Whelp, I feel guilty. I don't think you can blame yourself or the RP concept, I think that a lot of RPs just happen to go this way. This at least seem to last longer than most.
Although the sun was now on the horizon and its glorious morning rays washed over Tamriel, there was little light to be found beyond the walls of the Elder Council Chambers. Several newly lit braziers littered the columns that adorned the large circular room, their glowing coals and flickering embers producing an eerie glow that set the mood quite nicely. Elongated and twisted shadows danced along the cold stone walls as various members of the Council began to take their places. Thirty seats made of ancient wood and the finest red silk were placed around a giant round table made of stone. Only around a half of these seats were occupied though, with many chancellors either missing or simply busy elsewhere with the war efforts. Those who were familiar with the council would instantly notice that many of the chancellors sat in small groups, pulled together by similar beliefs or goals.
Only one figure seemed to sit on his own – an elderly Imperial which everyone knew to be High Chancellor Marius. Even those who didn’t know him could guess by the exquisite crimson and golden-threaded robes that he was a man of power and importance. The badly aging man sat slumped with his elbow resting on the arm of the chair and his hand propping up his tired head. His skin was like dark leather, both in colour and texture, which small scars and blemishes adorning his entire body. Dark grey hair covered the sides, back and face, but left a large empty area on top. Both his head hair and his beard were kept well-groomed and had a slight shine from where they had been oiled. “Please could everyone take their seats and quiet down. I think that we have waited long enough. Those who have yet to make it here will just have to catch up.” the voice that filled the room was not quite a shout, but it was loud enough to capture the attention of all present and it carried with it an air of authority. “We all have important responsibilities that we need to attend to, so let’s not drag out this meeting longer than necessary. We’ll start with an update on the war efforts from General Mordecai before discussing strategy and logistics. We’ll then move on to recruitment strategy. Then financial matters. Then we’ll move onto reports of Daedra cult activity. And we’ll finish by discussing any other business that members wish to bring up. Is everyone in agreement?” a chorus of mumbles and murmurs along with the gentle nodding of heads was enough to convince the High Chancellor that no one had any issues. “In that case, if you could give us your report General?”
All eyes in the room then turned to General Mordecai, a Dunmer male is his early forties. The general was large set for a Dunmer, a trait which was exacerbated by his heavy steel imperial armour. The impressive set was equipped with a regal red cloak and a red plumed helmet, both of which matched the fiery eyes of the general perfectly. The pale lips that were framed by a pitch black goatee parted slightly as the general cleared his throat and prepared his gravelly voice for the report. “Thank you High Chancellor. Not much has changed since yesterday’s report. Leyawiin remains under siege but the latest scout reports that it was still standing late last night. Unfortunately Bravil appears to have been bolstered by another small army, making getting reinforcements down south even harder. Still-”
“Do the armies stationed at Bravil pose an immediate threat? Should we be moving our battle-lines?” a Breton chancellor cut in, fear evident in his voice.
“The forces stationed there are not large enough to pose any immediate threat to any strategic points. Our forces stationed at Fort Variela would be enough to stop them should they move North, and any attempt for them to go West would lead them into the second Legion fighting along the border; either way it would end in them being defeated and the city becoming vulnerable. The Dominion knows this.”
“Then why don’t we retake the city?!” barked a Nord, one of Skyrim’s Jarls.
“Because fighting a force deeply imbedded in a well-fortified position is a lot harder than it would be fighting them in the open on your own turf. Once we build up a big enough force or see the right opportunity I guarantee you that we will take back Bravil. But for now we must exercise caution.” The general sighed at having to explain this, for it seemed like he was having to do so on a daily basis. Rather than dwell on the point he moved onto other situations. “Fighting along the West Wield continues as usual. It’s actually been a bit calmer. Neither sides have made any significant moves in weeks, the battle lines remain constant, and bloodshed has remained to a minimum. We expect however that this won’t last – once the dominion forces receive rest and reinforcement they’ll no doubt try to push us back or break through. I recommend we bolster these lines whilst we have the chance.”
“Why don’t we ask the Redguards to divert their armies there to reinforce? What’s the situation like in the West?” The High Chancellor asked with a lazy wave of his hand.
“The Dominion is dug deep in Kvatch. Reinforcements keep pouring across the Strid river and it seems the Dominion is trying to push towards Anvil. Countless sightings of Bosmer units persist all over the County Kvatch and The Imperial Reserve. These Bosmer units, although small in size, are numerous and are causing massive trouble for local militias and supply lines. The Redguards need to focus on protecting Anvil and the Sea, and ridding the countryside of the Bosmer infestation. Ideally once reinforcements arrive from High Rock we’ll use our western forces to retake the Strid and cut off reinforcements.”
*Clap clap clap*
All eyes in the room turned to the source of the slow and deliberately interruptive clapping. A Nord sat beside a few other men made the gesture with an arrogant fake smile on his face. A few in the room, including the General, sighed at this, knowing it was trouble. The Nord in question was Jarl Assur, the Jarl of Winterhold in Skyrim and an outspoken hater of all Mer. His very position as Jarl was somewhat controversial, as his father Jarl Korir had previously been removed after siding with the Stormcloaks during the rebellion. It was through almost blatant political assassination that Assur was able to reclaim his father’s title later in life. Hostilities towards the Mage’s College of Winterhold, refusal to raise troops, and regular participation in political intrigue only served to mire his reputation further. Thus, when the slimy looking raven-haired Nord spoke it was almost guaranteed to cause offence. “Very nice speech ’General’, but I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s less than impressed with this façade.” The Nord stood then to gain further attention (not that there was a single soul not watching already), “I still cannot fathom why it is we trust a dirty elf to give us information and advise us about war! It’s his fucking kind that we’re fighting! It’s their kind that razed the Imperial City all those years ago!”
Whilst few were so brave as too cheer out-loud, there were certainly those in the room who on some level agreed with the Nord. Many others however moaned and booed in outrage, including Chancellor Iluvian – the representative of the Synod. The golden skinned, golden eyed, golden haired Altmer jumped to his feet and sent a fist covered in flame crashing down on the table. “How dare you! You who’s on father was a traitor to the Empire! You dare to accuse any non-man of being a traitor simply because of your own bigoted beliefs? When the Dominion took over the Imperial City decades ago it was not just the families of men that were slaughtered! Innocent Mer were also tortured and mutilated by the savage Thalmor! You weren’t even alive back then! You didn’t lose anyone! I still remember finding my home in ruin, my family dead! You might find it easy to refer to old memories, but for some of us the wounds still run deep!”
“Fuck you. You elfs are all as bad as each other, especially dirty mages like you. We should burn all of you.” The Nord’s reply was cold and bitter, and it might they might have caused a bloody battle then and there were it not for the intervention of the High Chancellor.
“That’s enough!” The High Chancellors voice boomed so loud that it could be felt, like a small tap to the chest. It was almost like a Thuum, but the Nords in the room would know otherwise. “Jarl Assur, your remarks are boring, offensive, unneeded and utterly unuseful. You will hold your tongue. What we need now are practical suggestions and constructive debate, not childish bickering.”
“No. What we need is an Emperor!”
Yet another interruption.
“…We need someone to fight for! There is no Empire without an Emperor. This interregnum has gone on for almost two decades, and it is time it came to an end!” The charismatic voice this time emanated from a middle-aged Imperial named Chancellor Sulla, a man even more renowned for political scheming. The well shaven, dark haired man had an air of sophistication and regalness about him, and it seemed many were happy to hear him speak. “As over half the members of the council are present, we meet the quorum, and so I would like to put forward the following motion to be voted on immediately: That in twenty-one days time we vote in a new Emperor!”
Audible cheers were raised in the small room, but a few were visibly mortified. Suddenly it became clear that many members mysteriously absent were likely held back from the meeting or killed in order for this vote to be passed. Nearly every absent member would vote against the move, but twas not the case. The High Chancellor felt his mouth go dry and he was uncharacteristically lost for words.
“Foolish boy! We have refrained from electing a new Emperor because it is guaranteed to end with in-fighting and bloodshed! If you covert the throne so much, at least wait until the war is over before you plunge us into chaos!” roared Queen Lucia of Wayrest as she sent a goblet of red-wine flying in the trouble makers direction.
“I agree with Queen Lucia. If we had a legitimate candidate, an obvious choice (someone like the Dragonborn), then I would welcome a new Emperor. But this I just about the petty aspirations of a few greedy politicians and is a waste of time. If my nephew High King Frothar was here he would agree.” the thick Nord accent belonged to Jarl Hrongar of Whiterun.
Bickering and arguing continued for some time, but eventually the room settled and the vote was cast. In only three weeks’ time the Empire would have a new Emperor.
I know that I dropped a lot of names and information in this post. So here is a TL;DR.
Many members of the Council are absent, some for legitimate reasons, but many for unknown reasons. It becomes clear later in the meeting that some have been kept from the meeting in order to successfully vote for an election of a new emperor. There’s some obvious scheming, some racism, and there’s gonna be some in-fighting.
Here’s a rough visual interpretation of General Modecai’s report. This does not represent a complete picture of the war, nor is it even necessarily accurate.
Sparks of lightening flashed against the cold black sky, but there were no clouds in sight. And thunder was replaced with the shouts and screams of soldiers, fighting desperately for their lives. Thin lines of imperial soldiers adorned the battered but vigilant walls of Leyawin, all doing their best to find cover and occasionally return fire on the invading force. Furious elemental bolts and precise arrows often found a mark, even if it was not the intended one. “We can’t hold out against these mages for too long Legate! What should we do?”
Thalmor mages had been brought in and now, in the middle of the night were launching a barrage of magical attacks against the city. Flashes of all colours could be seen hurdling towards the ancient stone walls, sending exploding fragments of flint, blood and bone flying through the air. Dominion soldiers sat crouched in the tree-lines behind the mages, waiting for an opening in the wall or any other opportune moment to strike. They had no more siege engines at the ready, having lost them all the night before, but they had managed to make a few ladders.
Legate Fasendil stood atop the Great Chapel of Zenithar with his second-in-command, watching the carnage unfold bellow. His amber eyes showed no hint of fear and a slight smile grew on his lips. “We don’t need to hold out for much longer. Their mages are powerful but their magic has limits; they can’t keep up with this for too long. Not that they need to. Tell Niryaire and Earoov to do what we discussed.” With that his petite altmer subordinate Charm disappeared into the chapel tower with haste. The legate ran his rough callused hands through is blonde oiled back hair as he looked on towards the Thalmor mages. Flashes of green light brought back painful memories of the Night of Green Fire, of the slaughter he witnessed in Hammerfell almost two centuries earlier. He wondered if any of the mages that stood against him now had been there. He hoped they were.
His attention was eventually torn away from the enemy line by movement in his own ranks. On the walls ahead of him he watched with scrutiny as his men quickly evacuated a section of the wall, leaving only two Altmer battle-mages standing on the stretch. Then, just as planned, the duo seemed to blow themselves and the section of the wall into oblivion. The explosion was tremendous and it generated a cloud of dust that took minutes to settle. When it did, it exposed to their enemy the gaping hole in their otherwise strong defences. It was the window that the Dominion was waiting for. Without hesitation the golden armoured enemy charged forward with bloodlust, quickly funnelling towards the exposure.
“Just as expected.” The legate mused to himself.
It was just as the indomitable hoard came within the ideal range of the Imperial troops above the walls that they sprung the deadly trap. Dozens of explosions came at once as the invading troops found themselves entering the freshly laid mine-field of destruction wards. Whether due to ignorance of the situation, unflinching discipline, or just plain bloodlust, the Dominion forces pressed on. Explosions of fire, ice and lightening tore apart their ranks, reducing many bodies to nothing more than gory messes and trip hazards. The Dominion soldiers even began to slip and trip on their fallen comrades, leaving them exposed to the unrelenting brunt of the imperial mages and ranged attackers, and even causing them to be trampled to death by their own comrades. Within minutes the bloodshed saw the Dominion loose more soldiers than the entire sum on the imperial defenders. But their numbers were massive, and despite their loses they pushed through past the mine-field and to the wall. In fact the Dominion might have found themselves at a turning point in the battle… had they not been deceived. Just as the first of the Altmer soldiers went to rush through the gap, they found themselves halted by a hard invisible barrier. Dozens of Altmer crashed into this barrier, breaking bones as they collided or were crushed by those behind them. It was around this moment that the curtain dropped and the wall magically reappeared, in as good condition as it had been before. For you see, the two battle-mages Niryaire and Earoov were not suicidal experts of destruction – they were respected experts of illusion. The gap that the Dominion had lost more than half its troops to abuse did not exist. And it was this fact that shattered the invaders morale and send them retreating back.
“Fire everything you’ve got! Kill as many as the bastards as you can!” the legate roared from atop his tower as his men rained death upon the fleeing force, “Kill them all!”
@rivaan You may. For future reference, from this point on anyone should feel free to post whenever they see fit. I'm not too bothered about posting order or frequency either. If your character is completely separate to everyone else you can even double/triple post. Just be considerate if you think you're likely to affect others; give them a chance to respond. Obvious stuff that I'm sure you all know.
I really intended to get a post up a couple of days ago but life. My next post will involve some Elder Council scheming, an update on the war, and some Leyawiin stuff. But it's all flexible.
For some reason I thought I'd posted. But I evidentially haven't. I haven't even started writing a post by the looks of it. This has left me feeling very confused. I'll get a post up over the weekend.
I'll probably be posting again tonight or tomorrow, depending on whether I can be arsed to go out tonight :P
Should give @Nyxella and @TheGodfather (if he gets his shit together *waves fist*) a chance to squeeze their posts in. That said, the nightmares can easily be incorporated into the next set of posts so it's not that important.
<<STATUS ALERT: GEOLOCATION PING CONFIRMED. GRID COORDINATES TO FOLLOW.>>
<7-5, be advised the security chip is mobile; we have an actor in immediate play.>
Thane was as surprised and excited as Anson or any other team member when he heard that the OSS had actually found a lead. This surprise quickly turned to suspicion however, as he then began to consider a number of scenarios in which ‘their’ enemies could be leading them into some sort of trap. It could be that the chip’s owner was planning to try capture and possibly interrogate some high-security personnel. It could be that the chip was just bait or a plant to throw the unit of the scent off the real culprits. There were too many possibilities, and too few involved the 7-5 catching a lucky break.
Picking his speed up to a brisk powerwalk, Thane found himself unavoidably having to shove his way through some sections of the crowd as he tried to loop round and approach the coordinates from a different angle to his team. There was the odd bark or insult as disgruntled pedestrians were knocked aside by his shoulder, but fortunately none were so brazen or bothered to try pick a fight with him. Amidst the rush and the unbearable amounts of people Thane began to feel the heat build up beneath his clothing. The grooves of his shirt armpits began to cling, causing him to unzip his hoody and yank at his shirt for breeze. Tiny salty beads of sweat began to form along the border of his burnt sienna hair and his lightly tanned forehead. ‘Now this is really reminding me of New Shanghai’ he mused to himself.
<I’m almost 200 meters off the target, and have no visual. Does anyone have eyes on?>
<P’siyah, Rose, I want digital eyes on this bastard now. All the information you can get.>
<Router, give me a sitrep from your vantage point, and get in a support position if you can.>
The string of orders prompted him to whack out his phone and check how close he was to the coordinates. 50 meters off the target. He didn’t have any ocular implants nor was he wearing any special HUD equipment, so he needed to rely on the information from the OSS and his comrades. Which was why it was handy when Router chirped in.
<Target Female, human. Average height and above average weight due to increased muscle and bone mass. Several bio implants detected as well as cyber augmentations. Purposes are unknown unless active scan initiated. Target wearing light armour and holstering a medium class weapon. Armour and weapon properties unknown until active scan initiated. I am following Bruce 25 yards, ready to engage when ready.>
Upon hearing the description, Thane at least had a rough idea of who he was looking for. Ethnicity, age, hair, clothing colour, and other distinguishing features were still missing though, and given the amount of people Thane really hoped someone would pass on the additional intel.
<She's blending in with the crowds, there's no way I'm getting a shot like this. It looks like she's headed towards a... A large building of some kind. Scratch that, she's about to pass by a large building. Maybe a warehouse? Cyclops is going to stay with the target, but someone else is going to need to follow up here.>
Warmer. Thane glanced around and noticed the warehouse in question, but through the mass of bodies could not identify the target. Rather than running in blind after the target, Thane opted to continue trying to circle round in the hopes of cutting them off. Periodic checks of his phone allowed him to maintain his range on the target, even if he was separated by buildings or mobs. As the target passed Trinity's location, so did Thane, but he wondered whether she actually noticed; if she was relying too much on the camera feeds, it would be easy for her to miss him (especially with his distortion gear). He was about to respond to Trinity’s query when Vulma chirped in with her two cents.
<There are easier ways to opt into prosthetics. Too many shooters, too little cover. Our target won't be the only one to think we're gunning for them. Not to mention you may as well be packing a starting pistol; wouldn't want our only lead getting trampled.>
Thane couldn’t help but agree that any action at that particular time would be too risky, but he would have appreciated another gun close at hand. It also dawned on him that there could be others following the target, be it their security, other interested parties, or an enemy. It would be too hard to spot leads amongst the crowd unless they made a move; which was why he opposed them making the same mistake too early.
<I'm in parralel and matching target. Overwatch, do you see any detours? Sewage mains, dumping grounds--any place people are avoiding. Emperor knows what we'll be walking into if she gets where she's going. If someone brought a rabbit now's the time to pull it out of the hat.>
<Target has moved past the large warehouse, heading towards a side alley. She's stopped right in front of a manhole on the ground in the alley … Target has entered the manhole, heading into the sewers. Setting up a digital flare of my current position now.>
Thane continued to listen to the stream of information as he approached the site himself. He stopped short of the alley, close enough to have a visual on it, whilst he feigned interest in a random stall. <This is Thane. I’m beside the ally and ready to move on order. Trinity, have you got any feeds of the sewers? Anything we need to be aware of? He paused long enough to let the question sink in but not long enough to allow anyone a chance to cut in, <Before we proceed, could I get a more visual description? Also I recommend taking a moment to check for tails on ourselves or the target; I’d rather not be part of a deadly conga line.> He felt a little bit anxious about barking questions at the team, but it was his role in the team – he was there to retrieve and manage information. If he’d been with other intelligence teams he would have expected a 10 point description (Age, Sex, Colour, Build, Height, Complexion, Hair, Clothing, Items, and Distinguishing Features), running commentary on entry/exit routes, information on local chatter, and estimates on hostile equipment. But he was not in an intelligence squad, and he couldn’t expect his new team to spend all their time spewing up information – it just wouldn’t be practical.
[centre][hr][hr]
[i][b][color=Orchid]Name:[/color][/b]
Kyle (Obviously)
[b][color=Orchid]Age:[/color][/b]
23
[b][color=Orchid]Gender:[/color][/b]
Male
[b][color=Orchid]Sexuality:[/color][/b]
I tend to like women
[b][color=Orchid]Occupation:[/color][/b]
Criminologist
[b][color=Orchid]Location:[/color][/b]
United Kingdom
[b][color=Orchid]Hobbies:[/color][/b]
Gaming; Reading; Writing; Drinking; Sleeping; Napping; Snoozing; Eating; More Drinking; Kipping; and Laser-Tag.
[b][color=Orchid]A Random Interesting Fact:[/color][/b]
I can make the dimple on my chin go up and down.
[b][color=Orchid]Warning:[/color][/b]
I [b]will[/b] vanish for months at a time because adult stuff. I'm also unlikely to post every day.
[hr][hr]
[/i][/centre]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><hr class="bb-hr"><hr class="bb-hr"><br><span class="bb-i"><span class="bb-b"><font color="orchid">Name:</font></span><br>Kyle (Obviously)<br><br><span class="bb-b"><font color="orchid">Age:</font></span><br>23<br><br><span class="bb-b"><font color="orchid">Gender:</font></span><br>Male<br><br><span class="bb-b"><font color="orchid">Sexuality:</font></span><br>I tend to like women<br><br><span class="bb-b"><font color="orchid">Occupation:</font></span><br>Criminologist<br><br><span class="bb-b"><font color="orchid">Location:</font></span><br>United Kingdom<br><br><span class="bb-b"><font color="orchid">Hobbies:</font></span><br>Gaming; Reading; Writing; Drinking; Sleeping; Napping; Snoozing; Eating; More Drinking; Kipping; and Laser-Tag. <br><br><span class="bb-b"><font color="orchid">A Random Interesting Fact:</font></span><br>I can make the dimple on my chin go up and down. <br><br><span class="bb-b"><font color="orchid">Warning:</font></span><br>I <span class="bb-b">will</span> vanish for months at a time because adult stuff. I'm also unlikely to post every day. <br><br><hr class="bb-hr"><hr class="bb-hr"></span></div></div>
ButtsnBalls
AlteredTundra
