TheBeanBurrito Member
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Bump.
We have an opening for one person to be in a group with characters Jameson and Brent in a story driven post apocalypse through conventional means. Check out our RP. http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/50428/posts/ooc
PM me and Prince Potter your character sheet.
Thanks everyone, we have enough applicants now.
PM me and Prince Potter your character sheet.
Thanks everyone, we have enough applicants now.
9th Sun's Height
The citizens of Pyandonea were in a religious harmony. For an entire era they'd been pushed – directed by Orgnum and his government – into a collective state of mind that thirsted for expansion. For bloodshed. Uldondil almost envied the Grand Priest for being allowed to show his vigor openly. At least he could be honest. Instead, the High Admiral kept a blank face. He hated parades. He hated peasants. He hated families, parents, and children. Uldondil had a pet once: his friend at the time cooked and ate it. Orgnum was giving a speech. He'd already known the particulars, and what weighed more on his mind was Hierdan's account of agreeing to another war. Two fronts and two allies. Undondil couldn't help but disagree, although he did look forward to leading the men into Hammerfell.
Relieved when it was over, he confronted Irweni. Ho'Okioi. Vampires with leashes. She couldn't even go into public, and only three knew of her presence and order. Her unnatural rainbow coloured eyes gave Uldondil's raging stare a target.
“Elsweyr.” He rarely said more than necessary.
Irweni spoke with a raspy and shrill hiss instead of a voice. “Little to be gained there. The citizens of Tamriel already did our work for us.”
He nodded slightly and moved on. Irweni already knew anything he would have told her about Black Marsh and Hammerfell. Maybe more. He hated spies.
Entering the war room, he issued his final orders to the fleet leaving for Alinor. Merchant ships were among them. Merchant ships. To Alinor. He'd go there himself to ensure the Altmer didn't try anything. Altmer sails could be reverse engineered given time, probably quickly knowing the Altmer magicks. He hated Altmer.
The High Admiral faced his subordinate in command of the fleet leaving for Black Marsh. There was still doubt about how to successfully occupy the place.
“Black Marsh is a pit. There will be no occupation. Archon, Lilmoth, Soulrest. Burn everything.”
He turned on his heel and set out for Alinor, a message already before him to inform the wretched Altmer of his arrival. There they would finalize plans for Hammerfell.
T’Mol was progressing nicely. Orgnum has made use of its communication facilities to aid his journey to Morrowind. As of now it was one of few final pieces which were not completed. He stared at it hungrily when he could, either in person or from a magical viewing apparatus in his temple. Ageless as he was few things stirred him but T’Mol practically sent his emotions into frenzy. It would change warfare. His pupils narrowed into slits as he stared, his tongue forking as it tested the air. Even from across the continent he could taste it. Taste them. And they were so very delicious.
In contrast to Orgnum’s nearly palpable single hunger, the Shipbuilding Guild was bustling with minds centered on joy, determination, and ambition. The Bard’s Guild had been contracted to help ease the long hours everyone was working, mostly by volunteer, to bring all of Pyandonea’s dry docks to functional status again. Families which had made a name for themselves in shipsbuilding came out of retirement, resenting the scaleback they’d suffered under nearly a decade before. Eager families and young elves whom had never been of age or sufficient training joined the fray to seek their glory.
There were few ways a Pyandonean could move up in the world, to break his place in life permanently. Many elves were placed in their station by birth, serving to perfect their craft in Orgnum’s name. No family was impoverished any longer, not since the Holy Coffer was recovered, but elevation in wealth only made honour and fame more valuable. To serve in Orgnum’s Holy Temple was the highest honour one could attain, and secured superiority in history. Great warriors could serve in the temple. Great designers drafted for the King himself. There were few ways a Pyandonean could move up in the world. Shipsbuilding was one of them.
In Morrowind, among the myriad of other detachments being trained in the Akaviri and Dunmeri ways of warfare, the Sand Boots had a particularly skilled pale elf. This Lieutenant Commander of Pyandonea’s specialized marine forces had exhibited great prowess in fighting, and exceptional leadership qualities. In training exercises her men dominated land engagements, but she suffered on the waters. This had kept him from attaining a command rank of any significance. Friwama intended to bring the Sand Boots to greater fame than merely a highly trained and effective raiding force.
In her training she was devoted entirely. Between sessions the Sand Boot studied every military history she could get her hand on. The continental nations had a fascinating military history: each one kept an army separate from the navy. This was in contrast with Pyandonea, whose land forces were under command of the naval forces, and she saw why: no foreign forces had ever landed on Orgnum's beaches. Having lived this history gave her a somewhat unique outlook on Tamriel's armed forces, but only as an outsider.
The citizens of Pyandonea were in a religious harmony. For an entire era they'd been pushed – directed by Orgnum and his government – into a collective state of mind that thirsted for expansion. For bloodshed. Uldondil almost envied the Grand Priest for being allowed to show his vigor openly. At least he could be honest. Instead, the High Admiral kept a blank face. He hated parades. He hated peasants. He hated families, parents, and children. Uldondil had a pet once: his friend at the time cooked and ate it. Orgnum was giving a speech. He'd already known the particulars, and what weighed more on his mind was Hierdan's account of agreeing to another war. Two fronts and two allies. Undondil couldn't help but disagree, although he did look forward to leading the men into Hammerfell.
Relieved when it was over, he confronted Irweni. Ho'Okioi. Vampires with leashes. She couldn't even go into public, and only three knew of her presence and order. Her unnatural rainbow coloured eyes gave Uldondil's raging stare a target.
“Elsweyr.” He rarely said more than necessary.
Irweni spoke with a raspy and shrill hiss instead of a voice. “Little to be gained there. The citizens of Tamriel already did our work for us.”
He nodded slightly and moved on. Irweni already knew anything he would have told her about Black Marsh and Hammerfell. Maybe more. He hated spies.
Entering the war room, he issued his final orders to the fleet leaving for Alinor. Merchant ships were among them. Merchant ships. To Alinor. He'd go there himself to ensure the Altmer didn't try anything. Altmer sails could be reverse engineered given time, probably quickly knowing the Altmer magicks. He hated Altmer.
The High Admiral faced his subordinate in command of the fleet leaving for Black Marsh. There was still doubt about how to successfully occupy the place.
“Black Marsh is a pit. There will be no occupation. Archon, Lilmoth, Soulrest. Burn everything.”
He turned on his heel and set out for Alinor, a message already before him to inform the wretched Altmer of his arrival. There they would finalize plans for Hammerfell.
T’Mol was progressing nicely. Orgnum has made use of its communication facilities to aid his journey to Morrowind. As of now it was one of few final pieces which were not completed. He stared at it hungrily when he could, either in person or from a magical viewing apparatus in his temple. Ageless as he was few things stirred him but T’Mol practically sent his emotions into frenzy. It would change warfare. His pupils narrowed into slits as he stared, his tongue forking as it tested the air. Even from across the continent he could taste it. Taste them. And they were so very delicious.
In contrast to Orgnum’s nearly palpable single hunger, the Shipbuilding Guild was bustling with minds centered on joy, determination, and ambition. The Bard’s Guild had been contracted to help ease the long hours everyone was working, mostly by volunteer, to bring all of Pyandonea’s dry docks to functional status again. Families which had made a name for themselves in shipsbuilding came out of retirement, resenting the scaleback they’d suffered under nearly a decade before. Eager families and young elves whom had never been of age or sufficient training joined the fray to seek their glory.
There were few ways a Pyandonean could move up in the world, to break his place in life permanently. Many elves were placed in their station by birth, serving to perfect their craft in Orgnum’s name. No family was impoverished any longer, not since the Holy Coffer was recovered, but elevation in wealth only made honour and fame more valuable. To serve in Orgnum’s Holy Temple was the highest honour one could attain, and secured superiority in history. Great warriors could serve in the temple. Great designers drafted for the King himself. There were few ways a Pyandonean could move up in the world. Shipsbuilding was one of them.
In Morrowind, among the myriad of other detachments being trained in the Akaviri and Dunmeri ways of warfare, the Sand Boots had a particularly skilled pale elf. This Lieutenant Commander of Pyandonea’s specialized marine forces had exhibited great prowess in fighting, and exceptional leadership qualities. In training exercises her men dominated land engagements, but she suffered on the waters. This had kept him from attaining a command rank of any significance. Friwama intended to bring the Sand Boots to greater fame than merely a highly trained and effective raiding force.
In her training she was devoted entirely. Between sessions the Sand Boot studied every military history she could get her hand on. The continental nations had a fascinating military history: each one kept an army separate from the navy. This was in contrast with Pyandonea, whose land forces were under command of the naval forces, and she saw why: no foreign forces had ever landed on Orgnum's beaches. Having lived this history gave her a somewhat unique outlook on Tamriel's armed forces, but only as an outsider.
Name: Marc “Loki” Osias
Age: 25
Personality
Marc stopped trusting people when the End came and biological weapons fell from both sides. He never got along with most people, and ten years ago he started acclimating to society slowly. The End put a sharp halt to his progress in being social, and within a couple of weeks he has regressed into a solitary mindset. He is calculating, efficient, and cold. Marc has trouble getting along with people in a meaningful way. Marc has a small spot for loyalty in him, but he accepts very few into that place. Everyone else he keeps at a distance, faking what emotions he should feel but doesn’t for the sake of staying alive.
Marc has independent sentiments but opted to stay with the USNA - the big dog has the largest bone. He didn't see the rebels as a winning venture. In the end, nobody won so Marc is on his own again. Luckily, he's used to that.
Physical description
Standing at five six on a good day with his boots on, Marc is short and wiry. His pale green eyes squint unnervingly to most folk. He keeps his dull brown hair short, receding hairline in plain view. His pale skin refuses to tan. Marc is not a muscular man, relying on agility, flexibility, and endurance to get by instead of strength.
Background
Marc grew up as a “poor disadvantaged youth”. In reality, he provided most things for himself growing up, and never properly learned what it was to be a social human being. What he lacked in social skills he made up for in intelligence, and was on track for several degrees before the end happened. Osias knew Jameson Pre-End, but their relationship ended on somewhat ambivalent note due to a sour past. During the North American crisis Marc voluntarily enlisted with the National Resource Recovery Agency so he could get away from an impoverished civilian life. He became federally endorsed to plumb bio and chem zones abroad, picking up skills and training which would serve him Post-End. The job allowed him to bypass martial law restrictions on weaponry and provided him with mostly unrestricted travel access. Within five years the USNA fell and Marc made off with what gear he could to become a scavenger - those crazy enough to head into the local bio/chem zones for salvage and profit. As of a year ago most salvage operations failed as the global population decreases and Marc was pushed to settling into the Toledo safezone. This is where he joined up with long time friend John Grimm, and they went independent shortly after the zone fell to disease.
Gear:
Age: 25
Personality
Marc stopped trusting people when the End came and biological weapons fell from both sides. He never got along with most people, and ten years ago he started acclimating to society slowly. The End put a sharp halt to his progress in being social, and within a couple of weeks he has regressed into a solitary mindset. He is calculating, efficient, and cold. Marc has trouble getting along with people in a meaningful way. Marc has a small spot for loyalty in him, but he accepts very few into that place. Everyone else he keeps at a distance, faking what emotions he should feel but doesn’t for the sake of staying alive.
Marc has independent sentiments but opted to stay with the USNA - the big dog has the largest bone. He didn't see the rebels as a winning venture. In the end, nobody won so Marc is on his own again. Luckily, he's used to that.
Physical description
Standing at five six on a good day with his boots on, Marc is short and wiry. His pale green eyes squint unnervingly to most folk. He keeps his dull brown hair short, receding hairline in plain view. His pale skin refuses to tan. Marc is not a muscular man, relying on agility, flexibility, and endurance to get by instead of strength.
Background
Marc grew up as a “poor disadvantaged youth”. In reality, he provided most things for himself growing up, and never properly learned what it was to be a social human being. What he lacked in social skills he made up for in intelligence, and was on track for several degrees before the end happened. Osias knew Jameson Pre-End, but their relationship ended on somewhat ambivalent note due to a sour past. During the North American crisis Marc voluntarily enlisted with the National Resource Recovery Agency so he could get away from an impoverished civilian life. He became federally endorsed to plumb bio and chem zones abroad, picking up skills and training which would serve him Post-End. The job allowed him to bypass martial law restrictions on weaponry and provided him with mostly unrestricted travel access. Within five years the USNA fell and Marc made off with what gear he could to become a scavenger - those crazy enough to head into the local bio/chem zones for salvage and profit. As of a year ago most salvage operations failed as the global population decreases and Marc was pushed to settling into the Toledo safezone. This is where he joined up with long time friend John Grimm, and they went independent shortly after the zone fell to disease.
Gear:
In the past six months I’ve seen it nibble at the remains of the modern world. It’ll be all that is left soon enough. Our legacy.
August, 2019
Six months ago modern civilization completely fell across the globe. It took five long years to reach what survivors call "Post End". The war on terror, resource shortages, religious strife, American/Chinese rivalry, and the ever growing Russian threat strained the world until each country fell one by one. Radical groups led riots which tumbled out of control. Bloody revolutions followed, led by those who had captured high tech conventional, chemical, biological, and nuclear weaponry.
The Middle East fell first, a great embarrassment to the United States of America on the world stage. Eastern Europe was next. South America and Mexico soon after. Western Europe fell more slowly, its failed economy cementing martial law as the only resort. Active terrorist groups took advantage of the civil unrest. Within a year Western Europe had fallen. China, Russia, and the United States were left as the major world powers and sealed their borders. Canada was flooded with European refugees, and faced pressure from all three countries for emergency annexation. US/Canada borders were dissolved, and for a while there was relative peace in North America as Russia and China broke into a short conflict over resource beds along their borders. Then Putin was assassinated and mutual destruction came to the neighbouring countries.
Friction among the populace in the United States of North America, now a single entity, increased in scale until an inevitable riot broke out. It went out of control. What were sold to dissenters as tear gas and smoke grenades were actually chemical and biological weapons. Six months ago the United States of North America fell to radical groups from across the globe and native dissenters all vying for control.
Some say that a super virus was engineered and deployed in each country. A stolen weapon developed so a cure could be created in the case some other country was doing the same. Others say that a chemical for pacification of the population was created and deployed but met with unexpected and highly violent results, the chemical inciting uncontrollable aggression instead of curbing it. Nobody knows what really happened. The news shut down, rights were suspended, and people starved simply because there was no way to obtain food in time.
It wasn’t the fault of anybody in particular. We all helped do this to ourselves in the name of freedom, or religion, government, business, whatever. The truth is that we did this to ourselves because we wanted to. We had to. It’s in our nature to kill the man next to us so we can live tomorrow. The same man we have to trust to survive today. This is who we are.
Rust takes place in a post apocalyptic world. At the beginning of our game two small (three man) groups are thrown together and then forced to work with each other despite mistrust between the two. Stakes will be high, and controversial decisions will have to be made. Neither group can make it alone… but can they make it together or will they destroy themselves first?
The basic plot is that the two groups must head to a safezone in the Carolinas. Along the journey they will stop in different places, and encounter several dangers. They will find it destroyed, with the last safezone existing in Arizona or New Mexico. This begins the real journey and the real danger.
Each location will be an Act, with encounters being Scenes. Act I, Scene I starts August 13, 2019 in Detroit. The number of acts and scenes is up for negotiation but I am envisioning five Acts with five Scenes.
Players assume certain archetypes: Combatant, mechanic, scavenger, doctor, negotiator, hunter, etc. Your archetype should reflect you in some way, and will ensure that your character is valuable to the group. Please try to choose an archetype we do not have.
Combat is short, brutal, and should only be a last resort option. Ammo for firearms is very scarce, and heavy realism applies. Think DayZ meets The Last of Us. The atmosphere of the game is one of desolation, decay, and danger. Think The Road.
Rust is a roleplay rather than a roleplaying game. There are not any mechanics. Instead, there are only the things each player intends to do. Realism is enforced to a degree.
The schedule is as follows: Monday through Thursday the game progresses. At the end of Thursday anybody who hasn't acted will be controlled by the GMs for that final update. Friday through Sunday players have off.
SORRY everyone, but sign ups are closed. We already have more players than we originally anticipated.
Now accepting one player to join up with Jameson.
Signups closed again.
Players
TheBeanBurrito (GM) - Marc Osias
Portyguls - Helga
lucasg06 - Johnathan Grimm
PrincePotter (GM) - Jameson Aldous Deschain
Brentculby - Brenton
Note - Carter Stephen Delaney
Scarend... yeah. We're coming.
26th Mid Year,
Abarbbas, Pyandonea,
Uldondil went immediately to the ships builders. There were enough of them to work on more than T’Mol, but the gigantic vessel dominated the port they had. He dropped a purse into the shipsbuilder’s hands.
“King Orgnum desires that the facilities in Kituna Vos and Secula be restored to construct ships once more. One will use chitin from Morrowind and build ships for our allies, the other will build trade vessels to accommodate our expected supply. Abbarbas is to continue producing military vessels once T’Mol is completed. You are to train more craftsmen if need be.”
“Many will come from retirement, High Admiral. The people do love building ships.” In this sentence the shipsbuilder had confidence.
30th Mid Year
Mournhold, the former capital of Morrowind.
The past decades wasn’t really kind to this fair city, with the Red Mountain spewing flaming rocks on it, and the Argonians looting the city of all its riches. Under Oravos’ decree, Mournhold was reconstructed and was turned into one of the most formidable fortress cities Morrowind ever had.
The port of Mournhold wasn’t as spectacular as the Akaviri inspired buildings inside the city. It was simple, yet serves its purpose exceedingly well as a trading hub and a shipyard. When the Maormer fleet approached Mournhold, the watchers immediately informed their King who was staying in Mournhold to oversee the arrival of the Akaviri in the coming days.
The massive chains barricading the entrance to the port slowly lowered to the waters when the Maormer ships approached. When the chains was fully lowered, the ships were granted entry, and was directed to dock on the vacant piers. On the central pier dedicated to flagships was Oravos and a contingent of his elite Sentinels, waiting for the Maormer flagship The Ash Crab to dock.
The men alongside Oravos was wearing an Ebony set of Ordinator armor, and armed with Akaviri styled weapons enchanted by the King himself. Oravos who stood in the middle of the group wore his famed Daedric armor and Wraithguard. His blade Trueflame was sheathed on his right, but can still be seen to emit faint traces of flame. The group of Dunmer waited until the Maormer flagship stopped before the platform they were standing on.
Hierdan "Five Tongues" Nemuar was nowhere nearly as armoured as the men he was meeting with today. He wore a full headdress comprised of bright coloured feathers, woven silks, glazed and polished chitin, and fine metals. Beneath is headdress was quite possibly the only red head of hair in all of Pyandonea. On his chest was an usekh bearing Anurbis and Pyan-Do-Mai, beneath it a robe detailing the many Maormer Ancestor Spirits.
Hierdan had never seen Morrowind before. Orgnum’s previous translator had before he died two hundred years ago, and described it differently than what Hierdan saw before him. He was expecting more ash, more fire, more vulcan everything. What did catch his eye was the Akaviri architecture. He would definitely ask about that.
As The Ash Crab docked Hierdan looked at Oravos and his men. Dunmer’s skin seemed to much in opposition to Maormer. He couldn’t help but wonder what cursed them to be so… he would say ugly but Hierdan had a fascination with exotic cultures which made him view few races as ugly. Oravos caught his immediate attention. Nerevarine. Reincarnate. God Killer. He waited at the platform for Oravos’ invitation. This one needed care.
Upon seeing Hierdan aboard, Oravos, accompanied by two of his guards, moved forward towards the ship. Oravos walked in a relaxed manner while taking quick glances on the ships of the Maormer.He was deeply impressed by the sight of the ships, he knew to himself that his people won’t attain such skill to possibly match the Maormer’s, but one can freely dream they can right?
Now just a few steps close the ship, one of Oravos’ security shouted clearly towards the flagship The Ash Crab. “Oravos the Nerevarine, King of Morrowind and Hortator of the Great Houses, wishes the Mer of Pyandonea a warm welcome. Feel free to dock and roam the city as you please, for our King have gathered the finest goods in our land, in preparation for your arrival.” says the guard before returning to Oravos side.
When the previous one finished speaking, the other guard stepped forward and spoke. “Our King wishes to seek audience with the King of Pyandonea, or if not, the Leader of this expedition.”
Hierdan was gripping a ring on his right hand. It was a special ring that he was to gift to the Dumner King should he prove himself and his people worthy. Before he could respond, however, it grew hot and Hierdan was surprised that someone would be using its power so quickly. T’Mol’s construction must have focused on the communications chambers. A mist began to roll from the ship, and forward strode King Orgnum to place a hand on Hierdan’s shoulder. His dark elven armour, made from an ore unseen to Tamriel, glistened with the image of a serpent raging against a storm. Pyandonean script dominated the other parts, his staff coiled visibly around his arm. On his right hand was a very similar ring to the one Hierdan had. He took Hierdan’s ring and thanked his translator. Turning to the guard, he announced.
“I am King Orgnum of Pyandonea, and accept your gracious invitation to the rich and wondrous lands of the powerful and proud Dunmer people. My people will humbly trade the goods they have brought for your rich wares. We have prepared many of our own foods, including the special dish your emissary was so fond of, as a show of good will towards the meeting.”
Orgnum spotted the Akavir styles and was puzzled. Akavir this far and he had not heard word in the history books or from his spies…. the King Oravos was keen.
His crew disembarking with goods, people, and magic research, Orgnum approached Oravos. His beard almost found the ground save for a slight puff of air he conjured to keep it clean. It was all that kept it from being dirty when he bowed.
“In my land a greeting is done over a meal. What is your tradition so that my people may meet it as yours have met mine?” He asked in an honourable and firm tone.
Oravos moved forward through the middle of his two guards, separating them and revealing his form to Orgnum's view. Oravos stood still for a few seconds before Orgnum, letting the image of the immortal King of Pyandonea sink into his mind. After a rather awkward seconds of silence, Oravos speaks, while lifting his right hand towards Orgnum, gesturing a handshake. "I'm Oravos king of Morrowind. It is an honor to be of your presence King Orgnum, its not everyday that I see a wise and respectable person in Tamrielic land, I am truly honored to meet you in person" He says to the immortal King of the Maormer.
Orgnum took the hand of Oravos in his. The grip was firm, and his pale Maormer skin contrasted perfectly with that of the dark Dunmer’s skin. Orgnum detected the sincerity in Oravos’ voice and could not help but smile faintly. The Dunmer King was smart and polite, suffering not from the impatience of youth Orgnum was sure he’d encounter more and more often with the other races.
“I am equally honoured, King Oravos, to meet someone like yourself. Powerful and just, yet uncorrupted by that power. It is not, indeed, that ones such as ourselves often meet.” He let go the firm handshake, his people unloading their goods in a bustle behind him. Many eyes were on the two ageless elves at the dock, but Orgnum was entirely focused on the King in front of him.
Having his hand released from the handshake, Oravos lifted it again, and gestured it towards the gate behind him leading to the courtyard of the keep. "I'd like to show you around King Orgnum, if its alright with you. Morrowind changed drastically in the recent years, I'm sure you'll be interested in the change my people went through." he says before leading the Orgnum and Heirdan away from the dock, and inside the city walls. The group was followed by a small detachment of their guards, but none of them appeared to be alert, rather, they were relaxed.
Once they entered the courtyard,the first thing that the group sees is a group of Redoran guardsmen, sparring with each other with real blades, instead of wooden ones made for practice. The guardsmen weren't holding back with their blade, and can be observed that every strike has the intent of killing their sparring partner. Seeing that the sparring caught Orgnum’s attention, Oravos spoke.
"Fighting is a constant in life, and to hold back means that you're suppressing the true power you are capable of. Our men doesn't hesitate to strike his friend or brother with a killing blow, they are trained with techniques gathered from far away lands that no man in Tamriel has seen before. That knowledge in warfare is something that our people wishes to share with yours, if you wish to accept it King Orgnum." says Oravos before a loud clang of metal echoes in the courtyard's confines. A Redoran guardsman parrying a sword's blow from his shoulder only by using a bonemold bracer caused the sound. It was lucky for him to block the blow with a bracer, but nonetheless, impressive in the eyes that saw it.
Orgnum exhaled sharply like one surprised by what they had seen. “Impressive, truly. I humbly accept your offer. Our men would be highly honoured to be trained by your own, and that you openly offer it is very generous of you.” The King continued watching the Redoran guardsmen for a few seconds. Their devotion reminded him of his Satakanimeri.
Moving past the practice grounds in the courtyard, the group moves into the small market area for the nobles residing in Mournhold. Stalls filled with rings, bracelets and necklaces embedded with precious gems can be found sitting on soft velvet cushions in the open. Clothing made from the finest silk in Tamriel was also exhibited and hanged for the group to see. Everything in the area screamed nobility and royalty, perfect for person Oravos was showing around.
"Our lands are rich with minerals that most of Tamriel cannot obtain in large amounts. Our smiths and craftsmen are well educated about dealing will all sorts of metals in Nirn, that their knowledge and skills are envied by many" says Oravos while signalling a servant to move to Orgnum's direction, carrying a pillow with exquisitely designed accessories fit for a king. "Please take it as sign of our good intentions to your people." added by Oravos before gesturing the party to move into the keep, and towards the dining hall.
Orgnum chose an ebony bracer to remind him of the firm handshake he’d experienced earlier.
After receiving the ebony bracer, the group went and entered the keep, before heading to the dining hall. Upon entering the royal dining room of Mournhold, a long wooden table filled with every high class meals in Morrowind revealed itself to the group. From seared Nix-Hound steaks with Marshmerrow dressing, to the aged Kwarma eggs garnished with roasted Saltrice, it was the dream of any Dunmeri food connoisseur made reality.
The two powerful figures was ushered into the ivory seats on both ends of the table, with a variety of food laid before them. Once the Oravos and Orgnum were seated, only two of each of their bodyguards remained with them, standing behind the seat of the Lord they were protecting. "I've been informed by my emissary that you have an exquisite taste in food, I hope what Morrowind's delicacies can be satisfying as the ones your people make." says Oravos before nodding to one of his servants to pour a Dagoth Brandy on a cup beside Orgnum's empty plate.
“I’m pleased that my emissary did his job well and told you of our interests with your people, I hope that you found Morrowind as promising as the words that my emissary said. If you wish to explore the lands to see what our province can offer further, just say so, and I’ll make the necessary preparations..”
For the first time since his arrival Orgnum's face did not betray a slight smile.
"I must decline your offer, much to my own dissatisfaction, for I am meeting with the Altmer high king tomorrow. However, to make up for my sudden departure I can take a message from Morrowind to him if you wish." He waited for a reply before tasting the Dagoth Brandy. Oravos was taking his time, and any mortal would likely become impatient to not be at talks already. Orgnum was simply enjoying the tour, and the time away from it all. He'd waited longer for much, much, less.
“I see.. if you wish to explore the lands of Morrowind in the future, you need only to say so, we would be honored to show you around in our lands.” replied by Oravos before speaking again. He knew enough formalities was said, and they weren’t getting to the main agenda of their meeting, prolonging this show would be very improper. “In my days in Akavir, I have seen the people there work together to achieve a common goal, something that I rarely saw on Tamriel in my past travels. People usually don’t get along if they don’t share something in common, which is why I wish to extend the opportunities Morrowind can offer to the people of Pyandonea.” He says before taking a gulp from his cup filled with the same brandy Orgnum was drinking.
“I wish to bring our people closer King Orgnum, if not as allies, then as friends at least.”
Orgnum was at ease in Morrowind. Their people seemed to be just like his people if not for their complete contrast in skin and environment. He finished the brandy, and procured a small box. Within it was a ring very similar to his own but bearing the Moon and Star instead of the serpent.
"I agree with your assessment, and that is why I have come to you. We both understand what is at risk, and what we wish to gain. I will be direct with you because you have shown yourself as an equal. It is my desire that a government be established to guide Tamriel without ruling over it. Representatives from each race will comprise it, with immortals hedging their short ambition. No country will serve this government, it will serve the countries. It will also govern research into undoing Lyrkhat's treachery, thus eliminating godhood among mortals by restoring us all to our place in the heavens. This is my dream, but it is not why I came to your lands. Say so now and I will never speak of it again." The Maormer paused to give Oravos time to respond to this idea, and then moved to the other topics.
"I and my people desire an alliance with Morrowind and her people. Everything your emissary brought to me can easily be initiated in addition to this. Open trade, cooperation between our people, and the upholding of mutual interests are all to our benefit. I will inform you that it is very likely my people will war with the Yokudans of Hammerfell. And yours?."
“Eliminating godhood..” Oravos repeats the words beneath his breath, his thoughts forces him to recall the events in the past. Dagoth Ur and Almalexia’s death, Vivec’s departure, it all came back to him. Before he could speak his mind about Orgnum’s vision, something in the air seals his lips, as if stopping him from saying another word. When Oravos regained his ability to speak, Orgnum had already spoken matters that involved Morrowind and Hammerfell.
“It is an honor to hear those words King Orgnum, I assure you this alliance will undoubtedly bring prosperity to both of our kingdoms” says Oravos before raising his cup full brandy above his face proposing a toast.
Returning the gesture, Orgnum continued speaking lightly. He passed the box to Oravos.
“Inside that box is a ring; a symbol of our alliance should you accept. That ring will allow my allies to teleport small amounts of goods, letters, and themselves, to and from an ongoing project I have. It is a floating island that is to serve as a mobile embassy and harbor for the ships and troops of my allies and I. It is not completed yet, and thus the teleportation chambers are not functional, but the ring will signal you when it is. When my project, called T’Mol, is completed, the ring will grow both warm and cold. If someone wishes to teleport themselves or anything to you, the ring will grow warm. If you are summoned to T’Mol for urgent news and council, the ring will grow cold. But, please, before you accept it and our alliance, give some consideration to what I have said.
My people would call upon yours for aid in Hammerfell, and I wish to know if my people can aid in any military endeavours of your own. Neither of us is foolish enough to agree to a military pact without first knowing the military status of each other. For my other proposition, consider it and return to me your decision when you are ready to. My dream is quite far away on the calendar.”
Orgnum was anxious on the inside now. His offer had been made, and in nothing more than a polite inquiry. Outside, he was friendly and relaxed. He would have felt completely so if not for revealing his agenda to someone else for the first time under such circumstances.
Oravos took the box and opened it, the appearance of the ring reminded him of the one he was wearing right now. He takes it and holds it near a candle, carefully studying the details on the ring. Oravos then looked at Orgnum, his eyes studying the face of the immortal King with much interest. He knew Orgnum wasn’t stupid not to notice the Eastern touches on the city, keeping it from him would not only strain the alliance, but the trust of Orgnum, if he speaks about it first.
“I know you’ve already noticed the Akaviri influences in this city and in Tear, you‘re probably asking questions in your head already.” he says before placing the ring into his left palm, securing it from view for a while. “I’ve been in Akavir in the past centuries, gathering knowledge and information of the country that Tamriel fears. Never have I suspected that I’ll also gain a friend, that is now turning Morrowind into something other than the burning province I’ve seen in my visions.”
Oravos clears his throat before taking a healthy swig from his cup. “Morrowind is covertly supporting the Akaviri invasion by providing them a staging ground on attacking the other provinces. In return, all we ask of them is their support on our endeavours, whether it be military or economic.” Oravos takes another gulp from the cup, before speaking again. “What you’ve just heard is something in return for the honesty you’ve given me King Orgnum, alliances aren’t made with people lying on each other’s faces.”
Orgnum coughed with surprise. “An invasion of Tamriel? An invasion of Tamriel…. This is acceptable to Pyandonea. I do not wish to be presumptuous but do you believe that Pyandonea could ally itself with this invasion? We would support Morrowind wholly in the same ways Akavir does for mutual support of course. Pyandonea will not need economic support, however, as my coffer supplies all the gold we need and will support Morrowind as well.” He lifted an eyebrow curiously to Oravos. “Perhaps the Dunmer will be the first people other than our own to step foot onto Pyandonea.” Orgnum took another drink of the brandy. He thought he’d trade a bottle of Abbarbas’ Misty Waters for his own bottle of Dagoth Brandy.
Oravos smirked beneath the mask he was wearing, as if something just went in place in a puzzle he was solving. “I’m sure Akavir wouldn't hesitate to accept Pyandonea as an ally, your people proved yourself as people of honor and trust, and every Akaviri respects those factors.” Oravos says before taking out a small medallion beneath the robe he cloaked over his armor. He hands the medallion to his servant, to place before Orgnum’s side of the table. “It is a symbol of Morrowind’s trust, if you wish to pursue an alliance with Akavir and meet with the head general, that might help.” The medallion was carved from a metal not local to Tamriel, in the middle was an Akaviri inscription which if read by someone who speaks the tongue, can decipher the word Friend.
“Also, to prove our dedication to this alliance, my people will send troops to support your endeavours against Hammerfell. May this help tilt the balance of power to your favor King Orgnum.” He says before taking the ring given to him and inserts it into his right middle finger, fully accepting what Orgnum offered to Morrowind.
Orgnum studied the medallion. His translators were almost purely diplomats and confidants these days as he’d learned the Akaviri language long ago. The inscription tickled him but he kept serious. He pocketed the token.
“My deepest thanks to you, King Oravos. Our agreement is set, then, and our people will flourish as long as it stands. I will send Hierdan promptly to contact the Akavir and The Ash Crab is yours should you wish to keep it. With our negotiations concluded I must take my leave after dinner and….” he calculated something in his head, “A brief tour of the city. Alinor and its King Aelid make demand of my presence tomorrow. Is there anything you wish the Altmer to know, while my service is offered?” Outside, at the docks, his transport had fully divulged itself of Orgnum’s troops. His mages had met with the Dunmer’s, ores were being traded, and chitin was being loaded into the now vacant transport.
“You have our gratitude King Orgnum, The Ash Crab will be Morrowind’s flagship from this day onward.” says Oravos before bowing his head lightly in respect. “There’s nothing we wish to relay to the Altmers, but thanks for bringing up the offer. Now that everything is settled, let us indulge ourselves with the food on the table, I’m sure you’ll like the food we’ve prepared for you.”
Oravos says it before lifting the helmet off of his head, he rarely removes it and Orgnum would probably the first to see his face directly in two hundred years.
1st Sun's Height, 4E 205
Abbarbas, Pyandonea
High Admiral Uldindol paced about furious that his Captain had made such a decision on his own. They knew little about the status of Tamriel's countries, what alliances they had made, or the naval powers. Blast it all, the Altmer could open fire in hatred! His people had been on alert for several days now, and he gazed stiffly at the bay through his window. Still, if the captain managed to start a ceasefire...... he was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.
“Sir, news from the battlegroup! They've aided 200 Altmer vessels and taken the waters of Stros M'Kai! Half of our vessels sustained damage, seven of those sunk. The Altmer fleet has agreed to resupply them in exchange for holding position until reinforcements arrive. Additionally, their ceasefire with us is being negotiated. The Captain has agreed to this.”
Uldindol was genuinely shocked. The Altmer? Had they changed so much? And that fool captain making decisions on his own. He wrestled with the idea of sending his fleet to Summurset. Surely the bulk of their navy was at Stros M'Kai.
“What of the Yokudans?”
“They retreated with roughly fifty ships, High Admiral. Their vessels appear to be inferior to our own by a factor of 3:1.”
An unofficial ceasefire with the Altmer, possibly a war with the Yokudans. Whatever King Orgnum was negotiating with the High Elves. Uldindol rubbed his pale chin thoughtfully. This was a mess.
1St Sun’s Height
Abarbbas, Pyandonea
Orgnum sat at his throne, going over his people’s needs and wants. The greedy Captain himself had just stepped in to deliver the news of the battle. He stood tall in his finest uniform, a perfect polish on the chitin adornments. The Captain expected a large and well deserved promotion. Beside Orgnum stood High Admiral Uldondil whose skin colour spoke of disdain and wrath at the sight of the Captain. Ognum’s visage was blank.
The Maormer King finished with his civil duties and stood, not yet looking at the Captain. He motioned for the sailor to step forward while straightening his robe. Another motion told the Captain to deliver his report. The Captain gave a quick glance towards Uldondil before starting.
“I have negotiated a ceasefire with the Altmer, sir. We aided them in the battle for Stros M’Kai, losing seven ships and another eight taking damage, while they suffered almost one hundred and twenty losses. The Yokudans lost two hundred ships, and the island is open for siege. The Altmer will share the island in trade for our aid in taking the island. My ships are restocked by the Altmer ready for reinforcement and relief. At your order I will sail a fleet north.” The Captain mostly suppressed a smile, expecting praise to come.
Instead, Orgnum raised his brow silently. He wet his lips before speaking slowly and evenly.
“Your report, Captain, is missing some key details.”
“Details, sir?”
“Yes, details. Details such as your orders to return after clearing the waters no farther north than Woodhearth. Your disobedience to those orders. Your willingness to take it upon yourself to choose which allies and enemies I should have.”
At this the Captain cut in, “Sir, your intention was to ally with the Altmer. I have done nothing but expe-“
A slap and hiss from the King silenced the Captain. Orgnum began walking around the Captain.
“Your report leaves out your lack of discipline, and disregard for the chain of command. You are not of the political caste. You do not negotiate. You were a Captain, a sailor in my navy under my orders. Who is to say that I should ally myself with the Altmer witnessing what is likely a large portion of their fleet being destroyed? You, after losing half of your own ships in unfriendly waters? No,” the King said , now behind the Captain and drawing his dagger, “You do not make such decisions. I relieve you of your burden, Captain.” At the last word Orgnum plunged the dagger through the former Captain’s lower skull and directly into his brain. The elf was dead in less than a second.
The Wizard King turned to his High Admiral, whose satisfaction was evident.
“Dispatch the necessary ships to Stros M’Kai. We cannot suddenly be known to go back on our word, especially violently. The Dominion is weak, but we mustn’t make enemies too soon.”
“And Hammerfell, sir?”
“Lost to us as an ally, thanks to our dear captain. Accelerate our other plans instead. I will meet with the Altmer High King today. We shall see how well he stands up to the Nerevarine’s impressive display. Perhaps this can be made into a successful venture without the Yokudans.”
3rd Sun's Height
Thorn, Black Marsh
Hierdan leaning over the rail of the ship he’d been on for almost a week now. After stopping at Mournhold he was sent south to Tear to speak to the Akaviri instead. The sudden appearance of Orgnum had unsettled him. For the past day he’d followed the Akaviri fleet into Black March… another unsettling event. As Thorn approached on the horizon, Hierdan returned to his study. Akaviri had probably changed over the last era, but he’d be masterful in all of it that he knew.
Signals went up from the docks eventually, and Hierdan prepared himself. He’d never seen any of the Akaviri races before in person. Drawings and descriptions were all he had. His ship slowed and docked at Thorn, revealing himself to the new residents.
“Masters, Captain Matiyahu, Lord Ildoryn, Commander Xing,” a Tang Mo messenger rushed into the meeting room. He had clearly just came in from a sprint. “We have foreign ships docking at the port, they requested to see you.”
“What?” Xing questioned, he looked over to Ildoryn, who just returned an equally confused gaze. “Alright, follow me people. Let’s see who these visitors are.”
At the docks was a large ship, hull constructed from chitin. It was similar to those docked in Tear, except this one was far more imposing in scale and appeared to be well built. The crewmen of this ship were elves, elves with exotic skin colors unseen in the descriptions of Tamriel. Then he realized, there were the sea elves of legend, who supposedly made contact with Akavir more than an era ago.
“Greeting foreigners,” Xing hailed, shouting to the elven sailors. “I am the commander here, what do you seek of us?”
“I am Hierdan Nemuar, translator to King Orgnum of Pyandonea.” Hierdan raised a hand containing the Akaviri medallion he’d obtained from Orgnum before leaving to Xing, his voice jolly in its usual manner. “Once I was called “Five Tongues” by your people long ago. King Orgnum is in Morrowind securing an alliance with the Dunmer, and I am here to do the same with your people. I bring this medallion as a symbol of faith from Morrowind.” Hierdan was only partly lying when he said that he was called “Five Tongues”. It [b]was Orgnum’s translator who’d been called thus by Akavir, but that elf had died many many years ago. Still, the nickname stuck and every translator was given it.
He was surprised by the mixed appearances of the Akaviri. ”That one was Tang Mo,” he thought of the messenger, ”And this one is Tsaesci.” The snakelike lower half of Captain Matiyahu, though he didn’t know the Tsaesci’s name, it did amuse him in that his own people considered themselves descendent of the serpent. A coincidence he wouldn’t bring up for the sake of the joke.
Matiyahu shifted uncomfortably at the Maormer’s gaze, something about these sea elves just didn’t feel right to him. Xing, however, ignored the looks on their faces and decided to continue their dialogue.
“I do not have the authorities to speak for the Thousand Isles or Akavir,” it was true, a decision of this magnitude would require the Assembly’s approval. But, a cooperation on the field, between men of actions was something he could see without a room full of bickering politicians. “However, your presence here would indicate our goals to be similar, perhaps a brief collaboration of forces for the common purpose of conquest?”
Hierdan nodded, thinking rapidly. If all went well at each front Pyandonea could advance its goals considerably. If not, they had at least gained one ally and potentially another.
“Yes, a brief collaboration of forces as you say. At what time could Pyandonea meet with a representative who could speak for such an agreement? Furthermore, how may we collaborate at this time?” His completely white eyes were fascinated with the people he’d not seen before, but he kept them from wandering.
“Commander, you wouldn’t possibly think of collaborating with these savages?” Matiyahu turned from uncomfortable to plain distain.
“That is not a decision for you to judge,” Xing dismissed, he never liked this Dragonguard, and he wouldn’t let Matiyahu disrupt an opportunity like this. “Captain, your Dragonguards are on shift for watch duty, you should join them now.”
“Forgive me, the Captain will not act out of order again” the Tang Mo apologized. “Back to the matters at hand. I assume your fleet would be positioned in the south, which would form a pinching attack combined with our soldiers from the north. I have seen a city called Lilmoth, this place should a sea port for your people to mount an assault.”
Ildoryn stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his attention was distracted by the appearance of the Maormer ship, which is why he remained silent up to now. He didn’t have the authority to speak at the matter that presented itself, but he was curious to inquire about the progress made in Mournhold. “Tell me Hierdan, what transpired on the meeting in Mournhold?”
“Our forces will be there in a couple of days to take the Argonians by surprise.” Hierdan stated. He wanted to ask again when Pyandonea could meet someone from Akavir to begin negotiations, but a Dunmer voice cut into his thoughts.
“Ah, and you are?” He asked politely, unsure of how long he’d missed the man’s presence in his fascination with the exotic species in front of him.
“I’m Ildoryn Sarano, Lord of Tear and right hand of the King of Morrowind. Its been days since the scouting party informed us of the arrival of King Orgnum, I’m just curious to what transpired on the meeting of our Kings.” replied by Ildoryn.
“So we are each other!” Hierdan said, completing the last phrase of a Maormer children’s song. “As for your question, King Oravos and King Orgnum got along very well. I’ven’t witnessed him in such good spirits while negotiating as he was just a few days ago. A full cooperation between Morrowind and Pyandonea was agreed to. The deal your emissary came back with was only altered in that our countries will support each other militarily and economically as well.” His voice was full and smooth saying these things. Then he swatted at an errant mosquito native to Black Marsh and cursed its lineage.
If there was one thing Xing could agree with these Maormers, it was that the creatures of Black Marsh were indeed obnoxious. This will be the ground they negotiate on, one of common enemies, to quash everything from bugs to lizards.
“Very well Hierdan,” Xing nodded to emissary. “While your navy takes Lilmoth, you king could negotiate with our leaders. Akavir is far from this land, and travelling there would only hinder our progress. However, General Abasi-Kil is currently based on Ynslea, a little more than a week’s journey for your vessels. If you could wait another week on Ynslea, our leaders could travel there from Akavir.”
“As a counter proposal,” Hierdan started, “King Orgnum could make for Ynslea in a week’s time
to arrive when your leaders do. Is this acceptable?”
“That would be well,” the monkeyfolk answered. Though he wasn’t sure how the general, or the Assembly, or whatever governments other Eastern Nations had think. As one man, Xing just couldn’t move mountains by himself. In this case, he would have to trust the decision makers back home. “I will send a magickal message to General Abasi-Kil and to the Assembly of the Thousand Isles, they will be glad for your audience”
Ildoryn who kept silent after hearing the Maormer publicly say Morrowind’s allegiance to Pyandonea, suddenly glance to S’arah, who also kept her silence during the meeting. Before anyone from the group noticed Ildoryn move, he slipped a small piece of paper into S’arah’s paws before speaking. “Now that’s settled, I wish to head to my chambers, I’m sure you’ll have no need of my presence here.”
The Dunmer briskly walked away from the docks, leaving S’arah to deal with an informal invitation to dinner.
Actions
Reactivate two shipyards
Orgnum teleports to Morrowind only due to the ring he gave Hierdan
Pact with Morrowind sealed.
Orgnum teleports back with the ring he took from Hierdan
Hierdan to Thorn, Black Marsh.
Temporary agreement with Akaviri to help take Black Marsh. Negotiations to come later.
Morrowind soldiers to Pyandonea for military aid.
Ships and goods to return to Pyandonea from Morrowind.
Hierdan to return with ships.
Abarbbas, Pyandonea,
Uldondil went immediately to the ships builders. There were enough of them to work on more than T’Mol, but the gigantic vessel dominated the port they had. He dropped a purse into the shipsbuilder’s hands.
“King Orgnum desires that the facilities in Kituna Vos and Secula be restored to construct ships once more. One will use chitin from Morrowind and build ships for our allies, the other will build trade vessels to accommodate our expected supply. Abbarbas is to continue producing military vessels once T’Mol is completed. You are to train more craftsmen if need be.”
“Many will come from retirement, High Admiral. The people do love building ships.” In this sentence the shipsbuilder had confidence.
30th Mid Year
Mournhold, the former capital of Morrowind.
The past decades wasn’t really kind to this fair city, with the Red Mountain spewing flaming rocks on it, and the Argonians looting the city of all its riches. Under Oravos’ decree, Mournhold was reconstructed and was turned into one of the most formidable fortress cities Morrowind ever had.
The port of Mournhold wasn’t as spectacular as the Akaviri inspired buildings inside the city. It was simple, yet serves its purpose exceedingly well as a trading hub and a shipyard. When the Maormer fleet approached Mournhold, the watchers immediately informed their King who was staying in Mournhold to oversee the arrival of the Akaviri in the coming days.
The massive chains barricading the entrance to the port slowly lowered to the waters when the Maormer ships approached. When the chains was fully lowered, the ships were granted entry, and was directed to dock on the vacant piers. On the central pier dedicated to flagships was Oravos and a contingent of his elite Sentinels, waiting for the Maormer flagship The Ash Crab to dock.
The men alongside Oravos was wearing an Ebony set of Ordinator armor, and armed with Akaviri styled weapons enchanted by the King himself. Oravos who stood in the middle of the group wore his famed Daedric armor and Wraithguard. His blade Trueflame was sheathed on his right, but can still be seen to emit faint traces of flame. The group of Dunmer waited until the Maormer flagship stopped before the platform they were standing on.
Hierdan "Five Tongues" Nemuar was nowhere nearly as armoured as the men he was meeting with today. He wore a full headdress comprised of bright coloured feathers, woven silks, glazed and polished chitin, and fine metals. Beneath is headdress was quite possibly the only red head of hair in all of Pyandonea. On his chest was an usekh bearing Anurbis and Pyan-Do-Mai, beneath it a robe detailing the many Maormer Ancestor Spirits.
Hierdan had never seen Morrowind before. Orgnum’s previous translator had before he died two hundred years ago, and described it differently than what Hierdan saw before him. He was expecting more ash, more fire, more vulcan everything. What did catch his eye was the Akaviri architecture. He would definitely ask about that.
As The Ash Crab docked Hierdan looked at Oravos and his men. Dunmer’s skin seemed to much in opposition to Maormer. He couldn’t help but wonder what cursed them to be so… he would say ugly but Hierdan had a fascination with exotic cultures which made him view few races as ugly. Oravos caught his immediate attention. Nerevarine. Reincarnate. God Killer. He waited at the platform for Oravos’ invitation. This one needed care.
Upon seeing Hierdan aboard, Oravos, accompanied by two of his guards, moved forward towards the ship. Oravos walked in a relaxed manner while taking quick glances on the ships of the Maormer.He was deeply impressed by the sight of the ships, he knew to himself that his people won’t attain such skill to possibly match the Maormer’s, but one can freely dream they can right?
Now just a few steps close the ship, one of Oravos’ security shouted clearly towards the flagship The Ash Crab. “Oravos the Nerevarine, King of Morrowind and Hortator of the Great Houses, wishes the Mer of Pyandonea a warm welcome. Feel free to dock and roam the city as you please, for our King have gathered the finest goods in our land, in preparation for your arrival.” says the guard before returning to Oravos side.
When the previous one finished speaking, the other guard stepped forward and spoke. “Our King wishes to seek audience with the King of Pyandonea, or if not, the Leader of this expedition.”
Hierdan was gripping a ring on his right hand. It was a special ring that he was to gift to the Dumner King should he prove himself and his people worthy. Before he could respond, however, it grew hot and Hierdan was surprised that someone would be using its power so quickly. T’Mol’s construction must have focused on the communications chambers. A mist began to roll from the ship, and forward strode King Orgnum to place a hand on Hierdan’s shoulder. His dark elven armour, made from an ore unseen to Tamriel, glistened with the image of a serpent raging against a storm. Pyandonean script dominated the other parts, his staff coiled visibly around his arm. On his right hand was a very similar ring to the one Hierdan had. He took Hierdan’s ring and thanked his translator. Turning to the guard, he announced.
“I am King Orgnum of Pyandonea, and accept your gracious invitation to the rich and wondrous lands of the powerful and proud Dunmer people. My people will humbly trade the goods they have brought for your rich wares. We have prepared many of our own foods, including the special dish your emissary was so fond of, as a show of good will towards the meeting.”
Orgnum spotted the Akavir styles and was puzzled. Akavir this far and he had not heard word in the history books or from his spies…. the King Oravos was keen.
His crew disembarking with goods, people, and magic research, Orgnum approached Oravos. His beard almost found the ground save for a slight puff of air he conjured to keep it clean. It was all that kept it from being dirty when he bowed.
“In my land a greeting is done over a meal. What is your tradition so that my people may meet it as yours have met mine?” He asked in an honourable and firm tone.
Oravos moved forward through the middle of his two guards, separating them and revealing his form to Orgnum's view. Oravos stood still for a few seconds before Orgnum, letting the image of the immortal King of Pyandonea sink into his mind. After a rather awkward seconds of silence, Oravos speaks, while lifting his right hand towards Orgnum, gesturing a handshake. "I'm Oravos king of Morrowind. It is an honor to be of your presence King Orgnum, its not everyday that I see a wise and respectable person in Tamrielic land, I am truly honored to meet you in person" He says to the immortal King of the Maormer.
Orgnum took the hand of Oravos in his. The grip was firm, and his pale Maormer skin contrasted perfectly with that of the dark Dunmer’s skin. Orgnum detected the sincerity in Oravos’ voice and could not help but smile faintly. The Dunmer King was smart and polite, suffering not from the impatience of youth Orgnum was sure he’d encounter more and more often with the other races.
“I am equally honoured, King Oravos, to meet someone like yourself. Powerful and just, yet uncorrupted by that power. It is not, indeed, that ones such as ourselves often meet.” He let go the firm handshake, his people unloading their goods in a bustle behind him. Many eyes were on the two ageless elves at the dock, but Orgnum was entirely focused on the King in front of him.
Having his hand released from the handshake, Oravos lifted it again, and gestured it towards the gate behind him leading to the courtyard of the keep. "I'd like to show you around King Orgnum, if its alright with you. Morrowind changed drastically in the recent years, I'm sure you'll be interested in the change my people went through." he says before leading the Orgnum and Heirdan away from the dock, and inside the city walls. The group was followed by a small detachment of their guards, but none of them appeared to be alert, rather, they were relaxed.
Once they entered the courtyard,the first thing that the group sees is a group of Redoran guardsmen, sparring with each other with real blades, instead of wooden ones made for practice. The guardsmen weren't holding back with their blade, and can be observed that every strike has the intent of killing their sparring partner. Seeing that the sparring caught Orgnum’s attention, Oravos spoke.
"Fighting is a constant in life, and to hold back means that you're suppressing the true power you are capable of. Our men doesn't hesitate to strike his friend or brother with a killing blow, they are trained with techniques gathered from far away lands that no man in Tamriel has seen before. That knowledge in warfare is something that our people wishes to share with yours, if you wish to accept it King Orgnum." says Oravos before a loud clang of metal echoes in the courtyard's confines. A Redoran guardsman parrying a sword's blow from his shoulder only by using a bonemold bracer caused the sound. It was lucky for him to block the blow with a bracer, but nonetheless, impressive in the eyes that saw it.
Orgnum exhaled sharply like one surprised by what they had seen. “Impressive, truly. I humbly accept your offer. Our men would be highly honoured to be trained by your own, and that you openly offer it is very generous of you.” The King continued watching the Redoran guardsmen for a few seconds. Their devotion reminded him of his Satakanimeri.
Moving past the practice grounds in the courtyard, the group moves into the small market area for the nobles residing in Mournhold. Stalls filled with rings, bracelets and necklaces embedded with precious gems can be found sitting on soft velvet cushions in the open. Clothing made from the finest silk in Tamriel was also exhibited and hanged for the group to see. Everything in the area screamed nobility and royalty, perfect for person Oravos was showing around.
"Our lands are rich with minerals that most of Tamriel cannot obtain in large amounts. Our smiths and craftsmen are well educated about dealing will all sorts of metals in Nirn, that their knowledge and skills are envied by many" says Oravos while signalling a servant to move to Orgnum's direction, carrying a pillow with exquisitely designed accessories fit for a king. "Please take it as sign of our good intentions to your people." added by Oravos before gesturing the party to move into the keep, and towards the dining hall.
Orgnum chose an ebony bracer to remind him of the firm handshake he’d experienced earlier.
After receiving the ebony bracer, the group went and entered the keep, before heading to the dining hall. Upon entering the royal dining room of Mournhold, a long wooden table filled with every high class meals in Morrowind revealed itself to the group. From seared Nix-Hound steaks with Marshmerrow dressing, to the aged Kwarma eggs garnished with roasted Saltrice, it was the dream of any Dunmeri food connoisseur made reality.
The two powerful figures was ushered into the ivory seats on both ends of the table, with a variety of food laid before them. Once the Oravos and Orgnum were seated, only two of each of their bodyguards remained with them, standing behind the seat of the Lord they were protecting. "I've been informed by my emissary that you have an exquisite taste in food, I hope what Morrowind's delicacies can be satisfying as the ones your people make." says Oravos before nodding to one of his servants to pour a Dagoth Brandy on a cup beside Orgnum's empty plate.
“I’m pleased that my emissary did his job well and told you of our interests with your people, I hope that you found Morrowind as promising as the words that my emissary said. If you wish to explore the lands to see what our province can offer further, just say so, and I’ll make the necessary preparations..”
For the first time since his arrival Orgnum's face did not betray a slight smile.
"I must decline your offer, much to my own dissatisfaction, for I am meeting with the Altmer high king tomorrow. However, to make up for my sudden departure I can take a message from Morrowind to him if you wish." He waited for a reply before tasting the Dagoth Brandy. Oravos was taking his time, and any mortal would likely become impatient to not be at talks already. Orgnum was simply enjoying the tour, and the time away from it all. He'd waited longer for much, much, less.
“I see.. if you wish to explore the lands of Morrowind in the future, you need only to say so, we would be honored to show you around in our lands.” replied by Oravos before speaking again. He knew enough formalities was said, and they weren’t getting to the main agenda of their meeting, prolonging this show would be very improper. “In my days in Akavir, I have seen the people there work together to achieve a common goal, something that I rarely saw on Tamriel in my past travels. People usually don’t get along if they don’t share something in common, which is why I wish to extend the opportunities Morrowind can offer to the people of Pyandonea.” He says before taking a gulp from his cup filled with the same brandy Orgnum was drinking.
“I wish to bring our people closer King Orgnum, if not as allies, then as friends at least.”
Orgnum was at ease in Morrowind. Their people seemed to be just like his people if not for their complete contrast in skin and environment. He finished the brandy, and procured a small box. Within it was a ring very similar to his own but bearing the Moon and Star instead of the serpent.
"I agree with your assessment, and that is why I have come to you. We both understand what is at risk, and what we wish to gain. I will be direct with you because you have shown yourself as an equal. It is my desire that a government be established to guide Tamriel without ruling over it. Representatives from each race will comprise it, with immortals hedging their short ambition. No country will serve this government, it will serve the countries. It will also govern research into undoing Lyrkhat's treachery, thus eliminating godhood among mortals by restoring us all to our place in the heavens. This is my dream, but it is not why I came to your lands. Say so now and I will never speak of it again." The Maormer paused to give Oravos time to respond to this idea, and then moved to the other topics.
"I and my people desire an alliance with Morrowind and her people. Everything your emissary brought to me can easily be initiated in addition to this. Open trade, cooperation between our people, and the upholding of mutual interests are all to our benefit. I will inform you that it is very likely my people will war with the Yokudans of Hammerfell. And yours?."
“Eliminating godhood..” Oravos repeats the words beneath his breath, his thoughts forces him to recall the events in the past. Dagoth Ur and Almalexia’s death, Vivec’s departure, it all came back to him. Before he could speak his mind about Orgnum’s vision, something in the air seals his lips, as if stopping him from saying another word. When Oravos regained his ability to speak, Orgnum had already spoken matters that involved Morrowind and Hammerfell.
“It is an honor to hear those words King Orgnum, I assure you this alliance will undoubtedly bring prosperity to both of our kingdoms” says Oravos before raising his cup full brandy above his face proposing a toast.
Returning the gesture, Orgnum continued speaking lightly. He passed the box to Oravos.
“Inside that box is a ring; a symbol of our alliance should you accept. That ring will allow my allies to teleport small amounts of goods, letters, and themselves, to and from an ongoing project I have. It is a floating island that is to serve as a mobile embassy and harbor for the ships and troops of my allies and I. It is not completed yet, and thus the teleportation chambers are not functional, but the ring will signal you when it is. When my project, called T’Mol, is completed, the ring will grow both warm and cold. If someone wishes to teleport themselves or anything to you, the ring will grow warm. If you are summoned to T’Mol for urgent news and council, the ring will grow cold. But, please, before you accept it and our alliance, give some consideration to what I have said.
My people would call upon yours for aid in Hammerfell, and I wish to know if my people can aid in any military endeavours of your own. Neither of us is foolish enough to agree to a military pact without first knowing the military status of each other. For my other proposition, consider it and return to me your decision when you are ready to. My dream is quite far away on the calendar.”
Orgnum was anxious on the inside now. His offer had been made, and in nothing more than a polite inquiry. Outside, he was friendly and relaxed. He would have felt completely so if not for revealing his agenda to someone else for the first time under such circumstances.
Oravos took the box and opened it, the appearance of the ring reminded him of the one he was wearing right now. He takes it and holds it near a candle, carefully studying the details on the ring. Oravos then looked at Orgnum, his eyes studying the face of the immortal King with much interest. He knew Orgnum wasn’t stupid not to notice the Eastern touches on the city, keeping it from him would not only strain the alliance, but the trust of Orgnum, if he speaks about it first.
“I know you’ve already noticed the Akaviri influences in this city and in Tear, you‘re probably asking questions in your head already.” he says before placing the ring into his left palm, securing it from view for a while. “I’ve been in Akavir in the past centuries, gathering knowledge and information of the country that Tamriel fears. Never have I suspected that I’ll also gain a friend, that is now turning Morrowind into something other than the burning province I’ve seen in my visions.”
Oravos clears his throat before taking a healthy swig from his cup. “Morrowind is covertly supporting the Akaviri invasion by providing them a staging ground on attacking the other provinces. In return, all we ask of them is their support on our endeavours, whether it be military or economic.” Oravos takes another gulp from the cup, before speaking again. “What you’ve just heard is something in return for the honesty you’ve given me King Orgnum, alliances aren’t made with people lying on each other’s faces.”
Orgnum coughed with surprise. “An invasion of Tamriel? An invasion of Tamriel…. This is acceptable to Pyandonea. I do not wish to be presumptuous but do you believe that Pyandonea could ally itself with this invasion? We would support Morrowind wholly in the same ways Akavir does for mutual support of course. Pyandonea will not need economic support, however, as my coffer supplies all the gold we need and will support Morrowind as well.” He lifted an eyebrow curiously to Oravos. “Perhaps the Dunmer will be the first people other than our own to step foot onto Pyandonea.” Orgnum took another drink of the brandy. He thought he’d trade a bottle of Abbarbas’ Misty Waters for his own bottle of Dagoth Brandy.
Oravos smirked beneath the mask he was wearing, as if something just went in place in a puzzle he was solving. “I’m sure Akavir wouldn't hesitate to accept Pyandonea as an ally, your people proved yourself as people of honor and trust, and every Akaviri respects those factors.” Oravos says before taking out a small medallion beneath the robe he cloaked over his armor. He hands the medallion to his servant, to place before Orgnum’s side of the table. “It is a symbol of Morrowind’s trust, if you wish to pursue an alliance with Akavir and meet with the head general, that might help.” The medallion was carved from a metal not local to Tamriel, in the middle was an Akaviri inscription which if read by someone who speaks the tongue, can decipher the word Friend.
“Also, to prove our dedication to this alliance, my people will send troops to support your endeavours against Hammerfell. May this help tilt the balance of power to your favor King Orgnum.” He says before taking the ring given to him and inserts it into his right middle finger, fully accepting what Orgnum offered to Morrowind.
Orgnum studied the medallion. His translators were almost purely diplomats and confidants these days as he’d learned the Akaviri language long ago. The inscription tickled him but he kept serious. He pocketed the token.
“My deepest thanks to you, King Oravos. Our agreement is set, then, and our people will flourish as long as it stands. I will send Hierdan promptly to contact the Akavir and The Ash Crab is yours should you wish to keep it. With our negotiations concluded I must take my leave after dinner and….” he calculated something in his head, “A brief tour of the city. Alinor and its King Aelid make demand of my presence tomorrow. Is there anything you wish the Altmer to know, while my service is offered?” Outside, at the docks, his transport had fully divulged itself of Orgnum’s troops. His mages had met with the Dunmer’s, ores were being traded, and chitin was being loaded into the now vacant transport.
“You have our gratitude King Orgnum, The Ash Crab will be Morrowind’s flagship from this day onward.” says Oravos before bowing his head lightly in respect. “There’s nothing we wish to relay to the Altmers, but thanks for bringing up the offer. Now that everything is settled, let us indulge ourselves with the food on the table, I’m sure you’ll like the food we’ve prepared for you.”
Oravos says it before lifting the helmet off of his head, he rarely removes it and Orgnum would probably the first to see his face directly in two hundred years.
1st Sun's Height, 4E 205
Abbarbas, Pyandonea
High Admiral Uldindol paced about furious that his Captain had made such a decision on his own. They knew little about the status of Tamriel's countries, what alliances they had made, or the naval powers. Blast it all, the Altmer could open fire in hatred! His people had been on alert for several days now, and he gazed stiffly at the bay through his window. Still, if the captain managed to start a ceasefire...... he was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.
“Sir, news from the battlegroup! They've aided 200 Altmer vessels and taken the waters of Stros M'Kai! Half of our vessels sustained damage, seven of those sunk. The Altmer fleet has agreed to resupply them in exchange for holding position until reinforcements arrive. Additionally, their ceasefire with us is being negotiated. The Captain has agreed to this.”
Uldindol was genuinely shocked. The Altmer? Had they changed so much? And that fool captain making decisions on his own. He wrestled with the idea of sending his fleet to Summurset. Surely the bulk of their navy was at Stros M'Kai.
“What of the Yokudans?”
“They retreated with roughly fifty ships, High Admiral. Their vessels appear to be inferior to our own by a factor of 3:1.”
An unofficial ceasefire with the Altmer, possibly a war with the Yokudans. Whatever King Orgnum was negotiating with the High Elves. Uldindol rubbed his pale chin thoughtfully. This was a mess.
1St Sun’s Height
Abarbbas, Pyandonea
Orgnum sat at his throne, going over his people’s needs and wants. The greedy Captain himself had just stepped in to deliver the news of the battle. He stood tall in his finest uniform, a perfect polish on the chitin adornments. The Captain expected a large and well deserved promotion. Beside Orgnum stood High Admiral Uldondil whose skin colour spoke of disdain and wrath at the sight of the Captain. Ognum’s visage was blank.
The Maormer King finished with his civil duties and stood, not yet looking at the Captain. He motioned for the sailor to step forward while straightening his robe. Another motion told the Captain to deliver his report. The Captain gave a quick glance towards Uldondil before starting.
“I have negotiated a ceasefire with the Altmer, sir. We aided them in the battle for Stros M’Kai, losing seven ships and another eight taking damage, while they suffered almost one hundred and twenty losses. The Yokudans lost two hundred ships, and the island is open for siege. The Altmer will share the island in trade for our aid in taking the island. My ships are restocked by the Altmer ready for reinforcement and relief. At your order I will sail a fleet north.” The Captain mostly suppressed a smile, expecting praise to come.
Instead, Orgnum raised his brow silently. He wet his lips before speaking slowly and evenly.
“Your report, Captain, is missing some key details.”
“Details, sir?”
“Yes, details. Details such as your orders to return after clearing the waters no farther north than Woodhearth. Your disobedience to those orders. Your willingness to take it upon yourself to choose which allies and enemies I should have.”
At this the Captain cut in, “Sir, your intention was to ally with the Altmer. I have done nothing but expe-“
A slap and hiss from the King silenced the Captain. Orgnum began walking around the Captain.
“Your report leaves out your lack of discipline, and disregard for the chain of command. You are not of the political caste. You do not negotiate. You were a Captain, a sailor in my navy under my orders. Who is to say that I should ally myself with the Altmer witnessing what is likely a large portion of their fleet being destroyed? You, after losing half of your own ships in unfriendly waters? No,” the King said , now behind the Captain and drawing his dagger, “You do not make such decisions. I relieve you of your burden, Captain.” At the last word Orgnum plunged the dagger through the former Captain’s lower skull and directly into his brain. The elf was dead in less than a second.
The Wizard King turned to his High Admiral, whose satisfaction was evident.
“Dispatch the necessary ships to Stros M’Kai. We cannot suddenly be known to go back on our word, especially violently. The Dominion is weak, but we mustn’t make enemies too soon.”
“And Hammerfell, sir?”
“Lost to us as an ally, thanks to our dear captain. Accelerate our other plans instead. I will meet with the Altmer High King today. We shall see how well he stands up to the Nerevarine’s impressive display. Perhaps this can be made into a successful venture without the Yokudans.”
3rd Sun's Height
Thorn, Black Marsh
Hierdan leaning over the rail of the ship he’d been on for almost a week now. After stopping at Mournhold he was sent south to Tear to speak to the Akaviri instead. The sudden appearance of Orgnum had unsettled him. For the past day he’d followed the Akaviri fleet into Black March… another unsettling event. As Thorn approached on the horizon, Hierdan returned to his study. Akaviri had probably changed over the last era, but he’d be masterful in all of it that he knew.
Signals went up from the docks eventually, and Hierdan prepared himself. He’d never seen any of the Akaviri races before in person. Drawings and descriptions were all he had. His ship slowed and docked at Thorn, revealing himself to the new residents.
“Masters, Captain Matiyahu, Lord Ildoryn, Commander Xing,” a Tang Mo messenger rushed into the meeting room. He had clearly just came in from a sprint. “We have foreign ships docking at the port, they requested to see you.”
“What?” Xing questioned, he looked over to Ildoryn, who just returned an equally confused gaze. “Alright, follow me people. Let’s see who these visitors are.”
At the docks was a large ship, hull constructed from chitin. It was similar to those docked in Tear, except this one was far more imposing in scale and appeared to be well built. The crewmen of this ship were elves, elves with exotic skin colors unseen in the descriptions of Tamriel. Then he realized, there were the sea elves of legend, who supposedly made contact with Akavir more than an era ago.
“Greeting foreigners,” Xing hailed, shouting to the elven sailors. “I am the commander here, what do you seek of us?”
“I am Hierdan Nemuar, translator to King Orgnum of Pyandonea.” Hierdan raised a hand containing the Akaviri medallion he’d obtained from Orgnum before leaving to Xing, his voice jolly in its usual manner. “Once I was called “Five Tongues” by your people long ago. King Orgnum is in Morrowind securing an alliance with the Dunmer, and I am here to do the same with your people. I bring this medallion as a symbol of faith from Morrowind.” Hierdan was only partly lying when he said that he was called “Five Tongues”. It [b]was Orgnum’s translator who’d been called thus by Akavir, but that elf had died many many years ago. Still, the nickname stuck and every translator was given it.
He was surprised by the mixed appearances of the Akaviri. ”That one was Tang Mo,” he thought of the messenger, ”And this one is Tsaesci.” The snakelike lower half of Captain Matiyahu, though he didn’t know the Tsaesci’s name, it did amuse him in that his own people considered themselves descendent of the serpent. A coincidence he wouldn’t bring up for the sake of the joke.
Matiyahu shifted uncomfortably at the Maormer’s gaze, something about these sea elves just didn’t feel right to him. Xing, however, ignored the looks on their faces and decided to continue their dialogue.
“I do not have the authorities to speak for the Thousand Isles or Akavir,” it was true, a decision of this magnitude would require the Assembly’s approval. But, a cooperation on the field, between men of actions was something he could see without a room full of bickering politicians. “However, your presence here would indicate our goals to be similar, perhaps a brief collaboration of forces for the common purpose of conquest?”
Hierdan nodded, thinking rapidly. If all went well at each front Pyandonea could advance its goals considerably. If not, they had at least gained one ally and potentially another.
“Yes, a brief collaboration of forces as you say. At what time could Pyandonea meet with a representative who could speak for such an agreement? Furthermore, how may we collaborate at this time?” His completely white eyes were fascinated with the people he’d not seen before, but he kept them from wandering.
“Commander, you wouldn’t possibly think of collaborating with these savages?” Matiyahu turned from uncomfortable to plain distain.
“That is not a decision for you to judge,” Xing dismissed, he never liked this Dragonguard, and he wouldn’t let Matiyahu disrupt an opportunity like this. “Captain, your Dragonguards are on shift for watch duty, you should join them now.”
“Forgive me, the Captain will not act out of order again” the Tang Mo apologized. “Back to the matters at hand. I assume your fleet would be positioned in the south, which would form a pinching attack combined with our soldiers from the north. I have seen a city called Lilmoth, this place should a sea port for your people to mount an assault.”
Ildoryn stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his attention was distracted by the appearance of the Maormer ship, which is why he remained silent up to now. He didn’t have the authority to speak at the matter that presented itself, but he was curious to inquire about the progress made in Mournhold. “Tell me Hierdan, what transpired on the meeting in Mournhold?”
“Our forces will be there in a couple of days to take the Argonians by surprise.” Hierdan stated. He wanted to ask again when Pyandonea could meet someone from Akavir to begin negotiations, but a Dunmer voice cut into his thoughts.
“Ah, and you are?” He asked politely, unsure of how long he’d missed the man’s presence in his fascination with the exotic species in front of him.
“I’m Ildoryn Sarano, Lord of Tear and right hand of the King of Morrowind. Its been days since the scouting party informed us of the arrival of King Orgnum, I’m just curious to what transpired on the meeting of our Kings.” replied by Ildoryn.
“So we are each other!” Hierdan said, completing the last phrase of a Maormer children’s song. “As for your question, King Oravos and King Orgnum got along very well. I’ven’t witnessed him in such good spirits while negotiating as he was just a few days ago. A full cooperation between Morrowind and Pyandonea was agreed to. The deal your emissary came back with was only altered in that our countries will support each other militarily and economically as well.” His voice was full and smooth saying these things. Then he swatted at an errant mosquito native to Black Marsh and cursed its lineage.
If there was one thing Xing could agree with these Maormers, it was that the creatures of Black Marsh were indeed obnoxious. This will be the ground they negotiate on, one of common enemies, to quash everything from bugs to lizards.
“Very well Hierdan,” Xing nodded to emissary. “While your navy takes Lilmoth, you king could negotiate with our leaders. Akavir is far from this land, and travelling there would only hinder our progress. However, General Abasi-Kil is currently based on Ynslea, a little more than a week’s journey for your vessels. If you could wait another week on Ynslea, our leaders could travel there from Akavir.”
“As a counter proposal,” Hierdan started, “King Orgnum could make for Ynslea in a week’s time
to arrive when your leaders do. Is this acceptable?”
“That would be well,” the monkeyfolk answered. Though he wasn’t sure how the general, or the Assembly, or whatever governments other Eastern Nations had think. As one man, Xing just couldn’t move mountains by himself. In this case, he would have to trust the decision makers back home. “I will send a magickal message to General Abasi-Kil and to the Assembly of the Thousand Isles, they will be glad for your audience”
Ildoryn who kept silent after hearing the Maormer publicly say Morrowind’s allegiance to Pyandonea, suddenly glance to S’arah, who also kept her silence during the meeting. Before anyone from the group noticed Ildoryn move, he slipped a small piece of paper into S’arah’s paws before speaking. “Now that’s settled, I wish to head to my chambers, I’m sure you’ll have no need of my presence here.”
The Dunmer briskly walked away from the docks, leaving S’arah to deal with an informal invitation to dinner.
Actions
Reactivate two shipyards
Orgnum teleports to Morrowind only due to the ring he gave Hierdan
Pact with Morrowind sealed.
Orgnum teleports back with the ring he took from Hierdan
Hierdan to Thorn, Black Marsh.
Temporary agreement with Akaviri to help take Black Marsh. Negotiations to come later.
Morrowind soldiers to Pyandonea for military aid.
Ships and goods to return to Pyandonea from Morrowind.
Hierdan to return with ships.
People have been away with friends and family for the weekend. I've been in a arduous collab process and that's why I haven't posted yet.
I'll try to post IC today, guys. Work has been holding me down lately but I've been writing.
27th Mid Year, 4E 205
Imperial-Maormer Contact, Near Torval, Pirate Infested Waters
The Imperial Captain had led the Fifteen vessels towards Torval. It was intended that the ships would sail past the docks of Torval, giving the locals a bit of a scare from the sight of Imperial ships, before proceeding up the river Xylo and dropping off it’s loads in the hands of Imperial Forces. It was thought that, in spite of the risk, it would be quicker and easier to move the goods by sea than it would be to move them through Valenwood. The reason for sending so many vessels for such a simple mission was to ensure the pirates did not pick a bone with them, and to ensure that any naval ships which might be loyal to the south would not dare sail out to meet them. The crew kept their eyes on the waters none the less, they had no doubts that pirates in the south had been growing bolder due to the lack of Imperial Law, and neither did the Imperial Command.
“That’s the Imperial Dragon all right,” Hierdan said, squinting through his eyeglass. “Looks like a convoy. Might be worth a look, maybe if the relations with the Altmer fall through we can get the Empire’s navy instead. Admiral, do I have your permission to send a ship and envoy to the Imperial convoy to broker negotiations?”
The Maormer Admiral took a long gaze at the Imperial ships before grimacing. “One cruiser.” was all he said. Within a quarter of an hour the ship was reassigned with one of the spare diplomats they’d brought along for the journey to Morrowind. It banked to port away from the fleet, firing white smoke from its canons and raising a flag of parlay to the Imperials. The main fleet slowed to three quarters, watching its approach and for the response from the Empire’s ships.
The Captain turned his head to the yell of one of the men, and followed the direction he was pointing. He moved to the side of the ship and stared off at the alien vessel… It was coloured light blue, with white ripples flowing through it and sails that looked like wings shooting out from the deck. It was sailing toward them, and he glanced up to check it’s flag, but it was as alien, if not more, than the crafts design it’s self. He turned his head slightly to his first officer, and shared a whispered exchange
“Who in oblivion is that… Not pirates, surely?” He asked, and the first officer shook his head
“I doubt it, sir. Never seen a vessel like that… Maybe it’s something from the Elves?”
“Neither have I, and I’ve never seen an Elven flag that looks like that … It doesn’t appear to be hostile…” The Captain frowned, watching as it flew the flag of parlay “It wishes to talk…” He turned his head away before yelling down to the deck “Slow the ship, signal the other vessels! Keep ready, it could be a pirate trap!” He turned his head back to the First Officer “Be sure the men are ready, at the first sign of trouble, I want that vessel destroyed immediately, is that clear?”
“Aye, sir…” The Captain turned his head back out to the ship, and as he did he felt the boat lurch under him as it slowed and turned towards the newcomer.
“Which language do the men speak again?” Thought the diplomat. “Right, yes the easiest one.” He fidgeted with the silver robe he was wearing, picking at the red trimming and accents. His fingers involuntarily took on a reddish hue, and the diplomat took a couple breaths to calm himself. He conjured up a slight haze over the water to better propel his voice through, making sure not to make it too visible. He started yelling towards the ship which signalled him back.
“Hail, sons of Atmora! Your province is Cyrodiil, correct? We are Maormer, the ones you call Tropical Elves, from Pyandonea. Would you receive us for news and possibly other arrangements?”
The Captain next to him was trying to keep his composure. He disliked the diplomat speaking in a language he didn’t know. ”Damn political caste. Always using words when cannons speak far louder.”[/] he thought. His crew seemed annoyed so he sternly gazed them down. They wouldn’t make him look bad in front of the diplomat, and certainly not any race of [i]man if he could help it.
The Diplomat listened eagerly for a reply.
The Imperial Captain exchanged an odd glance with his first officer, who shrugged and whispered sharply
“Weren’t they the ones who tried to attack back in the days of the Septims? Trust them if you will, sir, but be careful…” The First Officer whispered, and the Imperial Captain nodded then cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out across the waters, praying that they could actually here him
“Hail, Maormer, our provinces are many but we represent the Empire of Tamriel, ruling from the Province of Cyrodiil, that is correct! We would receive you, Tropical Elves!” He yelled back to them, then turned to the First Officer, whispering back to him “Send the rest of the fleet on, those supplies are supposed to arrive by tommorow morning.”
“But Sir, if we lose the numbers…”
“I’m well aware of the consequences, but I think we could take on a single ship…” The two were interrupted quickly by the ships mage, who shook his head as he came up behind them
“It took the Altmer and Imperial navies to see them off, I would not dismiss them so lightly, Captain. Keep the ships with us, I think the Emperor shall understand your delay” The Captain sighed and nodded quickly. So be it, the equipment would be delayed then. If the war effort failed due to this, he knew it would be his head that would suffer for it. He turned his head out to the sea again, watching the Maormer ship intently
The Maormer Captain eyeing all fifteen Imperial ships in front of him. He smiled knowing that the Imperials were afraid.
“Is the Imperial navy still so bad that you need fifteen ships to meet one?” a crewmember called out in Pyandonean. The Captain slugged him hard, cursing his ancestors and sending him below deck.
“Captain, restrain your crew.” The Diplomat hissed. He addressed the Imperials in their language. “We seek news of Tamriel. What is the status of the Empire and its allies: are its borders still containing the entire continent?”
The Captain hesitated for a moment, before speaking again “If by the Empire being across the entire continent you would mean High Rock, Cyrodiil and Elsweyr” He said, somewhat bitterly “Then yes. Otherwise, I’m afraid not… but we’re on the way back up, don’t think otherwise, we’re not weak, and we’re certainly not dead yet.” The First mate nodded beside him, but didn’t offer anything other than that, while the ships mage just kept a watchful eye on the Maormer. The Crew members seemed to be either shocked, confused or intrigued by the presence of the new comer… or a mixture of all three.
“On your way back up, you say? How interesting. HUM truly does guide your people. This is rather forward of me, considering your crew’s reaction to us,” he shot glances at the Maormer Captain whom shot fiery looks at his own crew, “But would it be possible for our ship to accompany you back to the Empire? We would offer protection from unaligned ships such as pirates and raiders, of course during the journey… where is it you are headed?” The Diplomat raised his brow realising he was speaking slightly more than he should.
The Imperial Captain paused, glancing to the first officer. The two then glanced back to the mage, and the Imperial Captain turned back to the Maormer “We’re heading for the Xylo River in Elsweyr, to deliver supplies to some of our allies, there was some unrest in the South that needs to be eliminated, we believe it is probably nearing the end of it’s days now.” The Captain said, raising his hand to his chin thoughtfully. They were only one ship, if they were hostile then it would be suicidal of them to try anything in the midst of 15 imperial naval ships, and they didn’t seem to be intent on destroying them… yet. “You’re welcome to accompany us if you please, but we’re send supplies, not exactly going anywhere all that interesting, unless you count maybe Torval.”
The Elven Diplomat widened his smile at the mention of Torval. ”Ah, yes, Torval. The city where the cats are in chaos. We’ll help you raid it if that is your intention. How many slaves will you be taking?” The Diplomat thought for a moment and decided to change the subject. “If you take slaves, I mean. We haven’t any need for them. How long will your supply mission last before we can make for the nearest Imperial port?”
The Imperial Captain frowned as he mentioned slaves “Slavery is outlawed within the Empire, Maormer…” He said, then his frown faded ever so slightly when the diplomat changed the subject “I should think it would take less than a day to reach the River Xylo from here, so probably a day at most. If we’re lucky, allied forces may have already pushed further in, maybe to lands nearer to the City of Torval, and we won’t need to go far up the river to deliver the supplies. After that we can make for the nearest port in Cyrodiil, I believe, unless one of the Southern ports is taken… though I doubt we would want to land with a diplomat in somewhere which was just seized, considering the troubles”
“Ah, forgive me. It has been a very long time and my people aren’t aware of everything that happens in Tamriel. We will accompany you for this journey. Lead on.” The Sea Elf said. The Captain of the ship listened to the diplomat’s explanation and held a sour expression on his face. The next couple of days with the humans. He did not look forward to it.
The Imperial Captain nodded and turned his head to the deck, calling out “Signal the others! We hold course on to Elsweyr!” He called out, before turning and marching off the deck, followed swiftly by the mage while the First Officer took over the deck. The ships jerked again, turning as sharply as one could manage with the cumbersome ships once more as the small fleet set off towards Elsweyr
Two and a half Days Later
The fifteen plus one ships had headed towards the Xylo River, but when they saw that Torval was flying the flag of the Empire they had tentatively altered their course. As it turned out, Northern Forces under the Command of Ta’fel had seized the city some three days earlier than planned, and so they unloaded the siege equipment and supplies they had been sent to deploy into Torval instead of up the Xylo River. The unloading had taken longer than expected, but finally they had set off again and the ships had sailed back around Elsweyr, their size seemingly intimidating any would be pirates.
The ships had came to dock at the Imperial Port of Leyawiin, and the strange Maormer ship earned many looks of fascination and concern from the locals citizens. It was one of the most outlandish things the people of Leyawiin had ever seen… and considering they were from the cosmopolitan Imperial Province, that was not an easy title to claim.
The Elves were unfamiliar with such…. a bland looking city. Their acclimation to highly decorated religious designs and slithering architecture made them frown at the mostly square, unadorned buildings. It was the chapel which caught their eyes as the best looking structure in Leyawiin. The wingsails of the elven ship folded as its crew took up oars to dock. It was an awkward fit, but they managed it. Disembarked, the diplomat looked to the Imperial Captain who ushered him into Castle Leyawiin. There, they met the Count of Leyawiin whom the Maormer spoke to of the provinces in Tamriel, their allegiances, statuses, a brief overview of history since the All Flag Navy knocked Pyandonea off the world stage, and traded one fine green and yellow silk robe emblazoned with a seahorse and chitin jewelry for a collection of Tamrielic history books. Afterwards the elves and merchants of Leyawiin traded small goods before the buglike boat departed a few days later, sailing out as suddenly and mysteriously as they had sailed in.
They caught up with the return group to Pyandonea.
26th Mid Year, 4E 205.
Stros M'kai Stken's Weakness
Smoke and debris filled the bay of Stros M’Kai, and the sun sank low on the horizon once again. The Aldmeris had received fair wounds to it’s hull during the fighting, but it was far from sunk. The Lord Admiral wasn’t positive they could take the Yokudan at first, even with superior ships and a surprise blitz, the Yokudan had more ships and sailors than Orthos had thought. Yet they had won, and the battle was theirs.
Turning from the the bow of the ship, he saw the surviving sailors aboard his ship give a great cry into the sky at the sight of the surviving Yokudan ships fleeing the battle. They had been broken here, and if they could be broken here, they could be broken again. Many of the surviving Altmer seemed to weep with toys of relief at their survival, yet the moans of pain from the wounded still carried heavily on the wind.
The Maormer had aided the Royal Fleet greatly in what Orthos felt to be the first of many battles, and though he distrusted the Sea Elves, he knew he must confront them. While the majority of his surviving ships formed a blockade around the isle, The Aldmeris set a course straight for the largest of the Maormer Battlegroup.
Orthos was a Altmer and care greatly for his appearance, especially that of a first impression. He disliked that he did not look the proper role of a high ranking Altmer. Yet at the same time, he was covered in blood and sea water, and that feeling was the closest to home he had ever known.
The Captain of The Hydra had taken an incredible gamble disobeying orders to return after Woodhearth. Only after his ships had aided in the battle did he think of what could have happened had the Altmer simply been going to a port they owned. As he was now, however, the Captain felt exhilaration at the prospect of being the Maormer to negotiate peace between the Altmer and his people. The shrill hiss of trumpets broke his thought with reality. They’d lost seven ships and eight more needed repair. The Hydra was almost entirely unscathed. Being the command ship ensured a certain amount of safety and the Yokudan ships has an unimpressive kill range. Further still, he discerned from the signals that he needed to head home very soon or lose his men to starvation.
His ambition stayed, however, and he gave out orders to parlay with the Altmer command ship. White smoke, traditionally used by navies the continent over to signal intention of talks, plumed up from his boat. He licked his lips waiting for the return signal.
The Aldmeris still cut through the waves like a sharp knife, even damaged as it was. Orthos looked to his first mate and nodded silently, after witnessing the white smoke rise from their flag ship. The Lord Admiral prepared several of his better sailors and fighters and formed a boarding party consisting of six Altmer, including Orthos. Ever attempting to make themselves look better, the first mate gave the order to begin cleaning and scrubbing the ship.
As the Altmer ship approached, it appeared a hive of activity with cleaning, sailing, and orders being shouted out. Yet as their ship drew near, the Altmer would drop anchor and prepare to meet with these Maormer.
“Hail, Altmer!” Came the shout from the ambitious Captain. “What good fortune to meet you under the flag of peace. I invite you to come aboard, or we shall come aboard your vessel if you wish.” His words were friendly, certainly. The Captain was somewhat of a progressive and even he longed for the chance to sink every Altmer boat and retake Summerset. Still, this would get him Admiralty for sure.
Orthos made a signal to his landing party, and they grabbed a large gangplank, big enough for three to walk across abreast at once. It took precious little time for the Altmers to board, and Orthos smiled fakely as he got his first good look at these Maormer. Their ships were horrifying and lethal, and these Sea Elves looked the same. They lacked the golden hue of the High Elves, and their skin color reminded him of a bloated corpse. He suddenly realized why the Altmer had fought so hard to keep the Maormer off their shores.
With a slight shiver running up his spine, Orthos nodded to this Captain.
“It is indeed invaluable to find other maritime elves who share our hatred for the Yokudan. Your people have been lost to the mists for a very long time, and not all among the Altmer were even sure your race still lived. Yet here you are. Tell me, Captain, what business does the Maormer have with the Yokudan?”
“Simple vengeance,” the Maormer said noting the High Elf’s coolness, “The Yokudans were owed it ages ago.” He countered the question, hoping to be able to move things past the hostilities of the past and onto those of the future, where opportunity lie. “And what is your business with them?” He settled the empty white Maormer eyes on the Altmer. It always was fun to see them squirm under that gaze they found “unnatural.”
Orthos honestly wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The Maormer were far too ignorant of everything to possibly understand the political landscape of Tamriel at the moment, nor would this Captain understand the fact that Orthos had to make a decision without his superior there, and must live with the consequences of his choice. He sighed, and his eyes looked up into the cool blue skye, with tufts of white puffy clouds strolling by...
Looking into the Maormer deadened eyes seriously, the Lord Admiral spoke;
“The Bosmer, our cousin race has occupied Valenwood for a very long time, and were once allies of the Dominion and the Altmer. Recently, they have betrayed us and spies reported to the Dominion that they were willing to give their coast to the Yokudan in return for safety and amnesty for their ‘crimes’.” It was obvious what Orthos thought of the supposed crimes of the Dominion, but he continued on regardless.
“My Grace, The High King Aelid of the Summerset Isles was in a Summit very far away, and I was under the suspicion the Yokudan wanted to use the Valenwood coast as a staging ground for invading my home. I decided to strike first, and take my own staging ground for invading THEIR home, and seeing how they like it…” Orthos finished his explanation and looked over his shoulder to the scorched and war-torn island. He knew that taking the sea was only the beginning.
The pale elf lit up at the mention of taking someone’s home from them. “Stken’s Weakness is clear enough” he said, following the gaze of Orthos. “It’s good your race hasn’t given into such things.” The Captain relished at the news of a Yokudan/Altmer war. He could easily convince the Yokudans…. oh. Right. “Your forced took considerable losses.” He said, hoping to poke the Altmer just a bit. “King Orgnum sent word to Alinor, did you hear?”
Orthos actually smiled a cruel smile at the Maormer when he spoke of the Altmer losses, and replied with a sharp tongue;
“Aye, we did lose more ships, and more sailors. But we also won the battle. We killed perhaps as many as three times as many Yokudan as you, Maormer. While your aid was invaluable, if you wish to impress me with your navy, you’ll have to do better than a token force aiding my Royal Fleet during its operations.” He nearly chuckled at the imputence of the white fleshed mutant, and when asking about Orgnum’s word, he actually considered lying.
The Maormer were ugly and beastly, this was true. But they also had an animal’s cunning and an serpent's stealth. They were deformed and lethal to the Lord Admiral, but he would not lie to this Captain. He was Altmer, and he was proud. He was the true descendant of the Aldmer, out of the two. It was obvious to all.
“I did, and I had it sent to my High King, as the return of a peoples such as yours is not to be taken lightly… My King should actually be returning to the Summer Isles today, I believe. I’m sure he would meet with Orgnum soon to find out what your people want of mine..”
At the Altmer’s insult the Captain had a quick thought. “Ah, yes, you’re probably right. Such an impressive fleet wouldn’t desire any unworthy help we could give.” He turned to his first mate “Come, let us take our token force to other waters. The noble Altmer will surely invade and conquer Hammerfell tomorrow. We shall go be taken lightly with the other races on this continent.” He turned back to Orthos, evidently awaiting a signal from which he would depart or resume speaking with the Admiral.
Orthos gritted his teeth in annoyance with the insolence of the creature, it had aided in his battle, and he honestly wasn’t sure the outcome without their arrival. The Altmer probably would have won still, but how much worse the losses..? This beast of a thing had saved High Elf lives this day, and Orthos must acknowledge that. Yet he would not be kept under the yoke of any, especially a Maormer.
“Not tomorrow. Perhaps by the end of the week though.” Orthos cutting smile appeared again, that smile that seemed to brim with malice and viciousness. He turned back to his boarding party and they looked at him expectantly. He motioned for them to begin retreating back to their flagship, yet as they moved he turned back to his Captain. Orthos decided to be honest.
“I don’t like you, creature. You smell of fish and sea salt, yet in a dying way. Your people and mine have never been brothers, and I doubt we ever will. But I would thank you for your aid this day, honestly. I dislike you, but I do appreciate your contribution to the Dominion, and for the saving of Altmer lives.” With that, he turned and crossed the gangplank, moving briskly yet with the all the natural grace of his people.
Their relationship with the Maormer would be a strange one indeed.
The Captain bowed slightly to Orthos. “Your honesty surfaces. So does mine. My crew desires to sink your vessels in their hearts, to take your shores with blood. Our passions are deep, and our conviction strong. However, you have heard the words of King Orgnum and so have we. Your ships and lives are not any debt we wish to hold. And now, Admiral, you must invite us to your ship to speak. We have something to offer.”
The Lord Admiral raised a eyebrow expectantly, and motioned for the Maormer to follow. He crossed the gangplank, and immediately felt relief upon being back on Altmer wood. The sailors had cleaned the ship the best they could, and the fires had been put out. Presentation was everything to the High Elves. Orthos was appreciative of the Captain’s honesty as well, as he had learned after many years at sea that it isn’t the man who tells you he hates you that you need to worry about. It’s the ones who don’t.
He would lead them to the Captain’s Quarters, and inside it looked like beautiful chaos. Many silks and bright warm colors were in the cabin, yet the battle had sent his large desk onto it’s side, and the window had been shot out by a spell. Orthos ordered the desk flipped onto it’s correct side, and everyone picked up what wooden chairs survived the carnage. Sitting around the desk, Orthos nodded.
“And what does the Maormer have for us, eh..? It doesn’t seem likely you would come to my people with gifts. Though it also doesn’t seem likely that you would come to my peoples aid in a battle. Suppose anything is possible these days.” He said with a slight smile, this one smaller and more hidden, but genuine and filled with warmth.
The Captain and the men he’d brought sniffed the air. Thy wondered at how a ship of the sea could be so dry in smell and decor. Their feet retched at the feeling of a wooden ship, and the primitive construction of the boats assaulted their eyes. The Altmer still used fixed sails! Nowhere were symbols of sophisticated civilisation until they entered the Admiral’s quarters. Even then they found evidence of eight, at best, Altmer gods. “So the Altmer still forgot who it is they are and forsake everything about where they claim to be from.” Thought the Captain.
“We offer you peaceful waters, of course. An existence without fear of your shores being taken, or our ships on yours. Anything more I cannot promise. King Orgnum, the god Satakal,” he said slightly emphasising the word ‘god’, “Is the only one who can speak of more. Of course, we did help with the battle. In return we should expect fair use of the island. Stken’s Weakness is an
excellent place for a forward naval base.”
Orthos could more sense than have any true knowledge of the Captain’s crawling eyes, judging their Flag ship. It annoyed the Altmer that such a creature would dare judge their superior craftsmanship, and the Altmer assumed the voice that all of his kind could. The voice of hostile politeness, the warmth of your mother with the words of a mugger.
“I’m terribly sorry about the state of the ship, I’m sure you’ll forgive me. As you know, we were busy actually fighting the battle.” The inclusion of the word ‘actually’ was minor, but he knew the Maormer too clever to miss that little jab.
“As far as peaceful waters go, we would accept this. The Dominion currently has no true quarrel with the Sea Elves, and though we already live in a existance with fear of our shores being taken, it is pleasant to know you will not try such a foolish thing again.”
When the Lord Admiral heard the slight emphasis on their King as a God, Orthos’ first reaction was to call him a heretic and blasphemer, such as all High Elves were taught. The Thalmor had drilled it into their heads. Yet the Altmer decided to let the comment go, as he was here to rule the seas, not argue over Gods.
“You have aided us in this Victory, and it is only fair that you chair in the Spoils of War. Though I must ask for a greater contribution I am afraid. We must make sure that nobody slips in or out of that island until we are prepared. The majority of the ships in my fleet are now forming this blockade. We would appreciate assistance in the form of having your ships aid in the blockade, sailing south and alerting Alinor as to what has happened, or even sending land troops for the siege of the fortress itself. Yes, there is room on this isle for the two of us. Though we must ask you pull your weight.” The last sentence was a challenge, and Orthos had meant it thus. The ships the Maormer had sent had been effective, but he was eager for them to prove their strength, as the Royal Fleet had just done before them.
“Of course, of course, as long as your ships held an equal presence to mine in power. Say… sixty ships. Additionally, we are only a lightly armed and supplied force so we will require basic supplies in order to stay in these waters for much longer. Else, we must depart.”
“Departing would mean losing this naval base for you as well. I will load your ships up with whatever supplies we have, we should have a fair amount, as we have been at sea for only a couple days. I will leave sixty ships with you, and take the remaining ten back to Alinor to see if I can raise more ships and a Invasion party. What say you to this?”
“You could merely leave the Yokudans to starve without supply from the mainland. It is a fate they deserve and will take but a week. To all other terms, I agree. I will send one ship back to our Admiral as news. The two most powerful navies in Tamriel not destroying each other. I bet the men will quiver at night.” The Maormer smiled like someone who had tasted a delicious fish.
Actions
Meet with Cyrodiil. Learn current history and have knowledge of Tamriel.
Meet with Altmer. Ceasefire agreement underway! Resupply of Maormer fleet, co-blockade of island. Message to Uldindol sent!
Imperial-Maormer Contact, Near Torval, Pirate Infested Waters
The Imperial Captain had led the Fifteen vessels towards Torval. It was intended that the ships would sail past the docks of Torval, giving the locals a bit of a scare from the sight of Imperial ships, before proceeding up the river Xylo and dropping off it’s loads in the hands of Imperial Forces. It was thought that, in spite of the risk, it would be quicker and easier to move the goods by sea than it would be to move them through Valenwood. The reason for sending so many vessels for such a simple mission was to ensure the pirates did not pick a bone with them, and to ensure that any naval ships which might be loyal to the south would not dare sail out to meet them. The crew kept their eyes on the waters none the less, they had no doubts that pirates in the south had been growing bolder due to the lack of Imperial Law, and neither did the Imperial Command.
“That’s the Imperial Dragon all right,” Hierdan said, squinting through his eyeglass. “Looks like a convoy. Might be worth a look, maybe if the relations with the Altmer fall through we can get the Empire’s navy instead. Admiral, do I have your permission to send a ship and envoy to the Imperial convoy to broker negotiations?”
The Maormer Admiral took a long gaze at the Imperial ships before grimacing. “One cruiser.” was all he said. Within a quarter of an hour the ship was reassigned with one of the spare diplomats they’d brought along for the journey to Morrowind. It banked to port away from the fleet, firing white smoke from its canons and raising a flag of parlay to the Imperials. The main fleet slowed to three quarters, watching its approach and for the response from the Empire’s ships.
The Captain turned his head to the yell of one of the men, and followed the direction he was pointing. He moved to the side of the ship and stared off at the alien vessel… It was coloured light blue, with white ripples flowing through it and sails that looked like wings shooting out from the deck. It was sailing toward them, and he glanced up to check it’s flag, but it was as alien, if not more, than the crafts design it’s self. He turned his head slightly to his first officer, and shared a whispered exchange
“Who in oblivion is that… Not pirates, surely?” He asked, and the first officer shook his head
“I doubt it, sir. Never seen a vessel like that… Maybe it’s something from the Elves?”
“Neither have I, and I’ve never seen an Elven flag that looks like that … It doesn’t appear to be hostile…” The Captain frowned, watching as it flew the flag of parlay “It wishes to talk…” He turned his head away before yelling down to the deck “Slow the ship, signal the other vessels! Keep ready, it could be a pirate trap!” He turned his head back to the First Officer “Be sure the men are ready, at the first sign of trouble, I want that vessel destroyed immediately, is that clear?”
“Aye, sir…” The Captain turned his head back out to the ship, and as he did he felt the boat lurch under him as it slowed and turned towards the newcomer.
“Which language do the men speak again?” Thought the diplomat. “Right, yes the easiest one.” He fidgeted with the silver robe he was wearing, picking at the red trimming and accents. His fingers involuntarily took on a reddish hue, and the diplomat took a couple breaths to calm himself. He conjured up a slight haze over the water to better propel his voice through, making sure not to make it too visible. He started yelling towards the ship which signalled him back.
“Hail, sons of Atmora! Your province is Cyrodiil, correct? We are Maormer, the ones you call Tropical Elves, from Pyandonea. Would you receive us for news and possibly other arrangements?”
The Captain next to him was trying to keep his composure. He disliked the diplomat speaking in a language he didn’t know. ”Damn political caste. Always using words when cannons speak far louder.”[/] he thought. His crew seemed annoyed so he sternly gazed them down. They wouldn’t make him look bad in front of the diplomat, and certainly not any race of [i]man if he could help it.
The Diplomat listened eagerly for a reply.
The Imperial Captain exchanged an odd glance with his first officer, who shrugged and whispered sharply
“Weren’t they the ones who tried to attack back in the days of the Septims? Trust them if you will, sir, but be careful…” The First Officer whispered, and the Imperial Captain nodded then cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out across the waters, praying that they could actually here him
“Hail, Maormer, our provinces are many but we represent the Empire of Tamriel, ruling from the Province of Cyrodiil, that is correct! We would receive you, Tropical Elves!” He yelled back to them, then turned to the First Officer, whispering back to him “Send the rest of the fleet on, those supplies are supposed to arrive by tommorow morning.”
“But Sir, if we lose the numbers…”
“I’m well aware of the consequences, but I think we could take on a single ship…” The two were interrupted quickly by the ships mage, who shook his head as he came up behind them
“It took the Altmer and Imperial navies to see them off, I would not dismiss them so lightly, Captain. Keep the ships with us, I think the Emperor shall understand your delay” The Captain sighed and nodded quickly. So be it, the equipment would be delayed then. If the war effort failed due to this, he knew it would be his head that would suffer for it. He turned his head out to the sea again, watching the Maormer ship intently
The Maormer Captain eyeing all fifteen Imperial ships in front of him. He smiled knowing that the Imperials were afraid.
“Is the Imperial navy still so bad that you need fifteen ships to meet one?” a crewmember called out in Pyandonean. The Captain slugged him hard, cursing his ancestors and sending him below deck.
“Captain, restrain your crew.” The Diplomat hissed. He addressed the Imperials in their language. “We seek news of Tamriel. What is the status of the Empire and its allies: are its borders still containing the entire continent?”
The Captain hesitated for a moment, before speaking again “If by the Empire being across the entire continent you would mean High Rock, Cyrodiil and Elsweyr” He said, somewhat bitterly “Then yes. Otherwise, I’m afraid not… but we’re on the way back up, don’t think otherwise, we’re not weak, and we’re certainly not dead yet.” The First mate nodded beside him, but didn’t offer anything other than that, while the ships mage just kept a watchful eye on the Maormer. The Crew members seemed to be either shocked, confused or intrigued by the presence of the new comer… or a mixture of all three.
“On your way back up, you say? How interesting. HUM truly does guide your people. This is rather forward of me, considering your crew’s reaction to us,” he shot glances at the Maormer Captain whom shot fiery looks at his own crew, “But would it be possible for our ship to accompany you back to the Empire? We would offer protection from unaligned ships such as pirates and raiders, of course during the journey… where is it you are headed?” The Diplomat raised his brow realising he was speaking slightly more than he should.
The Imperial Captain paused, glancing to the first officer. The two then glanced back to the mage, and the Imperial Captain turned back to the Maormer “We’re heading for the Xylo River in Elsweyr, to deliver supplies to some of our allies, there was some unrest in the South that needs to be eliminated, we believe it is probably nearing the end of it’s days now.” The Captain said, raising his hand to his chin thoughtfully. They were only one ship, if they were hostile then it would be suicidal of them to try anything in the midst of 15 imperial naval ships, and they didn’t seem to be intent on destroying them… yet. “You’re welcome to accompany us if you please, but we’re send supplies, not exactly going anywhere all that interesting, unless you count maybe Torval.”
The Elven Diplomat widened his smile at the mention of Torval. ”Ah, yes, Torval. The city where the cats are in chaos. We’ll help you raid it if that is your intention. How many slaves will you be taking?” The Diplomat thought for a moment and decided to change the subject. “If you take slaves, I mean. We haven’t any need for them. How long will your supply mission last before we can make for the nearest Imperial port?”
The Imperial Captain frowned as he mentioned slaves “Slavery is outlawed within the Empire, Maormer…” He said, then his frown faded ever so slightly when the diplomat changed the subject “I should think it would take less than a day to reach the River Xylo from here, so probably a day at most. If we’re lucky, allied forces may have already pushed further in, maybe to lands nearer to the City of Torval, and we won’t need to go far up the river to deliver the supplies. After that we can make for the nearest port in Cyrodiil, I believe, unless one of the Southern ports is taken… though I doubt we would want to land with a diplomat in somewhere which was just seized, considering the troubles”
“Ah, forgive me. It has been a very long time and my people aren’t aware of everything that happens in Tamriel. We will accompany you for this journey. Lead on.” The Sea Elf said. The Captain of the ship listened to the diplomat’s explanation and held a sour expression on his face. The next couple of days with the humans. He did not look forward to it.
The Imperial Captain nodded and turned his head to the deck, calling out “Signal the others! We hold course on to Elsweyr!” He called out, before turning and marching off the deck, followed swiftly by the mage while the First Officer took over the deck. The ships jerked again, turning as sharply as one could manage with the cumbersome ships once more as the small fleet set off towards Elsweyr
Two and a half Days Later
The fifteen plus one ships had headed towards the Xylo River, but when they saw that Torval was flying the flag of the Empire they had tentatively altered their course. As it turned out, Northern Forces under the Command of Ta’fel had seized the city some three days earlier than planned, and so they unloaded the siege equipment and supplies they had been sent to deploy into Torval instead of up the Xylo River. The unloading had taken longer than expected, but finally they had set off again and the ships had sailed back around Elsweyr, their size seemingly intimidating any would be pirates.
The ships had came to dock at the Imperial Port of Leyawiin, and the strange Maormer ship earned many looks of fascination and concern from the locals citizens. It was one of the most outlandish things the people of Leyawiin had ever seen… and considering they were from the cosmopolitan Imperial Province, that was not an easy title to claim.
The Elves were unfamiliar with such…. a bland looking city. Their acclimation to highly decorated religious designs and slithering architecture made them frown at the mostly square, unadorned buildings. It was the chapel which caught their eyes as the best looking structure in Leyawiin. The wingsails of the elven ship folded as its crew took up oars to dock. It was an awkward fit, but they managed it. Disembarked, the diplomat looked to the Imperial Captain who ushered him into Castle Leyawiin. There, they met the Count of Leyawiin whom the Maormer spoke to of the provinces in Tamriel, their allegiances, statuses, a brief overview of history since the All Flag Navy knocked Pyandonea off the world stage, and traded one fine green and yellow silk robe emblazoned with a seahorse and chitin jewelry for a collection of Tamrielic history books. Afterwards the elves and merchants of Leyawiin traded small goods before the buglike boat departed a few days later, sailing out as suddenly and mysteriously as they had sailed in.
They caught up with the return group to Pyandonea.
26th Mid Year, 4E 205.
Stros M'kai Stken's Weakness
Smoke and debris filled the bay of Stros M’Kai, and the sun sank low on the horizon once again. The Aldmeris had received fair wounds to it’s hull during the fighting, but it was far from sunk. The Lord Admiral wasn’t positive they could take the Yokudan at first, even with superior ships and a surprise blitz, the Yokudan had more ships and sailors than Orthos had thought. Yet they had won, and the battle was theirs.
Turning from the the bow of the ship, he saw the surviving sailors aboard his ship give a great cry into the sky at the sight of the surviving Yokudan ships fleeing the battle. They had been broken here, and if they could be broken here, they could be broken again. Many of the surviving Altmer seemed to weep with toys of relief at their survival, yet the moans of pain from the wounded still carried heavily on the wind.
The Maormer had aided the Royal Fleet greatly in what Orthos felt to be the first of many battles, and though he distrusted the Sea Elves, he knew he must confront them. While the majority of his surviving ships formed a blockade around the isle, The Aldmeris set a course straight for the largest of the Maormer Battlegroup.
Orthos was a Altmer and care greatly for his appearance, especially that of a first impression. He disliked that he did not look the proper role of a high ranking Altmer. Yet at the same time, he was covered in blood and sea water, and that feeling was the closest to home he had ever known.
The Captain of The Hydra had taken an incredible gamble disobeying orders to return after Woodhearth. Only after his ships had aided in the battle did he think of what could have happened had the Altmer simply been going to a port they owned. As he was now, however, the Captain felt exhilaration at the prospect of being the Maormer to negotiate peace between the Altmer and his people. The shrill hiss of trumpets broke his thought with reality. They’d lost seven ships and eight more needed repair. The Hydra was almost entirely unscathed. Being the command ship ensured a certain amount of safety and the Yokudan ships has an unimpressive kill range. Further still, he discerned from the signals that he needed to head home very soon or lose his men to starvation.
His ambition stayed, however, and he gave out orders to parlay with the Altmer command ship. White smoke, traditionally used by navies the continent over to signal intention of talks, plumed up from his boat. He licked his lips waiting for the return signal.
The Aldmeris still cut through the waves like a sharp knife, even damaged as it was. Orthos looked to his first mate and nodded silently, after witnessing the white smoke rise from their flag ship. The Lord Admiral prepared several of his better sailors and fighters and formed a boarding party consisting of six Altmer, including Orthos. Ever attempting to make themselves look better, the first mate gave the order to begin cleaning and scrubbing the ship.
As the Altmer ship approached, it appeared a hive of activity with cleaning, sailing, and orders being shouted out. Yet as their ship drew near, the Altmer would drop anchor and prepare to meet with these Maormer.
“Hail, Altmer!” Came the shout from the ambitious Captain. “What good fortune to meet you under the flag of peace. I invite you to come aboard, or we shall come aboard your vessel if you wish.” His words were friendly, certainly. The Captain was somewhat of a progressive and even he longed for the chance to sink every Altmer boat and retake Summerset. Still, this would get him Admiralty for sure.
Orthos made a signal to his landing party, and they grabbed a large gangplank, big enough for three to walk across abreast at once. It took precious little time for the Altmers to board, and Orthos smiled fakely as he got his first good look at these Maormer. Their ships were horrifying and lethal, and these Sea Elves looked the same. They lacked the golden hue of the High Elves, and their skin color reminded him of a bloated corpse. He suddenly realized why the Altmer had fought so hard to keep the Maormer off their shores.
With a slight shiver running up his spine, Orthos nodded to this Captain.
“It is indeed invaluable to find other maritime elves who share our hatred for the Yokudan. Your people have been lost to the mists for a very long time, and not all among the Altmer were even sure your race still lived. Yet here you are. Tell me, Captain, what business does the Maormer have with the Yokudan?”
“Simple vengeance,” the Maormer said noting the High Elf’s coolness, “The Yokudans were owed it ages ago.” He countered the question, hoping to be able to move things past the hostilities of the past and onto those of the future, where opportunity lie. “And what is your business with them?” He settled the empty white Maormer eyes on the Altmer. It always was fun to see them squirm under that gaze they found “unnatural.”
Orthos honestly wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The Maormer were far too ignorant of everything to possibly understand the political landscape of Tamriel at the moment, nor would this Captain understand the fact that Orthos had to make a decision without his superior there, and must live with the consequences of his choice. He sighed, and his eyes looked up into the cool blue skye, with tufts of white puffy clouds strolling by...
Looking into the Maormer deadened eyes seriously, the Lord Admiral spoke;
“The Bosmer, our cousin race has occupied Valenwood for a very long time, and were once allies of the Dominion and the Altmer. Recently, they have betrayed us and spies reported to the Dominion that they were willing to give their coast to the Yokudan in return for safety and amnesty for their ‘crimes’.” It was obvious what Orthos thought of the supposed crimes of the Dominion, but he continued on regardless.
“My Grace, The High King Aelid of the Summerset Isles was in a Summit very far away, and I was under the suspicion the Yokudan wanted to use the Valenwood coast as a staging ground for invading my home. I decided to strike first, and take my own staging ground for invading THEIR home, and seeing how they like it…” Orthos finished his explanation and looked over his shoulder to the scorched and war-torn island. He knew that taking the sea was only the beginning.
The pale elf lit up at the mention of taking someone’s home from them. “Stken’s Weakness is clear enough” he said, following the gaze of Orthos. “It’s good your race hasn’t given into such things.” The Captain relished at the news of a Yokudan/Altmer war. He could easily convince the Yokudans…. oh. Right. “Your forced took considerable losses.” He said, hoping to poke the Altmer just a bit. “King Orgnum sent word to Alinor, did you hear?”
Orthos actually smiled a cruel smile at the Maormer when he spoke of the Altmer losses, and replied with a sharp tongue;
“Aye, we did lose more ships, and more sailors. But we also won the battle. We killed perhaps as many as three times as many Yokudan as you, Maormer. While your aid was invaluable, if you wish to impress me with your navy, you’ll have to do better than a token force aiding my Royal Fleet during its operations.” He nearly chuckled at the imputence of the white fleshed mutant, and when asking about Orgnum’s word, he actually considered lying.
The Maormer were ugly and beastly, this was true. But they also had an animal’s cunning and an serpent's stealth. They were deformed and lethal to the Lord Admiral, but he would not lie to this Captain. He was Altmer, and he was proud. He was the true descendant of the Aldmer, out of the two. It was obvious to all.
“I did, and I had it sent to my High King, as the return of a peoples such as yours is not to be taken lightly… My King should actually be returning to the Summer Isles today, I believe. I’m sure he would meet with Orgnum soon to find out what your people want of mine..”
At the Altmer’s insult the Captain had a quick thought. “Ah, yes, you’re probably right. Such an impressive fleet wouldn’t desire any unworthy help we could give.” He turned to his first mate “Come, let us take our token force to other waters. The noble Altmer will surely invade and conquer Hammerfell tomorrow. We shall go be taken lightly with the other races on this continent.” He turned back to Orthos, evidently awaiting a signal from which he would depart or resume speaking with the Admiral.
Orthos gritted his teeth in annoyance with the insolence of the creature, it had aided in his battle, and he honestly wasn’t sure the outcome without their arrival. The Altmer probably would have won still, but how much worse the losses..? This beast of a thing had saved High Elf lives this day, and Orthos must acknowledge that. Yet he would not be kept under the yoke of any, especially a Maormer.
“Not tomorrow. Perhaps by the end of the week though.” Orthos cutting smile appeared again, that smile that seemed to brim with malice and viciousness. He turned back to his boarding party and they looked at him expectantly. He motioned for them to begin retreating back to their flagship, yet as they moved he turned back to his Captain. Orthos decided to be honest.
“I don’t like you, creature. You smell of fish and sea salt, yet in a dying way. Your people and mine have never been brothers, and I doubt we ever will. But I would thank you for your aid this day, honestly. I dislike you, but I do appreciate your contribution to the Dominion, and for the saving of Altmer lives.” With that, he turned and crossed the gangplank, moving briskly yet with the all the natural grace of his people.
Their relationship with the Maormer would be a strange one indeed.
The Captain bowed slightly to Orthos. “Your honesty surfaces. So does mine. My crew desires to sink your vessels in their hearts, to take your shores with blood. Our passions are deep, and our conviction strong. However, you have heard the words of King Orgnum and so have we. Your ships and lives are not any debt we wish to hold. And now, Admiral, you must invite us to your ship to speak. We have something to offer.”
The Lord Admiral raised a eyebrow expectantly, and motioned for the Maormer to follow. He crossed the gangplank, and immediately felt relief upon being back on Altmer wood. The sailors had cleaned the ship the best they could, and the fires had been put out. Presentation was everything to the High Elves. Orthos was appreciative of the Captain’s honesty as well, as he had learned after many years at sea that it isn’t the man who tells you he hates you that you need to worry about. It’s the ones who don’t.
He would lead them to the Captain’s Quarters, and inside it looked like beautiful chaos. Many silks and bright warm colors were in the cabin, yet the battle had sent his large desk onto it’s side, and the window had been shot out by a spell. Orthos ordered the desk flipped onto it’s correct side, and everyone picked up what wooden chairs survived the carnage. Sitting around the desk, Orthos nodded.
“And what does the Maormer have for us, eh..? It doesn’t seem likely you would come to my people with gifts. Though it also doesn’t seem likely that you would come to my peoples aid in a battle. Suppose anything is possible these days.” He said with a slight smile, this one smaller and more hidden, but genuine and filled with warmth.
The Captain and the men he’d brought sniffed the air. Thy wondered at how a ship of the sea could be so dry in smell and decor. Their feet retched at the feeling of a wooden ship, and the primitive construction of the boats assaulted their eyes. The Altmer still used fixed sails! Nowhere were symbols of sophisticated civilisation until they entered the Admiral’s quarters. Even then they found evidence of eight, at best, Altmer gods. “So the Altmer still forgot who it is they are and forsake everything about where they claim to be from.” Thought the Captain.
“We offer you peaceful waters, of course. An existence without fear of your shores being taken, or our ships on yours. Anything more I cannot promise. King Orgnum, the god Satakal,” he said slightly emphasising the word ‘god’, “Is the only one who can speak of more. Of course, we did help with the battle. In return we should expect fair use of the island. Stken’s Weakness is an
excellent place for a forward naval base.”
Orthos could more sense than have any true knowledge of the Captain’s crawling eyes, judging their Flag ship. It annoyed the Altmer that such a creature would dare judge their superior craftsmanship, and the Altmer assumed the voice that all of his kind could. The voice of hostile politeness, the warmth of your mother with the words of a mugger.
“I’m terribly sorry about the state of the ship, I’m sure you’ll forgive me. As you know, we were busy actually fighting the battle.” The inclusion of the word ‘actually’ was minor, but he knew the Maormer too clever to miss that little jab.
“As far as peaceful waters go, we would accept this. The Dominion currently has no true quarrel with the Sea Elves, and though we already live in a existance with fear of our shores being taken, it is pleasant to know you will not try such a foolish thing again.”
When the Lord Admiral heard the slight emphasis on their King as a God, Orthos’ first reaction was to call him a heretic and blasphemer, such as all High Elves were taught. The Thalmor had drilled it into their heads. Yet the Altmer decided to let the comment go, as he was here to rule the seas, not argue over Gods.
“You have aided us in this Victory, and it is only fair that you chair in the Spoils of War. Though I must ask for a greater contribution I am afraid. We must make sure that nobody slips in or out of that island until we are prepared. The majority of the ships in my fleet are now forming this blockade. We would appreciate assistance in the form of having your ships aid in the blockade, sailing south and alerting Alinor as to what has happened, or even sending land troops for the siege of the fortress itself. Yes, there is room on this isle for the two of us. Though we must ask you pull your weight.” The last sentence was a challenge, and Orthos had meant it thus. The ships the Maormer had sent had been effective, but he was eager for them to prove their strength, as the Royal Fleet had just done before them.
“Of course, of course, as long as your ships held an equal presence to mine in power. Say… sixty ships. Additionally, we are only a lightly armed and supplied force so we will require basic supplies in order to stay in these waters for much longer. Else, we must depart.”
“Departing would mean losing this naval base for you as well. I will load your ships up with whatever supplies we have, we should have a fair amount, as we have been at sea for only a couple days. I will leave sixty ships with you, and take the remaining ten back to Alinor to see if I can raise more ships and a Invasion party. What say you to this?”
“You could merely leave the Yokudans to starve without supply from the mainland. It is a fate they deserve and will take but a week. To all other terms, I agree. I will send one ship back to our Admiral as news. The two most powerful navies in Tamriel not destroying each other. I bet the men will quiver at night.” The Maormer smiled like someone who had tasted a delicious fish.
Actions
Meet with Cyrodiil. Learn current history and have knowledge of Tamriel.
Meet with Altmer. Ceasefire agreement underway! Resupply of Maormer fleet, co-blockade of island. Message to Uldindol sent!
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