[Gen Daley]

CS:

Spoiler

Name: Vaultren.



Race: Imperial

Gender: Male

Age: Undetermined. Appears in his early twenties.

Sign: The Warrior

Home Country: Cyrodiil

Faction and Rank: Empire-Tribune.

Class: Nobleman.

Skills: Athletics, One Handed weapons, Light Armor, Sneak, Hand to Hand, Destruction.

Appearance: Once a man with a tousled, wavy black hair, Vaultren had a prince-like appearance about him. Though over the passing years, he had cut his hair short to where it was cropped as most Imperial males in his line of work. Though his muscular face distinguished him from the others, as his white unblemished skin which had little pigmentation. He also grew a bit more strong with a sturdier built. He bears a strong jaw, and is often seen without a smile or any positive expressions. His eyes bore dark circles beneath, convincing most people of his lack of sleep.
.

Hair: Black. Cropped.


Build: Average. He is a tad bit muscular, but not too much for a soldier. He stood six feet and was 178 pounds. He has no scars nor any distinguishing birth marks, even if he fought in many battles. Being a graduate from Synod, he knew how to use his powers to heal himself.

Personality: Vaultren was a mature and self-confident man who staunchly supported the Empire, though not it’s ways. As he grew up he was taught to face his problems head on and to face them without hesitation or reservation. This mindset led him into learning new things that would shape him into what he is in the present day. A man of utopian ideals. Years ago some would call him a seductive womanizer and a generally somewhat social man. While he retains such social skills, he is diagnosed by lifestyle to live with borderline personality disorder.

As he matured in title, his mindset did not change but simply manifested into his acts. As Praetor, Vaultren was uncertain of his duties, but was confident in his own abilities following his conquests in the battle field. He had trouble in tolerating failure, and was had a tenuous relationship with those beneath him in rank who did not prove their worth, so much as choking a noble who was later proved and convicted as a thief and another whom attacked. This led the mundane soldiers despise Vaultren for his “arcane antics” and sense of superiority. Despite his shaky relationship with diplomats and other soldiers in the Empire, Vaultren got along with his own branch of legion personnel, admiring them for their lack of cowardice and sheer mercilessness when it came to destroying an enemy under his command.

His reputation for a genteel yet cruel man increased twice fold. He became a staunch supporter of Man’s place in the world, even if he believed himself above them. While he remained a dilettante of foreign arts antiques, he secretly hated most of he perceived as the “corrupt” Mer in the High Council. He separated society into dual, distinguished categories; threats and assets. The first standing for governmental powers and individuals that would hinder any of his hopes of personal advancement and otherwise would have to be eliminated and destroyed. The latter being for individuals who could aid, or simply be persuaded. By the time of the tension with the Thalmor, Vaultren knew that the only response for the horrors and the injustices of the world was hate and anger. While often appearing as a civilized and genteel young man, Vaultren had no issues with torture or being held responsible for the deaths of various enemies, nor being leader of the clandestine atrocities behind the scenes of the Empire such as torture and executions.


Weapons: A fine sabre made of silver bearing Daedric filigree in the handle. He also has an ancient blade’s weapon, a katana. Though he does not use it as much as he did in his earlier years.

Clothing: He wears a nobleman’s clothing when he is off-duty, the hallmark of a true aristocrat. A black and burgundy outfit with gold-trimmed shoes, and even up to date. Most of them comes in shades of black, red and grey. He wears a crimson amulet around his neck and a few ruby rings which bedecks his fingers. He also owns a single black hooded robe. When on duty, Vaultren wears his standard Imperial outfit and also the Penitus Oculatus armor.

Magic: Racial powers and destruction spells. Mainly the use of fire such as fireballs and flame attacks.

History: Born in Cyrodiil, Vaultren was heir to numerous amounts of wealth and title of nobleman. His parents were strict, but proud of his intelligence and ambition, so much that they surrendered him to procure an education in the various branches of academics and universities in the Empire.

Being the most efficient learner, Vaultren graduated over brief years, having studied diplomacy and the art of combat. Of course, this did not include his skill in destruction magic. Due to his passion for war and battle and diplomacy, as well as a sense of intelligence, Vaultren rose in ranks faster than most of those around him, which coincidently had died in mysterious ways. Given the title of Praefect, he took command of a elite sect in the Imperial Legion he dubbed “The Thirteenth”. The Thirteenth was often deployed in locations where its ferocious fighting skills utilized to create a political statement. Most of its tasks were clandestine, so as to conceal what it was accomplishing from the Imperial Senate. Yet the High Council had trusted Vaultren over this time, enough to allow him to pursue his own goals.

Following that event, he became tribune not only when he fought valiantly near the edges of Cyrodiil against a rebellious coup that threatened to overrun the countryside, putting to death over forty men and women, but also warning the Emperor of various possibilities regarding the survival of the Empire in the upcoming days. As his advice proved to be valuable, he was granted title in his political station in the Imperial City palace.

The Emperor’s trusted advisers grew wary of Vaultren in what they seemed to call an “unhealthy obsession with the Thalmor.” Some believed he was in league with them when he began to publicly state his disillusionment from the Empire’s policies and ways, and even claiming the Thalmor had a certain efficiency when it came to getting things gone that the Empire lacked. This had placed him in the dossier of the Dominion itself, who believed Vaultren could have been an asset to their cause.

The Thalmor’s beliefs were short-lived as the Emperor and the High Council’s trust increased when Vaultren sniffed out a group of High Elf traitors and had them impaled on stakes deep in the prison dungeons where they remained alive for a period of three days. He even made a speech as to declare the Thalmor menace had to be “bled dry” for their “arrogance and misguided sense of superiority”.

Vaultren was later recruited into the Penitus Oculatus as well, and is planning on making a name for himself within that branch of the Empire’s military. He stands as a man of principle and reputation among the Empire, with a dark drive that would surely rival even the most insidious men and women of the Thalmor.


Motivation for Joining: An unnatural hatred for the Thalmor and it’s representatives. Also due to his support for the Imperial bureaucracy in the Third and Fourth Era which he does not wish to see collapse just yet. Believes the Thalmor are not worthy of the power-base they claim to hold, and so seeks out to destroy them with even more heinous acts and atrocities.

Vaultren. Guard Barracks, Imperial City.
Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174

Marching throughout the city was a squad of elite Imperial soldiers, the red and black markings on their armor identifying them as The Thirteenth Legionnaire officers led by their commander. A taller figure led them, outfitted in the armor of a tribune. His face was young, but otherwise locked in a dark frown which was measured to great lengths under his furrowed brows. If looks could kill, he most certainly would of committed genocide. Dark, grim eyes stared straight forth as the gates opened, allowing the group of soldiers a proper exit outside of the current district.

Every step was a confident one, every breath was a shallow one as every stare was unforgiving. The Thalmor, already rumored to have set foot near the city, he thought. The Emperor was far too gracious to even be merciful to Thalmor agents. It vexed Vaultren beyond imagining. When will the Empire’s leaders learn that a new tactic had to be done to destroy the Thalmor?

As the sun shined upon his body and armor, the Imperial tribune stared out into the barracks which he saw group of the recent arrival of escaped prisoners. He was partially glad word reached his ears from the mouths of his subjects, though he loathed he wasn’t the first to greet them.

One of Lucius’ men approached Vaultren, bowing his head in respect. “My lord, we have already agreed to take them into a more hospitable location. They claim the Thalmor are preparing for an attack.”

Vaultren nodded. "I already am aware of that. And I haven't traversed halfway across the city ask them about the escape.“ He composed himself erect with a haughty attitude. “I’ve come because I was told a Altmer is with them.”

As the Imperial brushed by the others, Vaultren entered the barracks using the backdoor. He raised a hand to command his men to remain outside as he entered silently. He removed his helmet, setting it slightly on a decorative desk on the side. He heard voiced coming from one of the rooms, specifically from an Orc. He turned to the corner, standing in a shadowed area.

He saw the other escaped captives, each and every one with a different set of armor and clothing. An Orc toying with what appeared to be a Sigil Stone from time’s long past and a High Elf. But what had gripped his interest was the fact that the only High Elf in the group lacked armor, or any proper clothing as everyone else had. This, by all means, told him he was either a beggar or a prisoner himself.

And as if his latter guess was fated to be fact, the sentence emerging from the Orc’s lips confirmed his suspicion. "What made you join the Thalmor? Every man and mer in this realm was born pure, what is your story?"

A wicked smile drew upon Vaultren’s lips. He held himself in a civilized manner, holding his arms behind his back as he continued to listen. He was sure there was suspicious, as there was a momentary pause, but no one had seen him yet. Most would claim him to be a stalker unseen, with eyes keen. Even so, espionage wasn’t his forte.

The Orc himself might have been a savage beast were it not for his proper speech and manner of walking. Everything else about him was primal and uncivilized. The Altmer was as any other of his race, tall, golden and arrogantly proud. Though he did lack the confidence of any other High Elf, which only served to reinforce the fact that he indeed was a prisoner.

Torture. Sounds much appropriate for one who holds himself above Men. A position far removed for any of the Elven race, or Beast race for that matter. If he does not comply, he will be tortured and executed for his crimes against the Empire. Yet Vaultren knew mindless slaughter without reason is the works of a fool. If he could get useful information from a cooperative, he could avoid hours of torturing a man.

"I'm not a Thalmor. I was just a Dominion soldier. The same goes for most of the Dominion army. Only a few of them, like our leaders and some of the mages, are actually part of the Thalmor." the Mer said.

Pathetic justifications. Thalmor or not, he must have been allied with them to be in the predicament he was currently in, Vaultren thought. And a friend of the Thalmor, is an enemy to the Empire.

"As for joining the Dominion army, the Thalmor didn't give me much of a choice. One of them told me that he doubted my loyalty to the Thalmor and the only way to change his mind was to join the Dominion army.”

Did it matter if he joined unwillingly? No, it does not matter. Whether he wanted to or not, the man still was in league with them and surely committed a number of atrocities for them if he remains alive and not six feet under or confined in a Thalmor prison.

“Maybe he was making it up to get me into the army. But what choice did I have? You know how they treat their prisoners. Imagine how they treat those they think are traitors."

Precisely. The fear of his superiors outweighed the fear of anything else, it would seem. He could be a manipulative liar, using false worries to gain the affection and trust of his motley captors. Or he could have been telling the truth. Vaultren couldn’t of cared any less. As far as he was concerned, the High Elves proved themselves to be untrustworthy and dangerous.

He paused for a second before speaking up once more. "But what am I supposed to do? You fellows won't let me out of your sight."

Vaultren saw it necessary to reveal himself. He stepped out into the clearing, emerging from the shadowed area into the light of the sleeping chambers of the barracks.

“Imagine how the Imperials treats a captured Thalmor agent when they discover his soldiers are planning to attack the heart of the Empire.” Vaultren said as he entered the room, arms behind his back as he greeted both men with an expression of distaste.

“By rights you should be incarcerated and interrogated. And executed.” the Imperial said casually as he stepped closer, finally coming to an abrupt stop. “Yet the Emperor fails to foresee the threat you and your people can present. And he is far more forgiving than I am.”

He cleared his throat. Eyes upon the High Elf. “There is a strong animosity between my people and yours. Yet diplomacy can bear positive fruits in such times and I feel that a peaceful interrogation can be ensured. We can discuss it here in the barracks in a more appropriate room…or we can take you the prisons.”

He stared longer. “It would be wise to not choose the latter. I would suggest being cooperative. Remember, you are under my power now.”

[Alex Vincent]

Legion Barracks

Errialor

Not a moment after he finished speaking, a Legion officer entered the room.

“Imagine how the Imperials treats a captured Thalmor agent when they discover his soldiers are planning to attack the heart of the Empire.”

So, somebody was listening in on me. The officer continued.

“By rights you should be incarcerated and interrogated. And executed. Yet the Emperor fails to foresee the threat you and your people can present. And he is far more forgiving than I am.”

Eager to torture and kill, and distrusting of someone because of their race. If he was born an Altmer in Alinor, he'd make an excellent Thalmor.

“There is a strong animosity between my people and yours. Yet diplomacy can bear positive fruits in such times and I feel that a peaceful interrogation can be ensured. We can discuss it here in the barracks in a more appropriate room…or we can take you the prisons.”

This is unfortunate. I doubt the Bosmer will particularly care, and the Orc is probably pleased to see this. It seems he had little choice.

As he pondered the choices, he felt something else. Faced with danger, separated from the Thalmor and Dominion army, his armor and weapons taken from him, he could feel himself turning to his old instincts, not those of a subservient soldier, but those of a hunter.

He may be acting like a cornered animal, seeking to strike at its predator with one last defiant blow. He may be just want to torture me because it's the closest he will get to being able to punish the Thalmor. Errialor would have to act very carefully. He had a plan to escape, but such would only serve to convince him and everyone else that he was a Thalmor agent. And there was the matter of what do do after he was to escape. But for the time being, it'd be best to not give them more of a reason to kill or torture him.

"Very well, I'll go with you," the Altmer replied as he approached the officer. He didn't trust this man, but he was willing to give him the benefit of a doubt.

[Robert Jr]

Vaultren. Guard Barracks, Imperial City.
Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174


It would seem, to Vaultren's surprise, that the Altmer chose to comply peacefully. To his chagrin, he would abide by the principles of Imperial law. To strike against the Altmer would be a betrayal of everything he was taught. And it would surely yield no valuable outcome save for mere base pleasure. Which was an anametha to Vaultren.

"Very well, I'll go with you," the Altmer sid to him, walking closer. He felt the Dominion soldier did not trust him. Good, he shouldn't. All that mattered was a fruitful outcome from a worthwhile interrogation. Having a dislike for the Thalmor, Vaultren was going to admit he did bear similarities to them. And more specifically, this Dominion soldier. He did not trust him either. And likewise, would show it with a simple gesture.

He shot a glance at the Orc while taking a pair of wrist irons from the back of his belt. He threw the the irons at the Orc, hoping he would be quick to catch it.While he wouldn't go as low as to arrest the man himself, he wanted to be sure there was little chance of escape.

"You need not worry, but safety precautions must be met. Orc, if you will, bind his hands together." Vaultren pointed a commanding finger toward the Altmer's hands. "The quicker you comply, the more efficiently we can get this over with."

He paced around the short distance of the room. The Orc would surely do as he was told, considering mere seconds ago he was chastizing the Thalmor agent, or whatever in Oblivion the Altmer called himself. Vaultren sighed. All that Mer must do now, is submit. The quicker he does, the faster I can get this out of my way.

As the candles flickered nearby, his black cropped hair seemed to give off a shine. He impatiently waited with his hands held behind his back. Even with the youthful aior about him, he had to do his best to try and assume the air of superiority and authority even among the old. No doubt they perhaps looked upon him as a young man rather than a serious threat.

[Emilie Joseph]

Ermac, 11th of Second Seed -Imperial City Barracks

Just as the Altmer finished his response, a man in iron clad Imperial Armor strolled in, arms authoritatively clasped behind his back.

"Imagine how the Imperials treat a captured Thalmor agent when they discover his soldiers are planning to attack the heart of the Empire."

The man had an aura to his, and a lofty way of speaking that was painfully apparent in young pretentious Imperials like him, especially those who serve proudly as a soldier of Cyrodiil. You give these young men the slightest hint of power and they get high from it. Next thing you know they're all running around thinking they're the best thing since curved swords.

"By rights you should be incarcerated and interrogated . . . and executed," he continued. "Yet the Emperor fails to foresee the threat you and your people can present. And he is far more forgiving than I am."

The Orsimer smirked to himself. It was entertaining to watch the interactions of a power-hungry "vindictive diplomat" and a six-plus foot ref that works for people who practice the same such characteristics.

The officer continued on, offering a chance to talk out the motives of the elf, as well as possible ensuing threats from the Thalmor, threatening incarceration if he refused to oblige.

Ermac shifted in his bed. This man was inserting himself a little too much for someone whom isn't in complete charge. The high elf belonged to Faendal and the rest of the group. Ermac for the time being remained quiet. He wanted to hear the elf's answer.

"Very well, I'll go with you."

With that the Imperial reached into his belt and withdrew iron cuffs and threw it at Ermac, asking that he detain the Aldmeri hostage. Reluctantly, Ermac rose to do so. As to him he said.

"I don't fully agree with this plan of action. He is, after all, our property." He clasped the iron bands together. "But we'll see. Where will you be?"

[Kelly John]

Tyranus Florentius
Merchant's Inn

Ty listened as Kai made the order, already anticipating his response. No real fighter would want some green horn like him at their side, unless they had a death wish anyway. "I've never fought in the arena myself, although I do something similar, but I imagine it won't be easy. If what you say about not having much combat experience is true, then I'd probably advise you stay well away. Normally I like violence, but in this case I don't want to see someone needlessly killed. And don't think I'd help you out either, the last thing I want whilst beating the crap out of someone is to have to stop and help you out, it spoils the fun." Kai said matter-of-factly.

The Colovian nodded, having not expected anything more. He was a kid. Sure he could shoot a bow well, and he could use a sword and shield, but he simply wasn't experienced enough to fight in the arena with trained fighters. Plus, what would be the point in that? Fighting needlessly only to stain the sand red? At least in his current line of motivation he was attempting to save his people, and that was a noble cause to die for. At least his family and friends would hear of him dying heroically defending them rather than foolishly for glory. Ty gave another small nod, mostly to himself, recognizing his own misjudged desire to fight in the arena.

"On the other hand," Kai spoke again, raising Ty's gaze from where it had been lying before, "maybe some experience could do you some good, and there's no better way than jumping right in at the deep end. At least that way, you have to swim. Or sink. And I'm pretty sure you'd rather it not be the latter." the other Imperial smiled at the younger man.

Ty chuckled to himself, shaking his head at Kai's choice of words. Tyranus had already been thrown into the proverbial deep-end by the Thalmor, and he was sure that he hadn't seen the last of combat because of them. The young Imperial was determined to do some damage to them before they ever got close enough to his family to hurt them. Hunting had made his archery exemplary, and some training had given him more than theory for him to base his swordplay off of. He had been scared before, but now the young Florentius knew his purpose. Not fighting and dying in the arena, but defending his home.

"It probably would be foolish of me to throw my life away in the arena, there are finer things in life worthy of sacrificing one's self for," Ty said as the wench returned, leaning down to place the twin goblets of ale on the table. Ty took one glass, taking a small sip before continuing "I trust I'll be in for much more fighting experience within the coming days." He another sip, savoring the ale before he spoke again. "Whenever you're ready I would be happy to accompany you to the fight, I'll bet some coin on you and Lycus." the young Imperial said, raising his glass.

[Erich Lendermon]

The Imperial City, Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174

Faendal's composure lasted up until he saw the barrack's beds. He had walked stiff backed all the way through the city, but once the soft mattresses were in sight his iron steady composure slipped. The old soldier collapsed into the nearest bunk, pausing only long enough to lay his chipped elven sword on a table. The Imperials had left, along with several of their crew- no doubt to enjoy some of the less savory aspects of the city- leaving the Bosmer alone with a handful of his fellow escapees. And, of course, the Dominion soldier they had dragged along with them.

It was not long, however, before Faendal's few moments of peace were broken. Their Altmer prisoner and Orsimer battlemage had struck up a conversation; Faendal was too tired to even listen, catching a few words now and then, but focusing mostly on the mattress beneath him. 'Damn fools, pvssyring like schoolgirls. When will they shut up?'

“Imagine how the Imperials treats a captured Thalmor agent when they discover his soldiers are planning to attack the heart of the Empire.” A third voice entered the room. An Imperial voice. 'Gods above, what have they done?!'

Faendal bolted upright, fatigue forgotten once more, just in time to see a young, haughty Imperial stride into the room. “By rights you should be incarcerated and interrogated. And executed," the Imperial threatened, his face growing dark. “Yet the Emperor fails to foresee the threat you and your people can present. And he is far more forgiving than I am.”

The Bosmer glared at the Imperial, no doubt a ranking officer, who had somehow discovered their secret. Faendal's mind was whirring, looking for a way out. 'We can't fight them, not in their own city. But if this leaves this room we'll be done for anyway. We've escaped one set of shackles just to clasp ourselves in another!'

The Imperial continued his threats; he seemed almost to be enjoying making the worn out prisoners squirm. "We can discuss it here in the barracks in a more appropriate room…or we can take you the prisons.”

Faendal glanced towards the Altmer, who seemed already resigned to go with the Imperial. Would the man spare them if they just gave him up? 'No,' Faendal thought coldly, 'There's no explanation for bringing an enemy into their city. They'll label us as spies and string us all up. We have to do something.'

"You need not worry, but safety precautions must be met. Orc, if you will, bind his hands together." The Imperial was already ordering around Faendal's crew, throwing a pair of irons to Ermac. Perhaps if they did comply... 'No!' The Bosmer shook his head, snapping to his feet just as the orc was giving in to the Imperial's demands.

"You'll be taking him nowhere, Imperial," Faendal snapped, his thick brows drawn in anger, "This elf is under my protection, and we in turn are guarded by the order of Captain Lucius, speaking for the emperor himself. Until he deigns to see us, we are protected by your own law. And no matter how high your rank, you cannot arrest any of us without evidence of a crime. And words half heard through a doorway, even if they're heard by the emperor himself, do not give just cause."

The Bosmer strode up to Ermac and the Altmer, taking the elven prisoner by the sleeve. "He is a member of my own squad, and killed many of the Thalmor dogs on our way to the city. Now, unless you want to try and interrogate me as well, you may leave us. We've had a long night, and are due to see the emperor soon. Or would you like to go with us, and explain to him how you tried to arrest the only folk in the city who know the Thalmor's attack plans?"


OOC: Eh, crappy post, but it accomplished what it needed to. Werewolf, I apologize for the sudden interruption, but Faendal does not appreciate anyone taking his prisoners from him.

[Kim Bradley]

Vaultren. Guard Barracks, Imperial City.
Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174


Vaultren did not expect the Orsimer to comply. But yet he did, albeit reluctantly, to follow simple orders. Vaultren did not know what to think of the Orcs and their people. Animals? Barbarians? Mighty warriors who wish to fit themselves in this chaotic world? Either way, they made great warriors to be taken advantage of in the field. Though most were hot headed and impulsive, as he was in his early years. Thanks to time, he had grown past those stages of blind anger. Or so he thought. He spared a contemptous glance at the Orc as he spoke:

"I don't fully agree with this plan of action. He is, after all, our property." Vaultren heard a clasp of the iron metal. "But we'll see. Where will you be?"

Just as you once were the Thalmor's when they had you under their grasp. A twist of fate sometines confounds us all, doesn't it? I simply wish to borrow the man. Once this interview...is over, you are free to keep him." Vaultren said as the irons were clasped onto the Altmer's wrist.

He was prepared to leave, certain there would be no hinderences to his plans...until he heard a stranger's voice.

"You'll be taking him nowhere, Imperial," the an unknown voice said from behind. So the games begin, Vaultren thought.

"This elf is under my protection, and we in turn are guarded by the order of Captain Lucius, speaking for the emperor himself. Until he deigns to see us, we are protected by your own law. And no matter how high your rank, you cannot arrest any of us without evidence of a crime. And words half heard through a doorway, even if they're heard by the emperor himself, do not give just cause."

Captain Lucius? Vaultren asked himself vehemently as he turned around to see a bedraggled Bosmer. I stand above him in both wits and status. While a respectable man in his own right, he has no power against my own lest the Emperor commands it himself. As he was about to speak, the Wood Elf beat him to it.

"He is a member of my own squad, and killed many of the Thalmor dogs on our way to the city. Now, unless you want to try and interrogate me as well, you may leave us. We've had a long night, and are due to see the emperor soon. Or would you like to go with us, and explain to him how you tried to arrest the only folk in the city who know the Thalmor's attack plans?"

Lies heaped upon lies. The proof of his allegiance to the Thalmor outweights his loyalty to this motley crew of dregs. First, he seemed to be in horrible attire for a prisoner. The rest had equipment while this Altmer had none. Which led Vaultren to believe he was a prisoner to them. Secondly, the conversation that was exchanged between the Orc and the Altmer suggested he was not merely a member of their "squad". Thirdly, why would the Orc, reluctantly, although surely allow a comrade to be taken away? The Bosmer already lost before he had even begun. And if the Bosmer was intent on prolonging the lies, then Vaultren would humor him, since in the end it amounted to nothing more than petty dissapointments for him.

A scowl drew upon Vaultren's visage. Was this man trying to victimize himself now? And to bring that bumbling fool of an Emperor into this was most likely going to cause him some trouble. Vaultren approached the trio, hands still upon his back, eyes bright with a fire of hatred reflecting off of the brightness in the room.

He stood a few feet away from the Bosmer, his expression the same. "You say he took the lives of his Thalmor comrades yet your ally here was willing to give him away moments ago. Which gives me quite a concern if betrayal is part of your nature."

Vaultren tensed his jaw. "I wish to 'detain' a single man, Bosmer. Yet you are attempting to impose your thoughts on the matter against mine and trying to increase the possibility of a resist in an arrest. That will possibly get you killed. So chose your next words wisely, or your tongue will wagle on the cold floors of an Imperial prison without ever giving voice to the Emperor himself. There are others in your team that can be of benefit. So far, you have shown me your unwillingless to cooperate and your tendancy to tell anything other than the truth."

His lip curled at the High Elf with mild disdain. "Yet you hold yourself a leader figure. But..you wouldn't lie to me, would you, Bosmer." Vaultren did not make it a question. More of a hidden threat which would go ignored considering he was still talking to these people.

"Your attempt to hold this Thalmor prisoner against my will is a crime itself. And that is enough evidence for your arrest." He sighed. "I do not wish to expand my quarrels, so I will grant you the freedom to accompany me to this interrogation. You may give us information, any information, on the Thalmor."

He pointed his index finger into the air. "Under one condition. You will not attempt to hinder any progress I will strive to make. Is that in any way clear?"

Truthfully, he would rather strangle them all slowly with the closing of his fist to their throats as punishment for even wasting his time. He understood they have been through a lot, but it did not excuse the fact of their possible crimes against an authoritive figure. What sparked a confusion and curiosity within Vaulren was that they sought to keep the man for themselves. What do they have to gain? Favor with the Emperor or something else? It would be easier to surrender the Altmer to him, as he would procure any information valuable to the Empire instead of trying to gain an audience.

OOC: No problem Darkom, do whatever you wish. I am being honest, it will be interesting to see how things go as the characters themselves would make it.

[Prohibited]

The Imperial City, Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174

The Imperial man scowled, but did not back down. "You say he took the lives of his Thalmor comrades yet your ally here was willing to give him away moments ago. Which gives me quite a concern if betrayal is part of your nature," the legionnaire retorted, his dark eyes shining like two shards of obsidian. "I wish to 'detain' a single man, Bosmer. Yet you are attempting to impose your thoughts on the matter against mine and trying to increase the possibility of a resist in an arrest. That will possibly get you killed. So chose your next words wisely, or your tongue will waggle on the cold floors of an Imperial prison without ever giving voice to the Emperor himself. There are others in your team that can be of benefit. So far, you have shown me your unwillingness to cooperate and your tendency to tell anything other than the truth."

Faendal's fists clenched, his jaw already working in anger. The Imperial had seen through his hastily assembled story immediately; it would be hard to talk his way out of this one. 'But I can't just give him up. Not to this cocky bastard.' The Bosmer did nothing to mask the malice in his gaze as the Imperial continued.

"Yet you hold yourself a leader figure. But..you wouldn't lie to me, would you, Bosmer." The man's threat was obvious, and certainly not empty. The Imperial held all the cards now, and he knew it. "Your attempt to hold this Thalmor prisoner against my will is a crime itself. And that is enough evidence for your arrest." He sighed. "I do not wish to expand my quarrels, so I will grant you the freedom to accompany me to this interrogation. You may give us information, any information, on the Thalmor."

The Imperial gestured with one finger towards the ceiling, his pale face still curiously blank. "Under one condition. You will not attempt to hinder any progress I will strive to make. Is that in any way clear?"

The Bosmer struggled to think of another way out, anything that could save him- and his prisoner- from the Imperial. Short of appealing to the emperor himself, however, nothing came to mind. 'Damn him!'

"Very well," Faendal hissed through clenched teeth, "We'll come with you. But none of us will be chained," the Bosmer pointed violently towards the Altmer's wrists, still bound in irons, "And we are agreeing to answer your questions, not be interrogated. We will speak- if we so choose- only on what will help the Empire spill Aldmeri blood. Those are my conditions, Imperial, and you'd be wise to accept them." Faendal would not see them dragged away again after they finally reached the city. 'We're supposed to be on the same side, damn it!'

The Bosmer looked towards Ermac and the Altmer, trusting both to back him if the need arose. Besides those two, the only others from his team in the room were the half breed Bosmer, Fithvael, and the Redguard. Both were competent swordsmen, but the gods only knew if they had any wits about them. One thing was certain, however, they would have to stick together if they wanted any chance of getting out of this mess. 'They dug this hole,' he thought, 'Now they had better help me get us out.'


OOC: Short post to keep things moving. Irish, if you'd care to join us as well you can, or if you'd like to sneak off to the yellow group in the other parts of the city that's fine too. Jonas, I did what I could to add Fithvael in, but there wasn't that much opportunity, sorry.

[JUDY FIGHTS]

Vaultren. Guard Barracks, Imperial City.
Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174

Quests of diplomacy or no, Vaultren had wondered whether the Bosmer had any actual sense of what it meant to live in a chaotic world where everyone hated you. Where everyone resented what you stood for and believed in. In a decadent society where the weak are gradually increasing. He studied the Wood Elf's angry gestures and sympathized with it, as he once felt the similar emotions of being outdone and outmaneuvered.

The Imperial felt a sudden urge to place the Bosmer in his place. Place him in prison to rot, or to crush him under the heel of his boot just as the bedraggled High Elf. But the situation didn't require such crude methods--yet anyways. Besides, Vaultren was able to discern in the Bosmer's hostile gestures and expressions that he knew well who held the authority. Power. He had power over them now, and over all that were similar to them. To abuse his power would bring him to ruin.

Vaultren understood he had to temper his own actions and gestures. It would prove unwise and even fatal to attempt to hold something over someone for so long before they snap. And he did not want to underestimate them. They proved their worth by escaping the Thalmor and killing some of the soldiers. As he watched the Bosmer come to a conclusion, he couldn't help but smile with a measure of a sick humor. He knew the Bosmer saw who was in control. And his reaction to the truth pleased him to no end.

"Very well," he hissed through tightly closed teeth, "We'll come with you. But none of us will be chained."

No problem, as long as you do not give me a reason to detain you, Vaultren thought. He remained silent, only nodding in agreement.

"And we are agreeing to answer your questions, not be interrogated. We will speak- if we so choose- only on what will help the Empire spill Aldmeri blood. Those are my conditions, Imperial, and you'd be wise to accept them."

Ah, so he despises the Thalmor with an acceptable dose of hatred. Who else doesn't? Vaultren imagined. Perhaps, beneath his brash and aggressive nature there was a formidable ally somewhere that would be willing to aid in the conflict against the Thalmor. A beneficial partnership. Perhaps. But it is too soon to decide. The mention of spilling Aldmeri blood made Vaultren tilt his head with a certain hint of malice that was expressed in his deceptive countenance. All manner of etiquette of a genteel gentleman was erased, since he had found common ground with the Mer, at least.

"I would not have it any other way," Vaultren motioned to the door by opening his palm. It was a simply command to tell the Bosmer to go, and for the Orc to comply as well.

[Astargoth Rockin' Design]

Kai Xerosa
The Merchant's Inn

"It probably would be foolish of me to throw my life away in the arena, there are finer things in life worthy of sacrificing one's self for. I trust I'll be in for much more fighting experience within the coming days".

Kai listened intently to the young Imperial speak, as he drank his ale. His eyes fixed fiercely on his conversational partner in a manner that Kai could not control. It would often appear that Kai was being unfriendly, but he could not help his brow from furrowing whilst engaging with others, it was... unnatural to him. His look however changed once Ty had finished his sentence, unsure as to what he had meant when he had spoken of more fighting, Kai's interest peaked, but his questions would have to wait.

"Whenever you're ready I would be happy to accompany you to the fight, I'll bet some coin on you and Lycus". Kai's ego increased evermore with the sure sign that Ty had confidence in him enough to wager his own money . Ty raised his glass to Kai, who at the same time struggled to find any reason to stay much longer.

"In such case Imperial, we can drink and walk at the same time. I'm sure the tavern won't miss a few glasses." Kai rose from his chair, expecting the Imperial to follow, turning his back and walking toward the exit.

Kai was ever aware of those around him, inspecting each and every one of the inexplicit members of public with intricate detail. The war-worn veteran Imperial soldier that drank to avoid any confrontation with his past, perhaps to drown out the nagging of his wife, who was clearly left at home for the sake of some peace. The keen negotiator in the shape of the Bosmer, unashamed to dish dirt on those he held close, and ruthless in driving a hard bargain. I bet he lives alone Kai thought to himself with a smirk as he brushed past him sitting on a stool at the bar. Of course how could he forget the wannabe warrior woman. The Nord with the broad-sword. Pouting over a pint. Glaring at all the men in the tavern in envy? Or perhaps regret. That she was not good enough, despite what her ego told her, to join the forces. How sad.

Kai couldn't help but psycho-anolyse everyone he met, most would consider it a personality flaw. Kai of course, being Kai, loved every second of it. Indeed, there was every possibility that he would be wrong but despite this, he rarely was. He wasn't with Ty, expecting him to be loud-mouthed and arrogant, and any occurrence of him being correct would bolster his ego to almost unimaginable levels.

"Tell me Imperial, from where do you hail?" Kai said nonchalantly, as if for the sake of conversation, unsure if the Imperial was even following. The bar-maid shot Kai a filthy glance as he conceitedly raised his glass to her and pushed open the tavern door, shrouding the entrance and that which lay beyond with glorious sunlight and the vicarious smells of the Market District.

[RAww DInsaww]

Tyranus Florentius

Kai had a curious manner of looking at Ty, his eyes fixed fiercely on the young man. His gaze changed as he responded "In such case Imperial, we can drink and walk at the same time. I'm sure the tavern won't miss a few glasses." Ty chuckled as Kai stood, taking his glass with him as he walked towards the door. The younger man stood and followed after him, quickly draining his glass as he went before setting on the bar without stopping.

"Tell me Imperial, from where do you hail?" Kai asked him as he walked, raising his glass to the bothered barkeep before opening the door to the street. Ty started laughing, shaking his head and setting down a couple septims on the bar. "That looked cheap anyway, I'm sure this'll cover it." he said over his shoulder as he continued following after Kai.

As he caught up to the older Imperial, he remembered the question. "Well like I said, I'm from Chorrol," Ty stated, making his way through the crowds as the two of them headed towards the arena. "A farm right outside of town actually. Last time I was there we had potatoes growing, but that may have changed by now. I haven't been home for a while." Ty wasn't deliberately withholding information about the Thalmor from Kai, he just didn't see a need to bring it up yet. He would answer if Kai asked why he hadn't been home, but if not he wasn't going to just drop the whole "the Thalmor are invading and everyone you love might die" bomb. "What about you, are you from around here?"

[Klaire]

Kai Xerosa
Imperial City

Kai noticed the Colovian drop some coins onto the bar as he left the inn, he didn't see how many but he really didn't care. He was never one to follow the law, though obviously he didn't live much outside it for the sake of attracting attention. Kai had been to prison once before, and he hadn't exactly loved it.

"Well like I said, I'm from Chorrol. A farm right outside of town actually. Last time I was there we had potatoes growing, but that may have changed by now. I haven't been home for a while." Ty answered. Kai was made more curious about this man's recent past, perhaps he was dropping hints, willing Kai to enquire, but for now Kai would ignore him, sure that he'd find out sooner or later.

The Market District was busy as usual, various people going about their business, very few as shadily as Kai. He twisted and turned through the bustling group, trying his best to maintain contact with the Imperial for conversations sake.

"What about you, are you from around here?" Ty asked. Kai supposed it was only fair, given that he had just asked the same thing, yet still felt uncomfortable when others enquired about his personal life.

"Me? Oh I'm not that special," Kai began as he body-checked a large Nord who turned to examine Kai. Kai carried on straight, ignoring the Nord's glances not wanting trouble whilst in a rush to get to a more important conflict.

"I'm what some might call the scourge of the realm, born and raised, if you can call it that, in the pits of Bravil. Not a very nice place to be for a do-gooder like yourself." He smirked to himself, hoping that the Imperial was close enough behind him to hear.

"A life on the farm sounds like a life of luxury compared to what I put up with, but I'm not one to complain, in fact, I'm rather proud of my past." Kai made his way through the Market District, and into that of the Arena. It was magnificent; the grandeur of the columns towered above him, and even Kai, a heartless criminal, had to take a deep breath whilst examining it.

"Are you ready for this?" He turned to ask Ty, though really, indirectly only questioning himself. Normally this would be the time for most men to realise their fear, that their ambition had taken them too far. Kai probably wasn't ready for what lay ahead. Probably a fight to the death on a stage greater than that he had ever fought on before. And yet, Kai was not most men. Call it arrogance, confidence or whatever, but Kai was never ready to back down and give up, despite the fact that he probably should. He was ready, and he'd make sure that Lycus knew it too.

[Cody Banks]

Illana the Huntress, The Imperial City, Cyrodiil -
11^th of Second Seed. 4E 174


“Isn’t that great? Feline diplomacy.” Illana said, casually twirling her hand in a sarcastic gesture as she walked off. “Worthless.”

The fight did not even start when diplomacy was agreed upon. She resented it, as she was itching for a physical confrontation against a tough opponent. Karzon seemed to have had his way, for now. Although she was eager to brawl, she did agree that it would be unwise to do so in the streets. Though she knew if the Thalmor invaded the city, it would be much easier to escape from prison than any other time.

Walking off in a vexed feeling, she exited the presence of the Khajiit and stormed off into the streets. She considered returning to the barracks, certain something must be brewing with the plan to speak with the Emperor, but she struck against the idea as she continued exploring the market place.

If only she had the coin to pay for this beautiful array of lethal gear and dangerous weaponry. Coin that could have been earned if the damned Thalmor did not capture her or if the Bosmer paid up. Yet she had coin to pay for simply poisons and venoms. Which reminded her of that Argonian fellow him was summoned to keep an eye on Benalin. Live bounties are worth greater than the dead ones. It wasn’t a rule, but merely a fact. If she had enough paralysis poisons, she would not need to cut down her prey, even as often as she would like to. If he tried to run off, she would bring him down and offer him to the authorities for payment.

She placed on her helmet once over her entire head. The visors along the eyes where the only glimpse she would offer anyone else. The day wasn’t overly hot, so she was comfortable in those conditions. The familiar clink clank of her steel and silver boots where heard as she steadily took herself around the city. Bored out of her mind, awaiting the hours to pass. While every core within her being wanted to collect her payment, she had to abide by her own promises to Benalin. And such self-appointed laws helped her flourish to infamy among the circle of criminals and drug lords.

Her bounty hunting career had never before stood as a great success as it had in recent years. It was not a hard trade to get into, but considering the number of wannabes that worked in it, it could prove to be tougher by the months with increasing nuisances. Luckily, she had one partner that helped her; Lycus. She began to wonder now where he was, for that matter. While she locked horns at times with him, she admitted much was due to regular sibling relationship. As he was worried about her at times, she knew well she was often worried about him.

Illana looked around, glancing through her shadowy sight a couple leaving a tavern. One fellow, she recognized from afar. Tyranus, the amateur kid from the prison. How in Oblivion is he still breathing? Walking ahead of him was another Imperial, though with obvious differences in height and frame. The second Imperial seemed far more imposing and aggressive. And older than Tyranus by the looks of it.

As she saw them walk to the Arena District, she couldn’t help but skulk behind them in a safe distance. If anywhere Lycus would be, it would be the Arena. Like her father, he believed in honor and competition and brotherhood of the men and women in the Bloodworks. Why not join the Fighters Guild instead? The answer was simple: Because we aren’t restricted by base authority. We answer to a higher law. Ourselves. She reminded herself.

She was leaning on the wall, planning to go until she was approached by a weird looking Dunmer. He was dressed in an old brown garb from head to toe, bejewled in various sorts of rings and necklaces, he also bore a tattoo on his face that marked the sign of the Tribunal. He cleared his throat as he stopped in front of her.

"The huntress, I presume?"

Illana tilted her head. "You know of me."

"I've been told about you, yes. The, uh, markings on the shoulder pads and your recent scruffle in the market district."

She ignored some of his comments. "That's a shame, because I don't know of you. What do you want from me? And who are you?"

He took to the shadows, leaning on a wall beside her, speaking in a hushed tone. "My name is Drebaleb and I require your services. You see, the Bosmer Benalin has brought me and my family great shame when he tried to make his way with my daughter a few weeks ago. And just today, she sold our horses to try and support the man's shortcomings. I hold no love for him, and from what I've seen, neither do you."

The huntress folded her arms. "Why can't you do it yourself, then?"

"Because I want my hands clean. I don't want to get into any more trouble than I already am getting."

She cocked her head a bit. "Fair enough. How much are we talking."

He told her his price. She smiled, asking the question that would set her on the hunt.

"Dead or alive?"

He told her once more. All Illana could do is smile behind her helmet. But she had to risk warning. She pointed a finger at his chest. "Do not take me for a fool. You see, few times I have been sold out to the authorities for "crimes" I was paid to commit. So far, Benalin has no problems with authority. And people have seen me with him in the Market District. You will have to triple the fee."

The man did not hesitate. "No, no. You're reputation is good, huntress, very good. In fact, splendid. I would love to form a beneficial partnership with you. Deadbeats and others who owe me coin or cause me trouble, they would be no trouble for you as they are for me. If you do well in this job, I assure you, I will always call upon you to get things done. And your price is of no concern to me, as long as it does not exceed my own payrate."

Illana stared, studying him with an intense look that he could not see. She could tell when someone was lysing or bluffing. And he was not. She only nodded. "We have a deal."

[Adriana Lenzo]

Rashaava
Imperial City, Arena District - 11th of Second Seed, 4E 174

“I cannot accept,” said the Imperial, in response to Rashaava's offered potions.

Interesting. This landstrider seems preoccupied with the notion of honor... perhaps not the best time, considering that he may soon be involved in a fight to the death, but it is understandable.

“My name is Lycus Desselius. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Rashaava. Feel free to bet on me if you wish. Gain some coin of your own. I am aware you are not enamored by the overwhelming howl of the crowd, but it can be worth it. Now, if I may, begin my arrangements for the match. It would seem to me that there are more than enough spectators for a few matches."

Rashaava gave a curt nod and, turning, headed for the door to find a seat for his first time witnessing an Arena match. This should be interesting.

Making his way past the bookmaker standing outside soliciting bets, Rashaava entered the stands. After climbing a short flight of stairs, he turned, and his gaze was met by the grandeur of the Arena: soaring columns, roaring crowds, and sand-filled center, all looking like they had been there for quite some time. While he winced at the intense noise greeting his ears, he was unable to ignore the sheer sense of awe that the structure inspired. Noticing that he had stopped moving to take it all in, Rashaava shook his head and began to search for an empty seat. Finding a table with all four seats unoccupied, he settled down to watch. I wonder when Lycus' match will start. Hopefully I can be free of this unfortunate affair quickly.

Rashaava noticed that a few spectators were still trickling in, but they seemed to be avoiding his table. He didn't mind, and actually preferred it that way, but he couldn't deny that it irked him somewhat. It's been over a century and half since my homeland seceded, and these landstriders still haven't gotten over it... Yet another reason why I avoid coming here more often than I must. Ignoring them, Rashaava peered down at the sand pit; while he had expected this to be a place of constant bloodshed, he didn't notice any signs of a recent death match. It was possible that they were preparing for one, but the Argonian was content to wait silently until he saw Lycus enter.

[Big mike]

Lycus Desselius, The Imperial City, Bloodworks. -
11^th of Second Seed. 4E 174

Lycus prepared himself after a few minutes of rest. He removed his shirt, revealing a few nicks and minor scars along his back and a few on his torso. Along with a long one along his shoulder. For Lycus, bloodshed and battle was no stranger. He welcomed it over the years ever since he was but a boy hunting the shadowy forests and open fields with his father. Kill and gut a boar, or hunt down and destroy a deer to taking down a bandit.

He sat himself on a chair as he covered his legs from toe to knee with proper protection of a brown color. Soft cloth, bundled in various sizes, shrouded his legs. But what kept them from harm was a metal plating that encompassed the front, leaving the back of his knee exposed. Garbed and ready to go, Lycus was outfitted in the particular style of hoplomachus. On his right arm, was a long manica that protected his arm. Made from steel plates, it was quite durable and used for the defensive while his other arm was sans proper protection. Below his waist, covering his genitals, was his subligaculum. Properly padded and very comfortable.

With his legs heavily padded as well, Lycus went for his preferred item of protection; his shield. He chose the round shield, which was smaller than the larger ones, which were more of a hindrance to him than an aid. In his other hand, a spear. A most ancient of weapons and rather easy to master. And in his family, the spear was tradition for both fighting and hunting as well as ancient cultures with history of warfare.

He felt a firm grab on his shoulder, he turned around to see the Blademaster regard him with a smile. “You prepare yourself, I see.”

Lycus checked his outfitting once more and nodded. The Redguard held up a list he had in his hand, with the names of the combatants. “Here are the names of those who will take to the sands with you. Yellow team against the Blue team.”

“I am to fight for the Yellow team?” Lycus had asked. Already knowing part of the answer.

“You are. There shall be eight combatants. Four on each team.”

“Those I would fight. What are their names?"

“Snaglak the Orc, Threvar the Nord, Maleva the Breton and Karsto the Redguard.”

Lycus sighed. It would seem Kai was not on the Blue Team, but his own as he imagined. To make sure, he asked about the Yellow team.

“On your side will be Jewla the Dunmer, Rensheera the Argonian, and the other pit dog you requested. Whom to say, is nowhere to be found.”

Lycus crossed his arms. “He’ll turn up. Soon.”

“He had better. Because in half hour, the games will begin and there are those whom we can replace him with."

The Imperial acknowledged his superior with a simple nod.

"Fight with honor or die with it, brother." The Redguard said as he grabbed Lycus' arm with a firm grip. I will fight with honor, and live with it, he thought.

As they both parted ways, Lycus then went to speak with the members of his team. Each gossiping about their enemies on the opposite side. He did not know who would survive or who would die, each was a skilled fighter in their own right. But there would be bloodshed, that was for certain. Tomorrow is promised to no man.

[Chloe Lou]

Ermac,11th of Second Seed. 4E 174 - Imperial City Barracks

Right as soon as he had clasped the Aldmeri high elf, Faendal spoke up. The grimace on his face as obvious to see, he didn't sit well with that was happening. He and the Imperial soldier exchanged a few heated words, and tension grew in the room. Ermac felt himself slowly tensing apprehensively. Although he hoped and wished it wouldn't come to violence, he would fight against his comrade without hesitation if need be.

Finally, the officer gave Faendal an ultimatum of sorts. "Your attempt to hold this Thalmor prisoner against my will is a crime itself. And that is enough evidence for your arrest. I do not wish to expand my quarrels, so I will grant you the freedom to accompany me to this interrogation. You may give us information, any information, on the Thalmor. Under one condition. . . you will not attempt to hinder any progress I will strive to make. Is that in any way clear?"


The Bosmer clenched his teeth as well as his fists, but managed to concede in submission. "Very well. "We'll come with you. But none of us will be chained. And we are agreeing to answer your questions, not be interrogated. We will speak- if we so choose- only on what will help the Empire spill Aldmeri blood. Those are my conditions, Imperial, and you'd be wise to accept them."

The Orc went for his things, placing his sigil stone safely under his pillow before grabbing his staff.

I would not have it any other way." The man said, ushering them out. Ermac was the first to exit the barracks, and followed the man through corridors until they made it to the stairway leading downstairs. Past another room they went until they made it to what the Orc assumed to be the "interrogation room" . All that was there was an empty clay mug and two chairs. The walls were a moldy copper-stone, and on of there chairs were more worn and scratched than the other. Ermac could even make out washed out blood stains.

He set up against a wall and waited for everyone to enter.

OOC: Not much, but moved us along.

[Devin Sluis]

Vaultren. Guard Barracks, Imperial City.
Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174


The room was fit for prisoners and interrogation. It was grim and dirty, miserably decorated with two chairs and a single clay jug absent liquid. The walls were made of copper-stone and the blood of the other pathetic lifeforms was spilled all around, but there was not much effort in concealing the vestiges of the last interrogation.

"Take a seat," Vaulren motioned for the Altmer to sit himself. Vaultren himself prefered to stand on his feet. There were many procedures in interrogation that he could use at his disposal. Trickery. To ask him how the ride to the Imperial City was or how he was doing. Inefective when dealing with the intelligent ones. Or he could resort to long questions, to tire the man until he confessed. Also inefficient considering most had busy lives to attend to, such as himself. He did not have time to waste. Torture was a method he could use, but then it would prove problamatic. All there was was simply to ask the Dominion soldier the right questions.

"Sources indicate that there are Aldmeri forces stationed in the wilderness miles away from here. Could you please elaborate on how many foot soldiers are to be expected."

He paced around, looking for another question. "If your allies succeed in breaching the walls, what are their demands if they are succesful?"

He stopped, gazing out into the iron bars that filtered in rays of fading light. He held his arms behind his back and sighed. "And what do you think should happen to you if your allies are successful? Or if we are able to crush them in their attempt to take the city?"

The next few questions would be answered truthfully. Or so he hoped. He had no tolerance of Altmers and their kind, especially one working for the Thalmor as a soldier. It took quite a bit of strength for him not to use any destruction spells on him. Vaultren only found it nescessary to warn him.

"Do not lie to me about my first two questions. Your words will either cause you relief or harm." his voice was a bit deeper and more menacing as he ushered forth another threat.

[Flesh Tunnel]

Imperial Barracks

Errialor

Errialor was led into one of the rooms in the fort. Aside from two chairs and a jug, the room was empty. It appears there were no torture devices nor restraints. There were, however, distinctive bloodstains. The Altmer grew uneasy seeing the signs of torture. Bloodstains but no tools or weapons lying around. What could they possibly do to people in here?

"Take a seat," spoke the Imperial. Errialor silently complied, sitting in one of the chairs. It had no restraints, although he was a bit worried that it could still be a disguised torture device. So far so good, he thought nervously. He looked up at the Imperial, awaiting yet dreading the man's next action.

"Sources indicate that there are Aldmeri Dominion forces stationed in the wilderness miles away from here. Could you please elaborate on how many foot soldiers are to be expected?" A simple enough question, although Errialor did not have any numbers. As he began to ponder what to say, the man spoke up again.

"If your allies succeed in breaching the walls, what are their demands if they are successful?" Errialor again began to think. Yet again, before he could come up with an answer, the man spoke up a third time, much more menacingly.

"Do not lie to me about my first two questions. Your words will either cause you relief or harm."

Errialor gave his response, afraid to take the time to prepare a speech. "I don't know, I'm n-not sure how many soldiers are in the Dominion. But I...I know there are m-more than there used to be. The Dominion sent us s-some reinforcements recently, f-for taking the Imperial City. I also know that L-Lord Naarifin has split us into two groups. The f-first, the one I was in, was s-supposed to continue north, to surround the city. Naarifin w-will be leading the...the other group. I figure they will be the ones to actually attack the c-city." His voice was shaky and fearful, giving no doubt to the fear he felt.

"I don't know what the Thalmor will do when...if they take the city. One told us that your Emperor rejected an ultimatum they gave h-him. Maybe they want him a-alive to force him to agree to what they w-want. Or maybe they'll do w-what they did in Valenwood: kill everyone in charge and...and put a Thalmor government in its p-place."

By Auri-El, I hope that's enough for him. If the Thalmor find out I gave him information, they'll torture me to death themselves. Assuming this Imperial doesn't do it first.

[Jose ordaz]

Vaultren. Guard Barracks, Imperial City.
Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174


Vaultren composed himself, standing tall as he listened attentively to the man. Word after word. Not a single letter nor sentance ignored. The more he spoke, however, the more Vaultren's countenance darkened to the point where he bared his teeth slightly. He was not liking what he was hearing. The man stuttered in each sentance, struggling to speak cllearly. But what vexed Vaultren more than his poor speech was the idea of attacking the Imperial City.

There where days where he had imagined the Imperial City sacked by his own soldiers. Or perhaps a new established order of security and power rather than simple corrupt politics. Ocato, a man of importance himself was killed. And many others followed. The Blades, sworn protectors of the Emperor had fallen by the Thalmor, killed off one by one. If only the Thalmor shared the same fate.

"I don't know, I'm n-not sure how many soldiers are in the Dominion. But I...I know there are m-more than there used to be. The Dominion sent us s-some reinforcements recently, f-for taking the Imperial City. I also know that L-Lord Naarifin has split us into two groups. The f-first, the one I was in, was s-supposed to continue north, to surround the city. Naarifin w-will be leading the...the other group. I figure they will be the ones to actually attack the c-city."

Rather bold, Vaultren thought to himself. Too bold. What fools some of these politicians were...to ignore the Thalmor threat. The dormant beast that has awakened when the Empire would least expect it. Now, they would pay the price for their lack of foresight.

He swallowed deeply. The first group was weakened and killed, it would seem. But there was no concrete knowledge of how many troops were on the second. If this Lord Naarifin, the man who led them was involved, there was no doubt that they would come in large numbers. Perhaps too overwhelming for the Legion to handle. He knelt down closer to the soldier, listening to his next words. He could taste the fear in him, so much that it was almost palpable. Vaultren could laugh at the sight, for it reminded him that the Thalmor are vulnerable. Even the young and brash could be destroyed. Even yet, the more he gazed upon the man, the more he came to the conclusion that perhaps he was forced into servitude. As treacherous as they come, no High Elf of the Dominion would truly betray their own, lest they were loyal to death.

"I don't know what the Thalmor will do when...if they take the city. One told us that your Emperor rejected an ultimatum they gave h-him. Maybe they want him a-alive to force him to agree to what they w-want. Or maybe they'll do w-what they did in Valenwood: kill everyone in charge and...and put a Thalmor government in its p-place."

Just as Vaultren suspected. He remembered the ultimatum clearly. There was the Elven ambassador, arriving at the Imperial City in all his finery with gifts and splendor. Only to present a rather extensive list of demands including the disbanding of the Blades, a great amount of tributes and the outlawing the worship of Talos. Also the surrending of key sections of Hammerfell as well. It would only make sense they would try to do so once more, this time by force. How in Oblivion would Titus ignore the Thalmor after over a hundred fetid decapitated heads of every Thalmor agent was spilled onto the ground? If anything, he needs to be assassinated. His predescessor did the right thing to take the city by force. Now...the city would suffer the same fate, but by enemy hands.

He circled the countours of his ring as he paced around once more, considering to ask more questions or not. He stopped, and turned one last time to the Altmer. "And how long do you think it will be before they breach the city?"

[Andrew]

The Imperial City, Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174

Faendal followed, reluctantly, behind the Imperial as he led them through the corridors and stairways. The Bosmer was still tired, but forced himself on, his fatigue held at bay by little more than his anger and determination. He wished he had his sword with him, but to come armed risked too much. Their motley party outnumbered the young Imperial leading them, but at a word he could have a thousand legionnaires at their throats. It seemed they had no choice but to play his game. 'For now.'

Finally, the Imperial stopped at a stout wooden door, nodding to the guards outside before opening it and revealing the squalid chamber beyond. To say it was cramped- especially for an elf of Falinesti- would be an understatement. The old decoration was a decrepit wooden table and two squat chairs; an empty clay mug sat alone in the center of the dim room. Faendal picked up an ominous mixture of blood and sweat in the air, but above all else the room stank of fear. Despite Faendal's words, the Imperial meant to interrogate them.

The pale skinned human invited the Altmer to take a seat, wasting no time before beginning his questions. Faendal had barely squeezed into the dark chamber before the elf was stammering out a reply. "I don't know, I'm n-not sure how many soldiers are in the Dominion. But I...I know there are m-more than there used to be."

Faendal chuckled softly to himself as the elf continued, his gnarled old face cracking into a smirk. 'Seems like the Empire won't get much out of this one. He really doesn't know anything; that or he's a damn good liar.' The Bosmer struggled to keep himself silent. Any outburst now might shift the Imperial's attention his way, and he was perfectly content to let the Altmer answer all the questions. 'The advance force won't just surround the city, lad; it will cut off the heart of the Empire. The aorta of the whole country is that bridge we came in on, that and the Waterfront. Resistance won't last long after that bastard Naarifin gets here.'

The Bosmer's smirk dropped as the Altmer mentioned what the Aldmeri did to Valenwood. Faendal still remembered those days: the blood, the fires, the women's screaming. 'Eliandra...' The old soldier's eyes grew soft, his breath catching as he remembered her face. Her soft hazel skin, eyes as green as the canopy leaves, and the scarlet color of her blood as the Thalmor executed her. 'Damn them!' Faendal nearly cried it aloud. His grief had flared into rage, but neither would serve him here. That time was over, just as his service to those dogs was over. The only thing that remained was his vengeance. After all these years, he would soon have his vengeance.

"And how long do you think it will be before they breach the city?" Faendal brought himself back to the dingy interrogation chamber- the Imperial was asking the prisoner more questions. The Bosmer doubted the young Altmer had any answers left in him, though any fool could estimate it. Their camp had been mere miles from the Imperial Bridge, and Naarifin was less than a day behind his vanguard. The city would fall soon, but Faendal would be damned if they would still be inside it when that day came.

"You have less than twenty four hours, Imperial," Faendal intoned, his dark eyes lowered. "The main force is not far behind, and it carries enough elves and Khajiit to crush all Cyrodiil beneath its heel. Naarifin will show your city no mercy." The Bosmer's face was hard, his voice rasping, like the crinkle of dried leaves on the forest floor. "That is why we must see your emperor, and you waste our time with these pointless questions. It would better serve your city for us to answer them to Titus himself."

[Abi Emily]

Vaultren. Guard Barracks, Imperial City.
Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174

As the Altmer captive explained his knowledge to Vaultren, he couldn't help himself but to take notice of the Bosmer's expression. He saw as a smirk went into a deep thought, his face morphed into one of anger and hate, it would seem. Perhaps he was thinking back to one of the many atrocities the Thalmor committed? Or a lost family member or someone close to him? Many thoughts obviously plagued his mind, but Vaultren could smile at it. Not in a sadistic sense, but one of understanding.

The ones who loved and lost are always the dangerous ones. A weapon to be used if properly directed at the enemy. A tool that can be utilized for the advantage of the Empire...or perhaps something even more personal. As he asked another question. The Bosmer was the one to respond to him. "You have less than twenty four hours, Imperial," he explained.

Less than twenty for hours? That is not enough time! Vaultren realized. If the size of the Thalmor is beyond than greater the Legion, than surely there is no hope to even try to defend the city.

"The main force is not far behind, and it carries enough elves and Khajiit to crush all Cyrodiil beneath its heel. Naarifin will show your city no mercy. That is why we must see your emperor, and you waste our time with these pointless questions. It would better serve your city for us to answer them to Titus himself."

Titus can only do so much! His bloodline ushered a new Empire, and it would be foolish to think it would retain it's former rules and state. Even so, Titus I was not competent enough. He never strived to reclaim the provinces and he ignored the threats in the west. Just as Titus II ignored my earlier warning! Vaultren thought angrily. True, Titus did take over the Imperial City by force, driving out the corrupt politicians that vyed for power, but all men fall short of their glories one way or another. If the Thalmor is at the door in less than a day, then what hope does the city have? It does not matter. The countless insignificant lives that will die are meaningless to me. What matters is the strength and the survival of the Empire.


He reflected back on the Bosmer's raspy words. 'Naarifin will show your city no mercy'. Vaultren clenched his fists at the thought. Of course the Thalmor will show no mercy. They are efficient and unpredictably powerful, conniving and deceitful. And above that, very intelligent. All the aspects the Empire lack. Vaultren looked down on the Thalmor prisoner. Deceitful. Conniving. He could of been acting this whole time, perhaps. Sprinkling his muttered words in a fright-induced sentance to try to give Vaultren cause to be merciful and full of pity. No doubt, some of them are incredible actors.

The Imperial nodded slightly, turning around to the Bosmer. "Mercy is a lie. A delusion of the weak to think themselves strong. I would die before I ever ask for mercy." his voice was just as menacing and raspy as the Bosmer's. He turned back around, with a greater speed than before, his arm hitting against the seated High Elf with a powerful smack. Strong enough to make him fall off his chair.

"Yet, for the Altmer. I cannot say the same." Vaultren said as he cupped both of his hands forward. Fingers contorting as if claws before a spell of destruction burst forth from his palms onto the Altmer.

"Your kind remind me of myself when I was younger. Overconfident. Impulsive. Proud beyond my station. I see that humility is prized while pride is frowned upon in different cultures. I will be give you a lending hand, my Thalmor friend, in an attempt to humble you in these overwhelming times!" He pressed forth again even harder, as the red hue quickly fell upon the prisoner in an eerie crimson mist. Tendrils the color of sanguine burst forth, illuminating the room in a sudden red glow.

Vaultren, practitioner of the arcane, had finally used the weapons he had at his disposal. The drain life spell could easily take away the life of a lesser being, but Vaultren saw that it could be controlled with proper discipline, and he made sure the Altmer would through the immense pain until he begged for death. “I understand the pain you now feel is unbearable. As sharp stones scraping within your body, your chest and throat. Your life ebbing away simultaneously.”

Hatefully, he concentrated more of his power, increasing the effect with a proper modification so it could be strong enough to make a Daedra scream, but weak so it would avoid killing the victim.

“But what burdens me the most of it is the blood vessels.” Vaultren frowned as he continued. “The manner in how they stretch within you, as a engorged tick about to burst.”

He circled around him now, concentrating even more than before. Completely taken over by his position of power and his anger for the Thalmor. “Your kind wishes to destroy this world, to be rid of it’s entrapment. Well, this hour I shall grace your spirit with the longing prospect of death. Rest assured that your body will be a feast for the flies and a nesting ground for their offspring, just as all Thalmor should!”

He did not look directly at the Bosmer, but he spoke to him regardless to try and calm the man. " Do not worry. The Emperor shall know of the threat soon enough."

[Avril Churchill]

Imperial Barracks

Errialor

The Imperial continued his interrogation.

"And how long do you think it will be before they breach the city?"

How long? How would I know that? All I know is what I was supposed to do, not what or when the others will break into the city. Before he could speak what little he knew, the Bosmer spoke up.

"You have less than twenty four hours, Imperial, The main force is not far behind, and it carries enough elves and Khajiit to crush all Cyrodiil beneath its heel. Naarifin will show your city no mercy. That is why we must see your emperor, and you waste our time with these pointless questions. It would better serve your city for us to answer them to Titus himself."

The Bosmer continued to surprise him. First he had refused to give Errialor away as a prisoner. Then when the charade was broken, Faendal tried to prevent him from being restrained and interrogated. It would seem that the Imperial had managed to thwart the Bosmer at every turn, but he was touched by the mer's concern. I wonder why he is helping me. Does he believe me that I'm not a Thalmor? He knew next to nothing regarding this mer, but he knew that the Thalmor had some very nasty things to Valenwood. If a Bosmer didn't serve the Thalmor, it stood to reason that they had good reason to despise them. Yet they were also in a better position than these bull-headed Imperials to understand who is and who isn't a Thalmor.

"Mercy is a lie. A delusion of the weak to think themselves strong. I would die before I ever ask for mercy," spoke the Imperial, before striking Errialor, knocking him out of the chair. What does he want with me? I answered his questions as best he could! The man spoke again "Yet, for the Altmer. I cannot say the same."

The Imperial cast a spell, one that begin to cause Errialor agonizing pain. It was not the sensation of being burned by fire, ice or lightning, but something else.

"Your kind remind me of myself when I was younger. Overconfident. Impulsive. Proud beyond my station. I see that humility is prized while pride is frowned upon in different cultures. I will be give you a lending hand, my Thalmor friend, in an attempt to humble you in these overwhelming times!"

“I understand the pain you now feel is unbearable. As sharp stones scraping within your body, your chest and throat. Your life ebbing away simultaneously.” Why, why is he doing this? He knows I'm no Thalmor. Tears began to well up in the Altmer's eyes, as he tried to avoid screaming. He couldn't let his captor have the satisfaction. But he couldn't keep it up forever, the spell was horribly painful.

“Your kind wishes to destroy this world, to be rid of it’s entrapment. Well, this hour I shall grace your spirit with the longing prospect of death. Rest assured that your body will be a feast for the flies and a nesting ground for their offspring, just as all Thalmor should!”

"I'm ...not...a...Thalmor!" Errialor winced, writhing in pain from the Imperial's spell. Even under the extruciating pain of the torture, he knew it wouldn't do any good. The man lied to him, lured him into a false sense of security, and was now torturing him despite knowing that Errialor was a mere grunt. And if Faendal or someone else didn't intervene, it looked like he might not live to see the siege.

[Jimmie Allen]

Kai Xerosa - Imperial City Arena

Kai noticed as he turned to find Ty that he was no longer beside him, and was in fact nowhere in sight. Kai huffed, intrigued as to where the Imperial might have gone, but lacking in the time to look for him, carried on into the front entrance of the Arena. Kai had never actually been to the Arena before, despite having lived in the Imperial City for a few years now. Watching others fight was never something that really appealed to him, he always wished to join in, and as far as himself fighting was concerned, he had his own arena located in the city sewers. Kai approached a man at a kiosk in the main entrance, and asked simply for directions to the chambers below the arena floor where he could prepare for the fight. The man kindly informed Kai that the place he was looking for was called the Bloodworks and he pointed Kai in its direction.

The arena was getting busier, people were starting to arrive and take their seats. Kai could already see the queue of gamblers, lining up to throw away their money. Kai found it odd that in a strange sense these people were actually betting on his own life, risking their money on whether he would live or die. Since he didn't plan on dying, Kai smirked at the idea of people betting against him. 'Idiots' he thought to himself smugly as he finally reached the door to the Bloodworks.

The stench of blood and sweat reeked from beneath the set of stone stairs that Kai quickly descended, the training camp for gladiators awaiting him below. Training dummies, scarred with the wounds of the gladiators preparation lined the walls, as well as racks of weapons and armours for the combatants use.

The soldiers were in a group, huddled around as Kai entered, and yet none of them took any notice of him. He noticed Lycus at the fore of the group, standing beside a Dunmer and an Argonian whom Kai guessed would be on his team.

Unsure of whether Lycus had noticed his entry, Kai called out to attract his attention.

"Lycus! I hope I've made it in time?" Kai shouted sarcastically, in the full knowledge that he had made it in time, and loud enough to have stopped any previous conversation that the group might have been having as he wriggled to the front of the group to stand in front of Lycus.

[Marine x]

Fithvael Hlaalu-Rikkavaankyr, Imperial City, Interrogation Room


The eyes of the the old half-bred mer were far too heavy to keep open, he hadn't felt fatigue of this magnitude since his days as a guerrilla in Elsweyr when the sun burned hot, and the Thalmor always moved. No sooner had Fithvael settled on his mattress in the barracks, finally a modicum of comfort given too him, that he was now called back to help. It appeared some members of the party had wagged their tongues far too much, an Imperial officer, haughty and young addressed Faendal and was concerned with the matter.

Quickly, this was becoming a heated situation, Faendal exchanging words with the cocky young man, and protecting Ermac from interrogation. Faendal looked back to Fithvael, and he nodded. The half-bred had been laying down, getting what rest his weary muscles and aching bones could take, and now he was to be interrogated because of a few idiots incapable of keeping a secret; that of a Thalmor captive under their watch. Stretching, his scale armor clinking, leather creaking with its stiffness, Fithvael brought himself to his feet.

He said nothing, only following Faendal, the Thalmor, and the cocky little [censored] of a guard. Before he reached the exit of the barracks, another guardsman stopped Fithvael. "Your sword, half-breed, can't 'ave you wieldin' that about. Only soldiers carry weapons here, especially not captives." The guard was condescending in his last few words, Fithvael turning to face him, removing his fine helmet.

"The sword I carry, is equal to twenty soldiers of your kind, take it from mah person, and ye'll face the same wrath of twenty. Have you no idea what is to come... guardsman?" Fithvael spoke, his tone that of warning, and his eyes speaking truth. The guard looked upon Fithvael's elven face, the blue hand-print, the Moon-and-Star tattoo, his Warhawk and warriors' knotted goatee. "Fine... fine, pass on then, dammit. Make it quick a'fore I change my mind!" Fithvael nearly laughed as the guard strained his voice to sound commanding.

-------------

Within the interrogation room; past many dimly lit hallways, and staircases of wood that hadn't seen repair in only god's know how long. As he came to the room in which Faendal and the Thalmor sat, Fithvael stood silently, eavesdropping on the conversation. He'd made his way to the chamber rather quietly in spite of his ring-mail and scaled hauberk, I ought to get some leather and pad this, no good for sneaking I think. The thought quickly flew from Fithvael, after hearing enough and entering the room.

"And how long do you think it will be before they breach the city?" Asked the haughty Imperial captain. Faendal replied, a grave tone in his voice and more truth to his words than needed for the entirety of the city to either take up arms in the name of the Empire, or flee for their damned lives. What this Imperial did, it was unforgivable and unjust as the light of the room grew red with evil light, and the very life began to drain from Faendal. This Imperial had gone far enough, so now was the time for intervention.

Grabbing Astherion by the hilt, Fithvael drew her to the full length and stabbed the floor with its Bosmeri blade. "Enough!" He shouted. "This Altmer saved the lives of thirteen Aldmeri prisoners, together we led them here for safety and yet we are greeted by the same hospitality the Thalmor had shown us only hours ago." Fithvael's voice was cold, he looked this Imperial in the eyes, "Both he and I have shed Thalmor blood, though he was once one himself he turns against his horrid commanders."

Fithvael composed himself, striding around the chair in which Faendal sat, coming closer to the Imperial. "An army to crush your beloved city moves as we speak, and you are prepared to kill the only ones who carry warning... fool. Contact a man named Tannis, in the Council. He is a friend of mine, and we demand an audience with the Emperor."

Now with this stand-off, only a single response would determine the outcome.

[George PUluse]

EDITED!