be closed before he do so.
And just like that, a band of seemingly noble souls began to form itself, numerous travellers from across Cyrodiil pledging their aid to Kvatch in its time of crisis. Veeza had always intended to fight til his last breath in order to keep the survivors safe, but now it seemed that maybe he wouldn’t have to. Leaping down from his vantage point, he strode over to the ensemble.
“Kvatch was my home, and justice must be delivered. I will be going too.”
Member
