[Trevor Bostwick]

Lycus Desselius, The Imperial City, Bloodworks. -
11th of Second Seed. 4E 174
　
“Lycus! I hope I’ve made it in time?”

Sadly, you have. Fortunately, you may not make it past the arena match. Lycus turned at the familiar voice that came from behind. It was Kai. It appeared that he indeed had showed up as he said he would. And for some reason Ty was not there. He introduced Kai to the rest of the group, though he was convinced Kai wouldn’t care whom he fought alongside with. The corner of his mouth crinkled into a short frown.

“Kai, you may choose your weapon if you wish or go without them.” Lycus instructed, pointing at the tables and racks full of weaponry. He particular fought in the style of hoplomachus, though he wasn’t sure which style Kai would choose.

He waited until the Blademaster emerged. And after a moment, he did. At the sight of Kai, the Blademaster handed him the list and told him to add his name onto the list. “If you fall, the city will know of your failure. If you win the crowds favor, they shall know who to cheer for.”

Lycus sheathed his sword at his side as he prepared his spear and shield. He seldom looked at Kai, unsure of what to even think of the man. He had no position to be judging Kai, for all he knew, Kai could have had a horrible past with family members. Perhaps he was an orphan, as Lycus and Illana are.

“The match will begin,” the Redguard addressed the group of gladiators. “Do not underestimate the Blue Team. Some of you already know the drill. Fight with honor or die with it. The last remaining member of the winning team shall have their share of gold.”

The Imperial did not need to hear more, as it was his queue to go. Him, along with the other warriors and fighters, awaited the iron bars to descent so they would be granted passage. As it slid down, Lycus stepped forth at the head of the group in haste. Jewla bumped into Lycus slightly, touching him with her shoulder.

“It would seem we take upon the sands again.” she said to him.

“And you may yet find position if you stand alive at the conclusion of the match.”

She gazed at him, staring for a prolonged time. “What troubles your mind?”

He sighed as he continued walking forth into the dark, bloody corridor that led to the arena. “Jewla, if we stand victorious, I would have you leave the city tonight.”

“For what reason?”

Lycus sighed. Realizing he made a mistake to burden the mind of a fellow warrior before the fight. It was unwise and dangerous. “Never mind that. Strike it from your mind. If we live through this, I will give further instruction.”

He said as he walked forth into the light. As he stood at the gates, awaiting for the announcer to begin his speech, Lycus turned to Kai.

“Keep a sharp mind, or I fear you may be removed from this world prematurely.” Lycus warned. It was only fair to tell him of such thing. Though he was certain Kai already had a sharp mind, moreso than Tyranus.


****

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

"I'm ...not...a...Thalmor!" wheezed the High Elf on the ground. Nearly bursting to tears from the onslaught of destruction magic.

Ah, so now you are not a Thalmor? You worked under their wing. Bowed at every whim! Every desire! Vaultren continued on. He was about to speak, about to give a final word before he would stop his torture, until a voice came from behind him.

"Enough!" a man 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."

Vaultren growled, unsheathing his saber, angling it slightly in front of him as he stood between what appeared to be a half breed and the injured Altmer. He scowled at the man. "I have had my fill of being commanded by lesser men!"

The man tried to intervene, giving reason for his rude interruption. "Both he and I have shed Thalmor blood, though he was once one himself he turns against his horrid commanders."

Vaultren's eyes widened. "And what woul stop him from turning against you? Your allies? You would trust a man who betrayed his own kind? His own army?!"

The man approached him, causing the Imperial to hold his blade a bit tighter.

"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."

Fool? This man is swayed by arrogance! Vaultren told himself. He pointed an accusing finger at the Altmer. “A warning carried by you as well. Yet I have not caused you harm nor pain, have I? You are alive because you know something I do not. So why would it matter if this pathetic excuse for life is extinguished? You prove yourself to be the greater fool.”

Vaultren lowered his blade, but kept an open palm in front of him as he spoke. “Your contacts in the High Council is meaningless.”

And to him, it was. He had “friends” in the High Council. Allies and even a relative who once graced the Council with her swift mind. Even if one has a friend, it would be useless with the others who have a different train of thought. The Emperor is convinced not by one, but by many Council members.

“You are in no position to demand anything,” Vaultren seethed. “All you can do is wait until you are summoned. Until then, remove yourself from my presence or my men will put you in chains just as the Thalmor did.”

[Farrah Lee]

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

"Mercy is a lie. A delusion of the weak to think themselves strong. I would die before I ever ask for mercy." The Imperial was not intimidated by Faendal's words. For that, the Bosmer had to give the man a small degree of respect; to stand firm, even in word, before the Thalmor was no easy feat. The Bosmer's seed of respect withered to dust, however, when the Imperial's hands rose, a red ball of light forming slowly between his pale claws. "Yet, for the Altmer. I cannot say the same."

Faendal sat, dumbfounded by the man's sudden transition. The Imperial was cordial one moment, then suddenly wrathful the next. 'That glow can't be anything else; he's torturing him!'

"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!" The Imperial pressed forwards, his spell enveloping the Altmer in a scarlet mist.

Faendal watched, in growing horror, his mind torn between loyalty to his new found crew- even the prisoner- and the desire to save his own skin. If he stopped the Imperial he may not leave the room alive. 'But I can't just sit here!' The Bosmer was torn, but as the Imperial continued his depraved ramblings, Faendal no longer had a choice. He could barely stomach torture when the Thalmor had done it; to see the Imperials do it, to one of his own, was too much.

"Do not worry. The Emperor shall know of the threat soon enough." The Imperial looked at him, his face utterly calm, devoid of any trace of the depth of malice he had just shown.

Too much. Faendal leaped at the man, his wiry arms shooting towards his soft, pale throat. "That's enough!" he roared, calloused hands finding the officer's windpipe, tackling him away from the helpless Altmer. Both soldiers hit the hard stone floor, Faendal already moving to straddle the Imperial's chest. The Bosmer's face was torn by rage, his lips drawn back in a snarl. "I warned you, Imperial! I warned you not to touch him!"



OOC: Your move, Werewolf. Shall we see where this takes us, or stop and see the emperor sometime soon?

Also, I apologize Jonas, but I didn't see your post until now; you really should color code it red, not yellow, if you are with us in the torture chamber. I didn't mean to ignore Fithvael, but the result probably would have been the same anyway. Care to join me in fighting off the Imperials though? We should be able to hold this small chamber for a little while, at least.

[Alyesha Neufeld]

Vaultren. Guard Barracks, Imperial City.
Cyrodiil - 11th of Second Seed, 4E 174
Before he could even finish his sentence, he was tackled down by the Bosmer. Vaultren, being extremely skilled in hand to hand and fencing, was unable to anticipate this move. He let his guard down for that brief second and paid dearly for it. He realized that he was already down upon the cold floor of the Imperial prison cell, clammy hands gripping his throat and tightening. [i]What in Oblivion is this? Treachery![i/]Anger. Pure hot anger flared within his briast, smoldering into a raging inferno that consumed him. So symbolize his rage, Vaultren opened the palm of his hands. His hands did not reach for his neck, however, but simply aimed at the Orc and at the half-breed. The two who he deemed an immediate threat. If he took them out, he could kill the Altmer in time…but then who would explain to the Emperor of the encroaching Thalmor?

It was not time to think, but to act. As hot as his rage, Vaultren unleashed a large ball of fire across the room. The air around him illuminated in an intense heat as flames short forth from his hands toward his two intended targets. As soon as the fire flew straight toward the Orc and the half-breed, he removed the blade from his sheathe, while at the same time shoving his forehead toward the Bosmer. Hoping to hit his forehead just in time to regain position.

“Traitors! You’re all dead.” was the desperate, hateful cry of a distraught Imperial. He shouted even louder., calling the guards that stood outside of the halls. Surely they would be able to hear him. “To arms!”

But deep inside, Vaultren knew that he wanted to fight them himself. If he killed them, he would lose favor with the Emperor, but if his guards witnessed him under attack, it would turn the tables. Thalmor spies under false pretense, perhaps. A good story he could fabricate in a few minutes. If he lived through it. But after so many years, Vaultren doubted the certainty of failure. [i]By the Dark Princes, I shall live to see the Thalmor invade the Imperial City and I shall see the fear in the eyes of those who mocked me. Nothing will stop me, not even these pestering mongrels![i/]OOC: Sorry about the color issues. I can't access the official forums without using an anonymous proxy. Somehow I cannot access it without it. It svcks..and my options are limited.

[REVLUTIN]

Karzon's ears flattened out "I am merely trying to keep the fighting to a minimum within the city limits, even those of us who fight against the Dominion within conquered territory know when and where to fight and when not to. You clearly lack that ability, disappointing really. Seems you weren't gifted with much aside from brutality. Shame. If you're so desperate for a fight then take a swing at one of us instead of mouthing off for provocation, coward. " he turned and looked to the khajiit grouped there "Just ignore the fool. More trouble than its worth." he shakes his head speaking in Ta'agra before heading to walk away from the scene. But stopping a foot away from the female "Not even worth the reputations and names your parents might of had. Such a disgrace."

[Sxc-Mary]

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

Errialor

The Bosmer tackled the Imperial, breaking the spell and causing the pain to subside. Errialor was immensely relieved, both emotionally and physically. His captors saved him. Lying to the Legion about him was one thing, but Faendal was actually willing to assault a Legion soldier for him. Unfortunately, antagonizing the Legion may cost them dearly.

“Traitors! You’re all dead. To arms!” shouted the torturer. That's not good. I don't think the Legion will fare any better than those Dominion soldiers that they killed, but if both the Thalmor and Legion are after them, they'll have nowhere to go. He looked up at one of the other escaped prisoners.

"Could one of you remove these shackles? I can help you." While he could normally pull himself to his feet even with his hands bound, his body was both weakened and in pain, and he couldn't muster the energy needed without the aid of his hands. If he wanted to get up he'd need help. It was uncertain if they would help him, as they had little reason to trust him other than that he had made no attempt to resist. On the other hand they may need the help.

[aisha jamil]

OOC: I HATE proxy servers. I have no idea why I can't log in normally. This is getting on my damn nerves.

[Genevieve]

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


As she added herself to the crowd of the Arena spectators, she could hear out the various mumbling and chit-chatting fill the air. Laughter and shouting already began before the match did. Setting her helmet underneath her arm, she wobbled herself through the thick crowd. She was surprised, it had filled up rather quick. She took a seat on one of the benches at the balcony. Close enough to see the battle up close. It has been awhile since I last saw a fight in the Arena,[i/] she remembered. Father use to bring me here all the time.[/] She recalled how he had bought her the occasional snack while she sat on his lap and watched the fighting at a young age. And most of the times, he could predict who would win and who would lose.

The arena had surfaced slumbering thoughts and emotions within her that added to the words spoken by Karzon. Were my actions too brash and unethical? She tried to remember what she was taught, especially in her line of work. The rules that she seemed to break; never draw attention to yourself, unless required. Never speak beyond what in necessary. Be polite, even to your enemies.

Illana scoffed. Lycus followed these rules, though he did not always abide by them. She was young, so she could slip from time to time. She clenched her fist beneath her chin in deep thought as she began to think about what her life could have been before the Thalmor. Nothing has changed, really. But she would lose her home, her territory. She would be forced to relocate and reestablish herself in the world. No allies, no family but her brother, she would have to rely on her future as a Bounty Hunter.

Would fighting those khajiit solve anything? A bloody battle in which she could of lost, or worse, she could of went insane and caused more than just a flesh wound. That was one of the times where she shouldn't of even said a word to those idiot felines. What would of mother have done if she were in my situation? Leave them alone. Her own reputation would not be stemmed from street fights or random brawling. Her reputation came from experience, skill and glory. Each bounty amassing to much coin and eventually earning her a name among the outlaws and vigilantes of Cyrodiil and even Skyrim. [i]Those days were long past now, until she retired and bore Lycus and me.

She sat back, she noticed a familiar face. The Argonian, Rashaava, whom she had encountered in the market. [i]What is he doing here? she asked herself. She got up from her seat and went toward him, she took the liberty of taking a seat on one of the chairs. She did not look directly at him right away, rather, her eyes were set on the sands of the arena. She would not pester him with the topic of Benalin. His words on that matter will unfold naturally. Instead, she was interested in who was going to fight.

"Any idea who is going to be fighting?"

[natalie mccormick]

OOC: Reserved for post tomorrow. Werewolf, tsk tsk, you think fire will stop Fithvael? HAHAHAHA!!! Vaultren's practically screwed against the three of us prisoners.

[Monika Fiolek]

Kai Xerosa - Imperial City Arena


Lycus turned to greet Kai, and introduced him to the rest of the group. Kai realised that he would be fighting on the Yellow team alongside a female Dunmer, and a callous looking Argonian. Kai didn’t bother with names, they were rarely important, and Kai had no interest in making friends. What he did notice was that both warriors seemed experienced in these conflicts, and seemed calm considering the fight that awaited them. Kai couldn’t help but think they were blessed that they were on his team; he’d hate to have to kill them. If, of course, this was a fight to the death, something he’d soon find out.

Ignoring his ‘team’ mates, Kai focused on his opponent, they certainly didn’t lack strength with a mixture of tough looking combatants, including a Nord, an Orc, a Redguard and most worryingly a Breton. Kai had never been a lover of magic and had very little experience in how to use it, both offensively or how to defend against it. It was clear that he’d have to use his wits, or at least let the rest of his ‘team’ tackle that one.

Lycus spoke again to Kai, pointing towards a table laden in weapons and armour for the picking, “Kai, you may choose your weapon if you wish or go without them” he instructed, but Kai wasn’t fussed. He preferred using his hands and despite the fact that it would make his life a lot harder, he knew what he was capable of, and was confident more so in his body than he was with any form of steel. As Kai was considering his options a man approached and handed him a list, requesting that Kai add his name to it. Kai assumed that this man was the Blademaster as he gave Kai a small pep talk and took the, now, signed list back from him.

The Blademaster led the Yellow team to the gates, as the Blue Team took off to the other entrance, giving the fighters some inspiration, if that’s what you could call it, as they went. “The match will begin. Do not underestimate the Blue Team. Some of you already know the drill. Fight with honour or die with it.” And with that Kai and his team stood by the iron gates, awaiting battle.

Kai couldn’t help but overhear the short conversation between Lycus and his Dunmer friend. Something was on his mind, and to Kai it seemed the wrong place to discuss it. But Lycus quickly dismissed it and turned to Kai.

“Keep a sharp mind, or I fear you may be removed from this world prematurely.” Kai knew the risk, he’d done something similar a thousand times, unsure of whether he’d rise to see another day. But something inside Kai drove him to continue. He liked to blame it on the money, the lack of any other income, forcing him to fight. But it was the thrill that kept him at it. It was hard to face, but the threat of death at every turn made him feel alive.
The impatient chants from thousands of people waiting to see him seemed to bounce around the walls of the narrow brick-built tunnel. His breath was heavy and his heart pumping as adrenaline forced its way through his veins. Kai kept his gaze focused forward as the gate lowered, the Blue team spilling into the arena before his eyes. Ready to taste his blood. He could see the hunger in their eyes, the desire to fight for their life. Unfortunately for them, Kai was hungry too and as he sprinted forward to greet them, only one word filled his mind. Kill.

[Madeleine Rose Walsh]

Lycus Desselius, The Imperial City, The Arena.

The Imperial was ready for one final match that would possibly be his late not for the week, but for many years to come. He remembered the tales and stories his father told him about the Grey Prince, and the champions before him. How his father rose to fame by forcibly killing his own father in a match to the death. Many legends of blood written upon the sand. And this single moment he would add but a simple word to the great book of violence that graced the arena. While simple plays and musical displays also was presented, it was nothing compared to the thrill of watching opponents slaughter each other for sport and coin. The morbid desires of the spectactors would be sated. I pray that I shall not be among the fallen.

“And on the yellow team, we have our warrior Will the gods smile upon him this day and grant him such wish? Today we witness the youngest combatant in this fair city who has achieved title of Myrmidon quicker than most.”

Lycus braced himself. Holding his round shield and spear while his sword was safely sheathed on his side. He placed the round helmet over his head, encasing all sides.

“He had lost few battles, and has won fights. And he is here once more to prove his worth! I give you Lycus, the beast of Cyrodiil!"

The iron gates slid down quickly, sharp edges disappearing beneath the key holes on the ground, allowing Lycus and whomever was near him to walk forth into the coliseum. Light shined down upon him and the others. He gazed his eyes up and forth before him, seeing the large crowd chant his name. As he walked forth from the small corridor into the open, he saw the multitude rise and move about just as a wave would, roaring loudly and clapping excitedly.

With a somber heart, Lycus had to convince the crowd that he was confident, that he was happy to fight for them. Yet he knew some of them would not live to see the week past, nor even the next day. He knew the Thalmor were close and they would be relentless in their attacks. It was up to him to offer the people of Cyrodiil a good show. A fierce battle would serve to erase grim thoughts from the mind. He convinced himself to play the part. Hopefully they would be convinced as well.

Raising his shield to the people, Lycus kept a neutral look, but his gesture was enough to summon yet more cries of praise. The shouts of men and the screams of women was enough to inflame him with a sense of pride. He raised his shield as well, holding both symbol of offense and defense high above his head as he spun around slowly to capture the scenery and all those who gazed down upon him.

The announcer also over-glorified the names of the other combatants just as he did Lycus. He even mentioned Kai, the pit dog, by name. Lycus looked at the man and saw that he had an aura of fire around him. A flame that would ignite him to unleash a raging inferno of battle. Yet, unlike the rest, Kai was unarmed. Lycus found it brave, if not foolish, that a man would go into the arena without their weapons. Knowing well he could face all sorts of odds; swords, axes, arrows, spears and even the arcane spells of the mages or those who delve in such arts. Will kai survive? Probably not, unless he was truly skilled. A fact Lycus had to see for himself.

After the man finished his speech of those that would fight, it was now time to battle. The Blue Team was the first to act, their hunger for battle manifested with a powerful battle cry. Lycus ran as well, spear in hand and shield too, he lunged at the first foe. The cacophany of the crowd erupted his thrust was blocked by the enemies' shield. This day, father, I shall make you proud. Thought Lycus as he fought for his life.

[Sun of Sammy]

Kai Xerosa - The Imperial City, Arena.

Kai slowed his pace and started to take smaller steps out into the middle of the arena, as he did so the atmosphere hit him like a gust of wind; the cheers of the people filled the air with a thunderous roar. They were clearly expecting a great fight. Kai tried his best to ignore the crowd’s chants, which were so loud as to nearly drown out the commentator’s introductions completely. Kai heard his own name mentioned, but was uninterested in what was said, focussing intently on his opponents who now filled the sand covered arena floor.

Kai glanced over each of his opponents, taking in everything about them that he could, trying his best to pinpoint their weaknesses. Both the Orc and Redguard were dressed in heavy armour, yet the Nord was only wearing a fur outfit, and without a helmet. Something that Kai could exploit. Ignoring the magic using Breton, Kai focussed his gaze on the Nord, eventually catching his eye and locking them both in a death glare. Kai began walking towards the Nord as the crowd quietened down, and the fight began. Hearing metal clash behind him Kai picked up his pace towards the Nord, careful not to run to conserve his energy but making ground with a certain purpose. The Nord wielded a large two-handed sword, giving Kai the advantage of speed and agility. The Nord began running at Kai, holding his large sword at his side, ready to swing at Kai as he got ever closer. It seemed like an eternity before finally Kai was within striking distance and the Nord wasted no time in aiming a hard blow at Kai’s midriff.

Kai, unhindered by the weight of any weapons or armour, ducked and rolled forward towards the Nord, clasping, as he went, a handful of the sand that scattered the arena floor. Kai, pushing hard off his powerful legs came up from the floor into a diving tackle to the Nord, trying his best to slam the fistful of sand into the Nord’s unprepared face. Kai had no doubt that the Nord was heavier than him, perhaps twice so, yet Kai’s momentum pushed his shoulder hard into the Nord’s abdomen, forcing the breath from him and winding him as he tumbled backwards towards the ground.

His hands now loose of the sand, which was now scattered across the Nord’s face and buried within his exposed eyes, fiercely grasped the scruff of the fur armour, whilst sat atop his weakened body and pinning him down with all his might. Releasing one hand from the Nord’s fur armour Kai delivered one of his infamous punches to the Nord’s face, aiming hard at the Nord’s nose, and snapping it as his brick-like fist connected. After a few more punches Kai landed to the Nord’s exposed face, blood now covering both his face and Kai’s own, the Nord showed some retaliation and somehow found enough strength to wrestle from Kai’s grip and throw him from his body. In a split second the tides had turned and the Nord whose face was now blooded and bruised beyond recognition swung blindly at Kai, who was only just able to spin and avoid the sharp iron blade as it flung past his shoulder, slicing the white material of Kai’s cotton shirt as it went by and lightly cutting into his skin. Kai took the opportunity of the slowly recovering Nord to leap into him once more, this time wasting no time with punches and going straight for the kill. Kai grasped the Nord’s head in both hands, and wrenched as hard as possible, tearing both bones and muscle as he wrenched it fiercely clockwise. Kai felt his neck snap as he released his grip, watching as the Nord collapsed lifelessly to the sandy and now blood-stained floor beneath. His sword clattering against the floor as the crowd roared at the events below.

Kai turned his attention to the others who were still locked in battle, whilst looking for his next opponent, and readying himself to defend his own life once more.

[Robert Bindley]

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

“Any idea who is going to be fighting?”

Rashaava's slitted eyes flew open at the sound of the woman's voice. Did I really fall asleep waiting? Turning, he saw that it was the Imperial woman from the market, who was apparently Lycus' sister. However, I can't seem to remember her name... did he ever mention it?

Collecting himself, he responded,

“I do not know the combatants for this match, save one: Lycus, whom I believe to be your brother, yes? I don't know if you have spoken with him, but he will be risking his life in a few moments to pay off that cursed Elf's debt to you. I came to offer him some assistance, to ensure that you get your money and I can end my involvement with this matter, but he refused. At this point, I know that I am helpless to influence the match, but I felt compelled to watch nonetheless. What brings you here? Do you come to cheer for your kin, or do you just enjoy watching combatants kill each other?”

Rashaava winced internally as he found himself uttering this last question; he did not want to anger this woman, but he could not help the somewhat sarcastic tone that he took with those whom he did not like or did not know (although, by default, landstriders whom he did not know he did not like). Just then, an announcer's voice burst over the crowd, possibly amplified through magical means. It introduced the gladiators on both teams, but the names meant nothing except for Lycus':

“... Today we witness the youngest combatant in this fair city, who has achieved the title of Myrmidon quicker than most. He has lost few battles, and won many fights. And he is here once more to prove his worth! I give you Lycus, the Beast of Cyrodiil!”

The crowd erupted in shouts and excited screams at this introduction, as the iron gates slid down. Hmm, it seems that this man is well-known here. Hopefully that bodes well. As the members of the Yellow Team stepped out, Rashaava peered through the light reflecting from the sand, hoping to identify them. A Dunmer, an egg-brother, some Imperial, and Lycus, judging from his spear. Taking no real interest in the Blue Team's fighters, Rashaava noticed that the Imperial seemed to carry no weapons. A magic user, perhaps? It is rare for his people to be skilled in the arcane arts, especially enough for a death match.

As he watched, Lycus raised his shield over his head, which seemed to excite the crowd immensely. Just afterward, his opponents rushed forward, shouting some unintelligible battle cry, and Lycus was the first to engage, though his strike was blocked. As the rest of the gladiators clashed, with a member of the Blue Team hanging back while apparently summoning a spell giving off a blue aura, the unarmed Imperial started walking directly toward a burly-looking Nord wearing only fur armor. What? I have seen only a few mages who allow their foes to get so close, and they all put up some sort of shield first! How does this man hope to defeat that sword?

His question was answered soon enough as the man demonstrated remarkable agility by rolling toward the Nord and grappling him, while apparently blinding him with some of the Arena sand. Resouceful. Having gotten close enough to render the sword ineffective, this man (Was his name Kai? That sounds familiar...) delivered a number of punches in a manner that indicated his immense experience in martial combat. The Nord managed to free himself and swing at his assailant, but the Imperial spun out of harm's way, making it look easy. As the still-blinded Nord began to recover from his swing with the heavy sword, Kai nimbly leapt toward the fur-clad gladiator and expertly snapped his neck. Rashaava cringed at the brutality, but could not help feeling a considerable amount of respect for the man.

Turning toward the other fighters, Rashaava was curious and a bit apprehensive to witness what the outcome would be. Two Blue Team gladiators dressed in somewhat expensive-looking heavy armor seemed to be trying to keep the other three Yellow Team combatants away from the Blue mage. He seemed to be holding some prepared spell, waiting for an opening. He doesn't want to catch his allies in the blast... In a crowded fight like this, it seems like his talents will be of limited usefulness unless he can heal. Just then, the Argonian on the Yellow Team dodged to the side of the (very large) Orc, and the mage took it as an invitation to unleash his spell. As the blue stream flew from the mage's outstretched fingertips, Rashaava felt a surge of anxiety overcome him. He did not know the Argonian, but he felt a strong bond of kinship. Stay back, egg-brother!

[SUck MYdIck]

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

Moments after Faendal tackled the Imperial to the ground- just as his hands wrapped tighter around his enemy's neck- the Bosmer felt an intense heat. Fire shot from the legionnaire's hands, an inferno aimed directly at Faendal's companions. Before he could think about the others, however, pain went flashing across his face. The Imperial's forehead connected with his, rocking him backwards, blacking his vision. 'Bastard!'

“Traitors! You’re all dead!” the Imperial roared, struggling out from underneath the Bosmer. Then, louder, he called to the guards outside, “To arms!”

The old soldier threw himself off the Imperial, out of the legionnaire's reach. "Guard the door!" Faendal cried, struggling back to his feet, his head still pounding. "No one gets in until he's dead!" The Bosmer checked on his companions- all still alive- before stumbling towards the Altmer. The elf was still chained, but unhurt, and through the muddle of his pain Faendal was already thinking of a plan. They'd need to live long enough for it to work, however, and for that he needed bodies.

"Hold on," Faendal muttered to the elf, his hands fumbling with the shackles, "And get ready to fight." The Bosmer glanced at the pale Imperial, and the keys still on his belt. "Damn." Faendal grabbed the Altmer by the wrists and hauled him to his feet, steadying him for a moment. "Stand here until you get your feet back, then jump in. We're going to need the help."



OOC: Probably the worst post I've ever made, but it will have to do considering the rush I'm in. I apologize if you wanted to keep attacking Faendal, Werewolf, but I wanted to give Antlive and Jonas a chance to get in on the action too. And my apologies for not unlocking your shackles, Crimson, but I don't think Faendal can just break the iron on the spot. Once we restrain Werewolf we'll get the keys (if we manage to do so, that is ). Anyway, carry on with the fight, let's just see where it takes us for now.

[Agnieszka Bak]

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


The huntress tapped her fingers on the table while looking out into the grand arena. Only the voice of the Argonian and his movements gained her attention once more. He seemed to have been so bored, that he slept as soon as he took a seat. He woke up, and composed himself as he answered her question:

"I do not know the combatants for this match, save one: Lycus, whom I believe to be your brother, yes? I don't know if you have spoken with him, but he will be risking his life in a few moments to pay off that cursed Elf's debt to you. I came to offer him some assistance, to ensure that you get your money and I can end my involvement with this matter, but he refused. At this point, I know that I am helpless to influence the match, but I felt compelled to watch nonetheless."

What!? Illana thought quickly. The bastard Elf used Lycus to settle the debt? Illana couldn't help but frown and then laugh at the situation. The Wood Elf will do absolutely anything to get coin and to save his skin, even taking advantage of a man's dangerous hobby. Strangely enough, she knew Lycus all too well. He was surely aware that he was trying to help the bosmer out and he himself knew that Benalin was using him. He didn't care, for some strange reason he still risked in his life in the arena. As long as Lycus is getting paid as well, then that is no problem.

"What brings you here? Do you come to cheer for your kin, or do you just enjoy watching combatants kill each other?”

As of this moment? Both, she thought. "It wasn't in my knowledge that Lycus was even going to return to the arena, let along do it for Benalin."

She sighed, forcibly stopping her own continuous tapping. Her eyes lowered down a bit, as she tried to remember her earliest memories. "My father use to bring me and Lycus to the arena when we were younger. At the time, it was the only entertainment we could have. And ot's the only entertainment possible."

Of course, she was being pragmatic, even in the presence of the execution of various people. At a young age, she had always watched the entire battles with the frigid and collected pragmatism that would let her live in a harsh world. She was always a good learner when it came to these things.

The announcer the silenced the crowd with his loud voice that announced the combatants. Among the fighters for the Yellow Team, was Lycus, her brother. She watched idly as he walked into the arena, earning the affection of hundreds upon hundreds of people. Being well-known among the populace for being too good and too quick in his battles, it was no surprise he earned their praise and shouts. That, and he was practically the exotic stock of Imperial, having ancient roots to savages. It gave him the look of light-skinned redguard. She sighed. "Fight well, Lycus."

The other person in the arena which also earned her attention was the man she saw walking with Ty earlier. It seemed he was in the fight as well, but only now did she learn his name; Kai. The name was always spoken in seedy taverns and dark alleys in the streets of Bravil in the late nocturnal hours. She had heard exploits of the man and his knack for fighting in boxing matches in the most wretched of places. She also had heard rumors of his knack for violence and prowess. Interesting, she thought to herself. And he shares the sands with my brother. Let us see if your reputation is well-deserved.

After the fighters were introduced, the battle began, thus was the fated outcome of the introduction. The battle unfolded and blood was spilled. Her eyes were directly on Lycus and his movements and his attack; Good, yes! No! she shouted in her mind as his initial attacks were good, but the following ones lacked proper form. She turned to the man known as Kai and watched as he finished off an opponent by snacking his neck?. Quick, efficient and clean. I just hope Lycus survives this...

She motioned toward the Argonian. "You strike me as the type to avoid conflict. You do not favor the games?" She asked Rashaava.

****

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


Lycus lunged forward into the air, shield behind him as his spear was aimed forward. He struck once, then twice before bringing his shield to bear as his opponent, but each strike was missed as the pesky bosmer scampered about, dodging each move. Giving in to his bestial fueled bloodrage, Lycus was as a wild animal, bestowing feral blows down on his enemy on every angle, the strikes were so rapid it appeared as if he had stabbed four times in two seconds. Maleva the Bosmer fell into a retreat, using her magic to throw fireballs at Lycus, who used his shield to try and hold off the elemental magic as best as he could, but the Wood Elf used his momentary defense as a pathway for her offense. She ran to the side to flank him, using her short-sword to try and stab Lycus on the side. But luckily, his armor was hard enough to ward off the blow. Nevertheless, the Imperial rolled to the side to once again gain his position.

The crowd booed now, neither opponent having an advantage. It was just as his last showing, pathetic! To fight the Bosmer, he would have to rely on wit rather than brute force. Technique in place of blind fury. She had no shield, but she had a sword and a single hand that produced magic. As the two fighters were waiting for each other to attack, Lycus could hear the rest of the combatants fighting each other. Though he dared not distract himself to watch them.

He held his ground, knowing he had to act soon if he wanted to live. But the Bosmer was faster, as she reached for her pocket and pulled out a folded scroll. She unfolded it quickly and read it, and in her hand a blue hue formed. Before he knew it, she began to throw ice shards at him. The spiky projectiles aiming towards his weakest points! Lycus took for cover, using his shield to protect his side as he kept his head down, hiding behind the pillar. The crowd cheered, but for her, rather than him.

The vexed Imperial hid as the Bosmer laughed, throwing more of her icy missiles. He growled angrily at the entire situation. His pride suffered a heinous blow, as did his arm. He felt the a cold sting on the side of his shoulder, a pain so severe that he dropped his shield to the ground. No! he thought. He was vulnerable now, especially without his shield. He had no time to pick it back up, as the Bosmer woman circled around the pillar to try and end his life. Lycus resorted to using his spear. As she turned around the pillar, Lycus struck his blow, the tip of his weapon nearly piercing her stomach, but she was too agile, and simple evaded it. Once again, she tried to summon her spell, but the scroll seemed to wear off now, as the light in her hand faded.

She backed away from Lycus upon that realization, mumbling words to summon more arcane powers. Lycus summoned his own might, holding his spear high into the air and throwing it at her. The long weapon soared in the air, straight toward the intended target. Knowing that his shield would unbalance him if he had used it while throwing his weapon, Lycus picked the defensive tool soon after his spear was thrown. He ran faster this time, as a true athlete, his feet taking him across the bloodied sands to Maleva, who already had jumped to the ground to avoid Lycus' deadly spear.

She picked herself up, eyes wide with horror at the approaching beast. His hair was wild and about, his eyes wide and feral, his speed was quicker than before. He huffed and puffed, breathing in steady breaths as he sprinted faster. A powerful shard of ice flew to him, he raised his shield, rolling it to the side as he felt it catch the ice. He dropped the shield and zig-zagged to Maleva. Another, lesser spike of ice was summoed and flung at him, thought more carelessly. The Imperial kicked his head to the side, narrowly avoiding it as it zoomed past. Closer, closer! He unsheathed his sword now.

Maleva raised her hand to summon more powers, but Lycus was down upon her. His weapon emerged from it's casing, swinging straight to her hand diagonally. The short-sword sliced through skin and flesh, and finally past bone. Her source of power was severed as her hand was seperated from the stump. She yelped loudly in pain as she dropped to her knees, trying to stab Lycus with her other sword.

The Imperial parried the blow, flinging her sword aside casually right before he pulled his own back. Helpless, she only stared at him. Lycus held it with his two hands, shoving his palm at the butt of the weapon, thrusting it deep into her chest. The crowd cheered once more, giving Lycus his pride back. Ha!

Turning around, Lycus looked for his next opponent. He saw Snaglak, the Orc, fighting Jewla with a powerful warhammer. He raced to join her in the fight, ignoring Kai for the time being. She was his friend, so he saw it best to help her. With a spear and a sword, Lycus was confident he could take out the Orc with Jewla. Yet what transpired next was not what he anticipated. The Orc overpowered the Dunmer woman, striking her chest hard with his hammer. It was enough to fracture the bone, so much that she could not even more an inch of her body as the hammer fell down upon her, crushing her spine and smacking her against the crimson sand.

No! Damn it, Jewla! "Ahhh!" Lycus roared, throwing his spear at the Orc from far off. The spear did not make it's mark, however. Lycus had to rely on his sword and Jewla's fallen shield alone. He ran quickly, though less than before as his stamina was quickly fading away. He removed the helmet from his head, tossing it aside while still rushing to meet the Orc head on. Warrior versus warrior. This would be a true test his abilities. Snaglak was a renown fighter, killing him would be an honor to Lycus' name. He would succeed where Jewla failed, or so he had hoped.

[Emily Jones]

Kai Xerosa - The Imperial City: Arena.

Kai watched on as his newfound acquaintance honourably avenged his fallen Dunmer friend. The Imperial rushed into battle against the large Orc that had seconds ago slammed the dark elven lady to the ground with a grim-sounding crack. She was obviously dead on impact, not only made noticeable from the lack of immediate movement but the fact that such an action was met with a roar from the Imperial who rushed to retaliate. Kai rarely found himself in similar positions, perhaps down to his almost complete lack of friends or perhaps instead his lack of honour. Needless to say, it was rare that Kai would ponder his shortcomings and instead managed to overlook them with some success.

Something Kai had not observed whilst his attention had been fixed on Lycus’ battle was the continuation of his own. His tiresome duel with the Nord had left him somewhat weary, and the negative effects of the previous night’s fight were starting to reveal themselves. Luckily for Kai, his sky blue eyes met an approaching figure as it neared him at some speed; the Redguard from the opposing team was bearing down on him, spear outstretched and aimed hard at Kai’s torso. Kai fought out of instinct and despite his body’s fatigue his mind worked quickly anolysing the threat of the spear and reacting accordingly, resulting in Kai swivelling his body to avoid the oncoming blow before landing a powerful sideward kick into the Redguard’s chest.

The man took a step back to re-calibrate before once more launching a powerful lunge, this time lower and harder towards Kai’s leg. Kai’s reactions were slow, and the spear hit, crippling Kai with agony as the pain launched through his nervous system almost shouting at his brain for him to do something to make it stop. The rusted iron head of the spear twisted and turned, buried deep into Kai’s thigh as the Redguard eventually pried it loose. Thrusting once more at Kai who limped backwards once more to only narrowly avoid what might have been his last step.

Unsure of how to react to this new development, a severely weakened Kai held his stance awaiting the Redguard’s next move. Blood was flowing fast from his newly made wound, trickling down his leg in a crimson stream. He had to stop it, or he’d bleed to death.

The Redguard struck again, although this time, off target. The spear head, now smeared with Kai’s own blood rushed past his shoulder yet Kai was faster still managing to grab the upper end of the spear before his enemy could retract it. Wincing as Kai placed any pressure through his left leg Kai spun inside the spear, letting go as he did so and following through with his elbow, up sharply into the Redguard’s vulnerable face.

It was just the opening Kai needed, as the Redguard then proceeded to release his grip on the spear and drop it to his side, instead clutching his face and reeling back in some pain. Kai used the opportunity to take the spear himself, yet rather than use it, toss it across the sands and out of reach of the Redguard, who was just coming around from Kai’s previous blow.

With little hesitation Kai ripped the shirt from his body, revealing a dirt and now blood covered torso, that glistened in the beating sun from the sweat that lined it. His powerful muscles twitching and flexing with every movement, probably visible to everyone in the arena who watched the battle develop. He swiftly tied the cotton material around his upper leg, in a weak attempt to stem the blood that was still rushing from his leg.

With his opponents focus re-gained, Kai composed himself once more for the fight ahead and the two men moved closer to each other. Kai came into his own under these circumstances and it was clear from the off that the Redguard stood no chance. Close-quarters combat was Kai’s speciality and his fierce, and lightning fast punch to the bridge of the Redguard’s nose made that evident. Another punch flowed, then another in a rhythm that could only belong to such a well-trained boxer, before finally the Redguard caved in. Collapsing to the sand covered ground as he was overcome by Kai’s blows.

Kai himself could not help but drop to his knees, any strength left in his leg had soon gone and Kai was helpless to any opponent still waiting for an opportunity to strike.

[HARDHEAD]

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


Lycus attacked the Orc with a huge two-handed overhead strike, which promoted the Orismer to block his attack with the center of his war hammer. The overly muscular combatant slid his weapon to the side, efficiently robbing Lycus of his grip. The Imperial watched horrified as his weapon flew from his hands to the sands near Jewla’s body. The crowd gasped.

Swiftly rolling to the side to avoid a crushing blow to his hip, Lycus maneuvered away from the monstrous weapon, quickly reaching for his fallen spear. The green-man attacked without hesitation nor reserve, mercilessly on the offensive to try and crush the less muscular man beneath him. Words were not exchanged, as the repeated strikes of each weapon spoke enough of a clear message.

The Imperial pushed his spear forward in a desperate attempt to try and piece an opening of Snaglak’s armor, but the Orc seemed to block every attempt by his defensive posture and heavy armor. Of course, Lycus knew he was skilled with fighting men with spear. As the weapon was the most basic and the easiest to learn, Lycus had a reputation for using such weapons in his battle. He knew he had to improvise.

The Orc had a blast of strength and stamina during the confrontation, as he attacked with malice that had Lycus stymied. The pariah-man, being much older and much more experienced, was able to have Lycus suffer from various blows which caused him to further retreat around the arena. The crowd cheered, but not for Lycus. Yet deep inside, Lycus heeded the words of his father; strength and speed can be useful for every hunter, but guile has it’s worth. A true hunter uses all three tactics. With fast, hard strokes of his spear, he unleashed his fury into his inhuman opponent, willingly engaging in close-quarters combat, refusing to allow Snaglak bring his hammer to bear.

But Snaglak retaliated, driving Lycus backward towards the pillars, keeping the young Imperial on the defensive, pressing in on him without stop. While Lycus was still young, he was still powerful. His face sweaty and dirty face took on a frenzied appearance, and the glitter of his peculiar eyes brightened with mystery.

Slowly, Lycus began to creep his way into the fight, once again adopting his position as the aggressor. Strike after strike, evasion for evasion, Lycus and Snaglak battled about the pillars and the walls of the arena, locked in a confrontation that seemed eternal and without end. Snaglak was obviously tired, so he shoved Lycus with his powerful shoulder before bringing his horrible hammer to bear.

Lycus fell to the side, still clutching on his spear. And he performed a downstroke, whirling quickly to the right, and with his back to the Orismer. Knowing it would take effort to raise the hammer from the ground once more, Lycus did a blinded, reverse lunge. The Imperial’s spear caught him directly on the side, just beneath his arm-pit, its extended sharp length slicing through the soft undercloth, deep into his flesh. But the beast was not defeated! He simply cried in pain, and used both hands to remove the spear lodged on his side.

Running across the arena, he slid upon the sands with grace, his hands sliding on the soft material as it finally came across the weapon it searched for. An Imperial sword(Gladius) made it's way onto his hands. He held it in a firm grip, but not too tight. Lycus glimpsed from the distance Kai, being struck in the thigh by his opponent's spear. Lycus did not smile at his suffering, not at all. As ambivalant as he felt about Kai, he was certain enough not to root for his demise any more than he should. He took a deep breath as he got to his feet once more, hearing the large footsteps of the giant rushing behind him.

Long hair wet with sweat sprinkled with the glistening sand, the copper-skinned Imperial grabbed hold of Jewla's fallen shield as he rushed to her body. Snaglak still behind him, slowed by his heavy armor. Using two serrated Orcish blades, Lycus was at a great disadvantage on the offense, but he did hold the greatest defense in battle; shield and wit. The Orc was obviously seeking to end the conflict, so he could claim the glory. It made him reckless and predictable. Lycus was willing to bet he was the only man who survived long enough, or one of the very few.

Snaglak accelerated in a power run that caused him to leap a short distance to meet Lycus. The Orismer held his blade high as he chopped down at Lycus, who made use of his powerful muscles to raise his shield. He felt his whole hand and arm vibrate due to the effect of the blades smacking upon the shield.

Once more, Snaglak struck, harder this time with one sword, Lycus leave an opening between his arm and shield, as soon as the blade struck the air, Lycus closed the gap and swung the Orcish blade loose from Snaglak's grip, the weapon flying off from reach. At the same time, Lycus spun with the round metal shield, crashing it upon the Orc's tusked face. He struck over his head once, then twice, and thrice with his elbow. The third blow striking the Orc in the nose. That was it, Snaglak was enraged. His attack was now careless.

He stood dazed and a bit confused, shaking his head rapidly while snorting out blood which gushed from his nose. He charged at Lycus now as an enraged bull, in which the Imperial swiftly moved away, holding his blade in opposite direction as it sliced the hands of the Orc. Snaglak shouted in rage as his fingers were cut, but not loud enough as Lycus took advantage of his brief opening, and delivered the blow before the last. The Imperial sword pierced Orc on the softest spot of his armor, at last piercing the Orc’s lungs.

Falling to his knees, the Orc collapsed, breathing heavily for air as his lungs were filled with blood, as his mouth poured out the sanguine liquid. The spectators cried and roared, rising to their feet to clap and cheer as the famed Orc was defeated by a lesser opponent. Lycus picked up his spear from the ground, the weapon that would symbolize his Patron and what he stood for.

In the distance was Kai and the Redguard, both bloodied upon the ground. Lycus presumed them dead as he walked to the Orc. Behind Snaglak, Lycus kicked the Orc in the back, forcing the beast to the ground. Raising his spear, Lycus held his weapon high and finally impaled the Orismer's neck as he turned about on the sand. Lycus struck his neck just beneath the chin and twisted about. The crying spectators all rose to their feet in a thunderous shout that made the hairs on his skin rise. Snaglak fell, at the hands of Lycus Desselius! And they whistled, cried and cheered as a howling mob would at the face of death. Pumping their fists into the air in a ecstacy of pleasure stemming from bloody entertainment.

And Lycus stretched his arms into the air, pulling his head back and bellowed as loud as he could with a battle cry. A roar exploded from his lungs into the world, echoeing throughtout the sands. The last energy Lycus could spare, was the victorious cheer that was born from his own pride and his success.

[louise fortin]

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

Stay back, egg-brother!

As Rashaava looked on, the Blue mage's frost blast arced through the air towards the Argonian combatant. Unfortunately, his attention was focused on the Orc (specifically, his hammer), and the blast hit him full on. With an involuntary, sharp intake of breath, Rashaava watched his kinsman stagger from the cold, which seemed to both injure and weaken him. As he turned to identify his magical assailant, the Orc raised his hammer to his shoulder in preparation for a swing. Rashaava watched in horror as the heavy weapon swung toward the woefully unprotected Argonian, whose distraction would prove to be his undoing; it was just as he turned back, realizing his mistake, that the hammer connected with his skull. Rashaava instinctively shut his eyes in a grimace, before returning his gaze to the sands. Such is the price of barbarism.

Leaning back in his seat, Rashaava turned to Lycus' sister, who was explaining that she had not known of Benalin's scheme. Interesting. Odd coincidence that she decided to attend this match, then. After watching the fighting for a few moments, she turned to Rashaava and said,

“You strike me as the type to avoid conflict. You do not favor the games?”

Perceptive, this one. Looking back down at the fighting, Rashaava responded,

“Indeed. I have never watched a match before; the noise of the crowds bothers me, and the mindless killing does not appeal to me.”

Rashaava paused, realizing something. Turning to look at the woman, he asked,

“By the way, what name do you call yourself? Your brother never mentioned it. I believe that Benalin told you that mine is Rashaava, yes?”

The shouting of the crowd caught Rashaava's attention; looking down, he saw Lycus pulling a sword from that accursed mage. Good riddance. Rashaava's brow furrowed ever so slightly at this thought; he was participating in the blood lust mentality of the crowds. I must control that...

Resuming his observance of the match, Rashaava watched as the Orc swung his hammer at the Yellow Team Dunmer, crushing her against the sand. Lycus, seemingly in response to this unfortunate occurrence, rushed toward the Orc, who turned to face him and blocked his initial strike with his hammer. They dueled for a while, Lycus constantly dodging the deadly hammer while trying to overcome the Orc's protective armor with his spear. Finally, it found it's mark, thrusting into the Orsimer's side. However, the hulking creature just pulled it out with a yell, seeming remarkably able to continue fighting. A wound like that would bring down any man! Lycus should not underestimate this one... And he'll need a new weapon.

Seemingly hearing his thoughts, Lycus ran across the sands, grabbing a fallen sword and shield, which he managed to bring up just in time to block a blow from the sword that the Orc had acquired to replace his hammer. In one fluid motion, the Imperial used the shield and his elbows to batter the Orc's face, apparently shattering his nose. That seemed to trigger the rage that was latent in his race, and at that point the battle became simple. Expertly sidestepping his rush, Lycus delivered multiple sword blows to the Orc, ultimately impaling him.

As the Orc fell, Rashaava noticed that he had been gripping the railing, painfully so. Releasing his grip, Rashaava's eyes moved to the other Imperial, who was so skilled without weaponry, and they were surprised by the sight that met them. The man was shirtless and collapsed on the sand, along with his Redguard opponent. It seemed that he had tied his shirt around his leg, and it was soaked with blood. Rashaava could not tell if the man had died, but it appeared that he had at least taken his opponent down with him. Upon noting that, Rashaava realized that the match was actually over. I guess that that explains the shouting. Indeed, the spectators were all shouting, some in excitement and others in dismay as they realized how much they had lost.

The thought of winnings reminded Rashaava of the whole point of this match: to pay the woman. Turning to her, Rashaava said,

“It appears that that despicable Elf will be able to pay his debt to you at last. Knowing him, it would be best to find him, to ensure that he does not disappear with his winnings.”

After that, I should speak to Lycus once more. After all, it is because of him that I will not have to deal with this woman anymore. Then, maybe I can finally leave this city...

[Stu Clarke]

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


Illana sat back in her seat as she watched the fight unfold before her very eyes. Her heart began to skip a beat when Lycus was repeatedly attacked by the Bosmer. She gritted her teeth with eyes wide with horror as he was impaled on the shoulder. Though her heartbeat slowed as she continued to watch. Lycus eventually killed the Bosmeri mage, but before he watched the Dunmer woman be utterly crushed by the Orc's hammer. What was her name...Jewla, was it? Illana remembered. Lycus always took to surrounding himself with those in the Bloodworks, even more than his own flesh and blood.

Looking at the fight, Rashaava answered her question. "Indeed. I have never watched a match before; the noise of the crowds bothers me, and the mindless killing does not appeal to me.”

I figured as much. You seemed to have a soft heart the moment I laid my eyes on you, she thought. Out loud, she simply said: "It is temporary anyway."

The Argonian, Rashaava, spoke out to ask her name this time. She herself had realized that he didn't know her by it. She was a bit proud that Lycus didn't give out any personal information about her, especially her name. She considered telling him her name, but for what reason? To engage in a more formal aquaintance? Did names really matter as title did?

"The huntress," she responded to him. "That is what most call me."

Lycus took on the offense and battled the Orc, while at the same time, the Imperial named Kai took on a Redguard with no weapons. He made use of his martial skills to try and best his opponent. Eventually, Kai was able to subdue his Redguard foe, but while paying the price. He was wounded by the spear, it was obvious by the blood she could see tickling down his leg, and the removal of his shirt to prove proper aid to his injury.

While watching the fight unfold with a heavy heart, Illana couldn't help but notice the squeamish Argonian beside her. Rashaava, confessing that he was a stranger to these sort of things, had displayed regret and maybe even pity when a fellow Argonian was crushed by a hammer to the cranium. A weak stomach, Illana realized. Born out of a life without violence or conflict, perhaps.

The huntress watched as Lycus stabbed the Orc with a spear. Damn it, Lycus! You know adrenaline can devour pain. You should of aimed for the weak points! She swore silently, cheering for her brother. Her pulse quickened as she tried to conceal her hand clenching the sides of the chair. If she lost Lycus...all would be lost. He's the only one that shared her blood and the only one left besides her of the Desselius family. If he died, then there was little hope. She clamped on her teeth, concealing a cheer that could potentially threaten to rise from her mouth. If he dies, Benalin would suffer thrice as much before an appointed death.

Soon, her hopes were rekindled when her brother was able to kill the Orc with a stab to the side, possible penetrating his lungs. Ha, father showed him that move! She smiled at the memory. The blow that slew the giant. Still, in the corner of her eye she glimpsed Rashaava grip the railing with his hand as the Orc breathed his last breath.

The woman cracked a half grin and chuckled inwardly, sighing at the victory with relief. "My first reaction to this type of thing. I was a little girl though, no more than nine winters. If you come here enough, it will pass in due time."

Her eyes was upon Kai now, the bloodied Imperial who certainly proved his worth after killing the Nord and defeating the Redguard with just two hands. His reputation was deserved, as well. She set her legs on the table, listening to the people around her argue for their gold and complaining about their losses. And among that, Lycus' roar in the center of the Arena. Bask in the glory, Lycus. You deserve it, smiled Illana. The match concluded abruptely, yet the announcer had to make the final speech. Even with the injured, though breathing, gladiator and pit dog, most deemed it a conclusion. Even Rashaava came to that belief.

“It appears that that despicable Elf will be able to pay his debt to you at last. Knowing him, it would be best to find him, to ensure that he does not disappear with his winnings.”

Illana glared at the Argonian with her golden eyes. They displayed a mysterious and unnerving curiosity, though the curling of her lip and furrowing of the brows spoke something entirely different. Something negative. Honestly though, she had a creeping feeling the Argonian did not like her. Perhaps the way I handled Benalin? Or maybe he doesn't like humans much. To be even more honest, she didn't give a Skeever's ass about his opinion. If he had something useful for her, then so be it. If he wanted her services, then she would gladly oblige with the hunting of a bounty. Opinions came third after price and position.

There was something else she had to make perfectly clear. She did not want the Argonian to be around when she would exchange words with Benalin and collect her coin. In fact, she didn't even want Lycus around. Too bad, he knows my place of meeting, she thought. She ran her fingers across her blond hair, her expression now neutral. She wasn't sure why he felt too obliged to help Benalin or even Lycus for that matter, but she had to make sure it stopped. Now.

"You need not concern yourself with Benalin. I am sure he will pay his due. He isn't stubborn enough to try and hide from me. For being faithful to your word, I thank you."

[sara OMAR]

Imperial City, Imperial Barracks

Errialor

The Bosmer once again came to Errialor's aid, helping him to his feet. The mer was unable to break the shackles, but it was better than nothing. Errialor felt the pain slowly ebb away as he watched what was going on.

"Stand here until you get your feet back, then jump in. We're going to need the help," spoke Faendal. I'm not sure what I can do but I'll do what I can, he thought. From the look of it the Imperial was overpowered and outnumbered, but reinforcements would arrive soon. The others would need to do something about the Imperial quickly. But what would they do? They assaulted a Legionnaire, in a city of legionnaires preparing to fight. Would the Emperor be able to pull them out of this mess in time? Whatever the case he was touched that they would antagonize the Legion to stem a Dominion soldier's suffering. It was a real shame that in his current condition he couldn't do anything to repay the favor. If only my shackles were off...

He turned towards the Bosmer and spoke. "Thank you. I don't know how I'll repay you. But I promise I will, at least if we get out of this."

OOC: Short post, but not much to say.

[Silvia Gil]

Kai Xerosa - The Imperial City: Arena

Kai tried his best to wrestle the fatigue and push himself to his feet despite his lack of strength. The battle was over, he, and Lycus had survived much to the crowd’s enjoyment, which Kai deduced from their violent roars and continuous applause. Kai felt no pain for his fallen teammates, nor for his enemies who at the end of the day were men and women, citizens of Tamriel just as he was. Many would argue that they did not deserve their fate, but to Kai they, just like him, had chosen it by stepping out onto the sands in the first place. Perhaps his view was somewhat inhumane, callous or cold, but Kai couldn’t pretend to feel something that just wasn’t there and as he eyed over the unconscious Redguard that lay before him, he knew what he had to do.

Kai clutched his leg and dragged his limp body towards his opponents lost weapon, collecting the spear and using it simply as a prop to stand himself upright. This took some time, and for Kai the pain was bordering unbearable. The once clean white cotton material that was wrapped tightly around his thigh was now stained, coloured fully with the crimson-red shade of blood. Yet Kai carried on.

He glanced over at Lycus, as his ally let out a passionate roar which seemed to excite the crowd even more, before turning back to look at his opponent, who calmly lay as if her were peacefully sleeping on the blood-stained sand. Without a wince Kai lifted and drove the spear down deep into the now limp carcass. The thud of the metal slicing through flesh, muscle and even slightly bone echoed through Kai’s ears, the blood spraying high from the point of entry now carved into the Redguard’s chest. Kai lifted the spear back through his lifeless body, the once steady breaths now finished as the metal spear head lifted to reveal a gash as deep as the man’s heart. Kai turned his attention now to the exit, which luckily for him, and his wounded leg was not far and he began heading toward it, in the hope that some pain relief may await him down the dark stone tunnel that he had entered through not only an hour ago.

“Lycus!” Kai shouted, eager to hurry the man from his celebrations, uncaring of his ally’s pride or passions. “Fancy giving me a hand?!” Sarcastic as usual, Kai didn’t expect the man to help him, as he used the spear of his fallen opponent to manoeuvre him across the sands, but he wanted out of the arena as soon as possible for both himself and Lycus.

[Susan Elizabeth]

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

Lycus looked around him, inspecting the carnage with his hazel eyes. The studious gaze eventually fell upon Jewla, his fallen comrade. He walked to her body, and knelt beside it. Her lifeless eyes stared eternally into the sky. It briefly broke his heart to see a fine woman with a wonderful family suddenly lose her life. Better this, than to be prisoner at the hands of the Thalmor, Lycus told himself. His hands touched her face, finally closing her eyes. It was a hard thing when a hardened gladiator would witness the death of those he loved and befriended. Though he took comfort in knowing her suffering was at last over.

He sighed, feeling a burn on his entire body as it just had finished engaging in a brutal physical exertion he wasn't use to in awhile. He shook his hair free from the grains of sand. Lycus looked on the crowd, finally smiling while raising his helmet to them. Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice scream out to him by his name. Lycus turned around to see Kai in the near distance, proping himself up with the spear of his fallen adversary. He survived...Lycus thought the obvious. He was utterly surprised at the sight. He managed to fight two armed men and still survive, though barely as his wounds showed. As sarcastic as ever, he asked him to lend a helping hand. He was eager to leave the Arena, it seemed. Lycus remembered him mentioning once he did not crave the arena as much as he did.

The Imperial exhaled and nodded as he rushed to aid the other survivor. He earned that much respect for proving his worth. Though as Lycus' strides brought him closer to Kai, he came to an abrupt stop, his sandaled boots collecting a fair bit of sand along the way. Lycus gazed upon the grand colleseum once more with his soft somber eyes which slowly dropped down to the dirt below him. Kneeling down, Lycus touched the ground smoothly with his hands caressed the sands. This would be the last time I fight on it, he told himself. My last match a victory. A short-lived victory.

Wasting no more time, he sprinted to Kai, using his arm to help guide the other Imperial to the exit. The sound of the cheering viewers dying down as he walked past the entrance gates and through the door leading to the tunnel down the bloodworks. Sadly, Kai had survived the fight. He was hoping Jewla would survive to breathe another day, she was a tough warrior and a caring woman. He'd even accept the life of his other brothers in place for a man he barely even knew, a man who apparently had no honor. Yet, he proved himself a survivor and that was all that mattered.

"Stories will be sung about you now. A man who took against armed enemies using his bare hands." Lycus mused, adding a simple humorous insult. "Kai, the pit-dog who defied death!"

He walked down to the Bloodworks. When arriving, both Lycus and Kai received claps from yet another smaller group of combatants in the Bloodworks. They bashed their own shields with their swords in unison, but only briefly before the Blademaster told them to get back to training.

Lycus spoke to Kai again. "You will want to heal that wound of yours. See yourself to the baths and get cleaned up. It's the least the Bloodworks can offer."

[kirsty williams]

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

“The huntress. That is what most call me.”

Interesting... I'm not sure if I believe that, but no matter; I understand the desire for anonymity. Indeed, Rashaava knew that wish very well. He had lived around the City for quite some time now (has it really been six years?), yet very few of the locals knew his name. He had spent the years traveling between nearby towns and the Imperial City itself, and he would spend weeks at a time living at a number of small campsites. Because of this, Rashaava spent a lot of time alone, and he enjoyed the peace that it allowed him. Unfortunately, he had to enter civilization every now and then to resupply, and therefore realized the importance of people, but interaction was a means to an end: he selected a small number of vendors to become friendly with (and he truly did enjoy their interaction), but the main purpose was business. Beyond them, there was very little point in befriending or even interacting with the rest; at least, that is how it seemed to the Argonian.

Rashaava turned toward this... huntress, as she started to speak:

“You need not concern yourself with Benalin. I am sure he will pay his due. He isn't stubborn enough to try and hide from me. For being faithful to your word, I thank you.”

Her words were polite, but Rashaava sensed some deeper purpose. Is she trying to get rid of me? If so, she needn't try very hard... Rashaava acknowledged her thanks with a nod. Standing, he said,

“Well, I am glad to be rid of this matter. If you don't mind, I will take my leave.”

Not really waiting for her permission, Rashaava turned and walked toward the entrance to the stands in his typical brisk manner. Pushing through the door, he began think fondly of leaving; he had already begun selecting a place to set up camp for the next week or so. However, he felt a sort of nagging at the back of his mind that grew stronger as he walked away from the Arena. At first believing that he had perhaps forgotten something, Rashaava stopped. It was then that he realized the cause: despite his self-assertions, he couldn't shake the feeling that he should speak to Lycus. Considering that he had just survived a brutal death match that Rashaava had arguably had a part in, it would probably be best. Realizing once again that his plans for the day had been utterly destroyed, he turned back toward the towering columns, making his way to the entrance to the Bloodworks. Stepping into the gloom, and once again assaulted by the smell of sweat and dried blood, Rashaava began searching for Lycus. Odd, that he was the only survivor of the match... He is either lucky or very skilled.

[Motionsharp]

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

"Well, I am glad to be rid of this matter. If you don't mind, I will take my leave.” Rashaava said to her, standing up only to proceed to leave without even allowing her to say a word. He left the spectator area, pushing himself throught he door. He seemed almost eager to leave. Illana regarded him with an amusing grin. A curious one, this Rashaava. Secluded and anti-social, almost. Wasting no time herself, she left the spectator area and proceeded to make her way to the Bloodworks arena.

Along the way, she spotted a familiar face shaking his fist excitedly in the air while his other hand held a large sack, nearly overflowing with gold septims. Benalin, had finally earned enough to pay his debt. She walked up next to the Bosmer, leaning on the wall with the support of her arm. He turned around with a smile, only to turn his grin into a frightened look once he had spotted Illana. "I, ugh, won it. Your brother did very well! Please give him my thanks. I even regret what I had done before. If it wasn't for him...I think I would be--"

"In more trouble," Illana finished the sentence, rubbing the underneath of her chin as she stared at the ground. "You do not need to pay me here. I do not think the others would take kindly to see you waste all those earnings on me. It would be wise to adhere to our plan. Meet me at the merchant's tavern in exactly fifteen minutes."

He nodded slightly. A worried and near frightened look on his face. Illana just studied him with her curious look. She sighed, even managing to add a soothing touch to her always hostile voice. "You know, Benalin, after all your efforts, I think you won't need to pay as much as you think you should."

Benalin tilted his head. "You mean, you will lower the amount I owe you?"

Illana did not say a word, she merely just winked at him. "We will meet at the merchants inn. Just be there, Benalin. Don't worry about the rest. I truly hope this will be the last time we cross paths."

After his miserable dilemma, he finally was able to flash his teeth and show a smile. "Gratitude, Illana!"

She watched him hurry off to the merchants tavern. She knew he would not take advantage of her display of mercy. She could choose to be merciless, but that was hardly ever fitting, especially in her line of work. Illana sighed, holding her helmet as she walked down the stairs to the Bloodworks. As confident as her strides had shown her to be, she was in reality, not so sure of herself. Will my next actions be honorable? Or is honor something that comes second to duty? The conflicting ideals tore at her mind. Hopefully in fifteen minutes she would make a decision.


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

Lycus received a great sum of coin in his hands. A good heavy bag full of gold coins. "You prove yourself as the warrior I always figured you would be. Your father would be proud of you."

He lowered his head to stare at the sack of coin in his hand. How come my victory feels empty? He asked himself.

He saw the Blademaster hand a bag to Kai as well for his survival in the arena. The Imperial warrior gazed up to his trainer and smiled sympathetically. "My heart has been far too parted from my chest. I enjoy my victory, though I fear it will be the last of the nature."

"What troubles you, my son? Jewla?"

Lycus shook his head. "It is complicated. Tonight, you promise to leave the Bloodworks?"

"Why would I make such promise?"

"The Tha--" He did not finish.

"Brother!" a female voice emerged from behind him. Before he had a chance to turn around properly, Lycus was greeted by Illana. He nearly stumbled back as she embraced him with a hard hug. He chuckled, slightly returning the gesture. After she had shown her affection, she gently punched him on the shoulder.

"You are an idiot, for never telling me of your fight." she did it once more, hitting him on the shoulder where he was injured by the Bosmer's magic.

"You knew about it?" he asked, perplexed. A hiss in his last words as he slowly massaged his wounded shoulder.

"I just came to discover. Don't worry though, I witnessed your victory! The Bosmer and the Orc, both dead! You mad bastard, you had me worried for a moment."

"You do realize that all of this is due to you and your stubborness? If only you would learn to let go." Lycus told her.

"He owed me a debt. We needed the coin. And besides, you fulfilled your dream of returning to the Arena. You won the crowd. I collect my coin. Everyone is happy."

Lycus did not want to argue. Not now, especially not in front of the Redguard or Kai for that matter. He felt a strong bond with Illana now that she nearly saw him risk dying in the arena, and he did not want to wager a confrontation with her now. She had her flaws, and so did he. But he saw hope in this that they would be closer as brother and sister than just mutual family members with blood ties. Ever since the death of their parents, they have slightly grown to have been independent in each of their own matters, as if they had lived different lifestyes.

Both laughed and teased, sharing smiles and sympathetic displays of sibling affection that none would of ever imagined to see happen. Illana spoke briefly to the Blademaster concerning te match, and then to Lycus concerning the coin. It wasn't long before she took hold of a few gold pieces for herself for the sake of purchasing a crossbow she raved about. Lycus remembered her childhood, she never was one for dolls or the sort. Not even a new dress was of any interest to her. He never admitted it openly, but he loved his sister with all of his heart. And it would be devastating if anything happened to either of them. He kissed her in the forehead before she exited his presence.

Illana came to leave the Bloodworks arena, promising to meet up with him back at the barracks for the night. For some reason she was eager to leave. As she walked off briskly, he spotted the Argonian in the Bloodworks. Is he searching for me? He spoke to no one else in the match, I am sure. And Illana did not even stop to speak to him, which ruled her out of the picture. He sighed, patting the Redguard on the shoulder. "If we could, perhaps drink wine, eat bread. For old time's sake. I'll be right back."

Lycus walked to the Argonian, who seemed to be distraught or at least uncomfortable in the presence of the other warriors. Perhaps the blood and the sweat made him uneasy. The Imperial had a neutral expression as he approached Rashaava.
"Argonian. A pleasent surprise to see you here among the dregs. I confess that I owe you for being of service. Very honorable of you."

[Oyuki Manson Lavey]

Spoiler

Name: Alyraa

Race: Nord

Gender: Female

Age: 19

Sign: The Steed

Home Country: Skyrim

Skills: Speedy and athletic, expert in all things equine, particularly good fisher, a complete virgin to combat, zero magical ability.

Appearance: 6’0” tall, blue eyes, and long, wavy blonde hair that falls to just about her armpits. Her waist is toned, and her legs are very powerful, making them a little larger than those of another girl of her size, but not disproportional (no thunder thighs lol). She is quite lacking in upper body strength. So much so, in fact, that she can’t properly wield her two-handed sword. She is very fast, quite often outrunning speedy males. As well, she’s quick on her feet, agile, and nimble; all attributes gained from being chased by Skyrim’s many dangerous creatures.

Clothing/Armor: Brown fur boots, brown leather pants, 2 inch wide brown leather belt, second brown leather belt with loop for axe, white undershirt, dirty white short-sleeve string-tie (in place of buttons) overshirt with vertical light-brown stripes, a couple leather straps/bracelets on her left wrist, leather holster situated a little behind her left hip which holds her knife, and diagonal leather scabbard strapped over her right should for her claymore. Pack on her back.

Weapons: An old iron claymore with no ornate or discernible markings and a blade that’s seen better days. The rough leather straps that used to tightly wrap the handle are starting to come undone. The sword is held in a hard leather scabbard strapped diagonally across her back with the hilt rising above her right shoulder.

A small hand axe which hangs, in a loop on a second belt, off the right side of her waist. More of a tool than a real weapon, however, she has become proficient with throwing that particular axe in friendly competitions.

Other Items: Curved knife, leather canteen strapped to the pack, in the pack she has a horseshoe, some hooks and string, a rolled up fur blanket, a book of some rough maps, a small pouch of gold, a sharpening rock, and a few extra clothes for now.

Personality: She’s very independent, given her childhood, but she still welcomes company. Still young, she has sort of a know-it-all attitude that most young people have, while being naive.

History: Born into a family in northern Skyrim, along the coast, Alyraa was overshadowed by her two brothers for most of her life. Her father, a busy fisherman, spent the few hours he was home teaching the boys how to use an axe or swing a sword. Her mother, on the other hand, spent most of her time in the kitchen, preparing after-training meals for “her hard-working little warriors.” When her father left on a fishing trip, her mother would be out in the shed repairing the family’s armor and weapons, or sewing new clothes to replace the ones the boys ruined.

Left all to her own, Alyraa developed a sense of adventure, and spent her days roaming across Skyrim’s landscapes. Some days the family was more distracted by their routine than others, and on those days she would sneak the family’s horse out and ride for miles and miles, down to the lowest valleys and up to the tallest ridges. She developed a natural ability to move through the snow and woods, across mountains and streams, and a talent for finding her step in dark caves; important skills to have in Skyrim’s unforgiving wilderness.

One day, two weeks after her 19th birthday that no one mentioned to be exact, she got tired of going unnoticed, and had grown curious of the war her brothers were so eager to join. After packing a few things, grabbing the old claymore her father had gotten her before he knew she was a she and uninterested in being warrior, and stealing; no not stealing, she considered the horse hers, after all, she was the one who cared for it, “taking” her horse was more correct. After taking her horse from the stable, she rode off in the direction of the Imperial City, bound for adventure.

Alyraa
The Silver Road
10th of Second Seed, 4E 174

Clop clop. Clop clop. Clop clop.

Alyraa rode on, listening to the soothing melody of her horse’s hooves on the road, lost in Cyrodiil’s beauty. The vibrant color and warmth the land possessed stood out in stark contrast to the world she had left behind. The truth was, she didn’t miss Skyrim’s bleak, cold, gray mountains. Maybe she hadn’t had time to get homesick yet, but she didn’t think she’d ever go home.

“Not when the world looks like this,” she said to herself.

“This one’s been touched by Sheogorath himself.” The voice nearly made her fall off her horse.

“Who’s there?” she called out as she regained her composure, hoping the source of the voice hadn’t seen her jump. The source turned out to be a tall Khajiit dressed in light leather who stepped out from behind a tree to block the road. The Khajiit stood in the middle of the road, his fits of laughter causing his shortsword to swing lightly at his side. He stared at her as she brought her horse to a halt.

“Talking to yourself Nord?”

“It’s no business of yours who I was talking to,” she remarked, gripping the reins tightly, “now if you’ll…” A hand reached up and grabbed her arm, cutting her sentence short. Before she could react she was facing the sky, only managing to snatch at her pack before she hit the ground. She felt her breath leave her as her pack fell hard on her stomach. She watched her horse bolt, spooked by its rider's sudden dismount.

“Go after it!”

Instinct kicked in as her assaulter rushed past, into the trees in pursuit of her horse. She rolled over quickly, finding her pack with her right hand, and hopped to her feet. Two more Khajiits had emerged from the woods to surround her; however, the momentary surprise created by her horse charging off into the trees seemed to have caught the bandits by surprise, all which were staring off into the trees. Not wasting any time, she sprinted off down the road as if a sabre cat were behind her, leaving her would-be captors scrambling to figure out what just happened. Lungs burning, she didn’t stop until the sun bouncing off the white gold tower seared her eyes.

The Imperial City
Earlier in the day, 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174

Alyraa had spoken with three different guards the night before about the attack, though none of them had seemed to care. After threatening to turn each of them in to Legion officials, a threat that was met with laughter, she had been forced to find an inn. Frustrated, and even more so exhausted, she had reluctantly fallen asleep.

Now she strode through the crowded market district, expertly weaving her way in and out of horde of citizens even through the haze of tired eyes, on her way to the Legion office. Just through the market, the innkeeper had told her.

She stopped to glance at a table of rusty weapons she had spotted through the crowd. My mother makes a better blade. She shook her head and looked up as she continued on, but stopped again abruptly, gathering a few looks from impatient shoppers. The bosmer shopkeeper at the weapons tent appeared to be getting harassed. Probably wants a refund, she thought laughing to herself as she watched the imperial woman bully the bosmer, though from the looks of her armor that isn’t the case. Intrigued, she stepped off to the side as an annoyed looking argonian entered the tent.

A few minutes later the argonian and the imperial woman who had been speaking with the elf both left the tent, both heading off into the city. Alyraa waited for a moment, then entered just as the bosmer was mumbling to himself, “…bounty hunters, the worst...” He stopped short as she walked in.

“What do you want!”

“That’s no way to treat your customers,” she said sarcastically. “That woman, is she a bounty hunter? I need some help.”

“She is a wretched imperial, not worthy of any titles. She’ll help you though, for a tall fee no doubt; tell her Benalin sent you, and maybe she’ll stay away from me,” he said, as he walked off looking distraught.

Realizing she didn’t have a clue who the woman was, or where she had gone, Alyraa took off in the direction of the Legion offices, still determined to find some way to recover her horse.

[Niisha]

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

At last, the steel crossbow was hers to keep. She had enough coin to buy the projectile weapon and the silver bolts that came along with it. Each set of quarrels came in different sizes and shapes. Some bore three fetchings around the back which granted the bolt a spin during flight. A few where designed to punch through plate armor while the others were broad heads, designed for hunting or to kill unarmored personnel. Indeed, it was a beautiful weapon. Made of the finest steel and in pristine condition.

The quiver bounced while hanging on Illana’s belt as she traversed entire districts to get to the Merchants Tavern. Before she even entered the merchant district, she lowered her crossbow to the ground, setting her boot inside the stirrup to hold the weapon down. She pulled a single broad bolt from her quiver, placing it on the groove that was laid atop of the tiller. Hidden in a small alley, she loaded her crossbow, but dared not fire it in plain sight.

With her weapon ready, she briskly marched to the tavern. As she entered the establishment, she was met with various different stares, both angry and curious, as well as neutral. After a moment, they went back to their drinks. No one knew her identity, however, as she had a helmet to conceal her appearance. She approached the counter, dropping a few pieces of gold coin that she retrieved from the sack hanging on her belt. “Room.”

The innkeeper regarded her with a mild stare of amusemant as he eyed her from head to toe. “Sure,” he said “There is a room available upstairs, last room to the right.”

She took the key and left his presence. She walked past all of the patrons, her weapon aimed to the ground. Of course, they knew who Benalin was, or at least had saw him before. But not her, at least not her true appearance. All they saw was a woman with steel armor and a crossbow. At least that would benefit her.

She climbed the stairs with her feet, causing the wooden boards to creak and complain as she stepped up to the second floor. As she arrived, she began to inspect the rooms, looking for Benalin. When she reached the fourth door in the right corridor, she spotted the man she was searching for. He had his back turned to her, fumbling about, opening drawers and preparing a fresh set of clothing. The way he moved told her he was in a hurry.

“Well, hello there…” she bid him a respectful gesture.

“Ah, I was beginning to think you would never show. I got everything ready.” he said to her as he reached under the bed to grab the large sack of gold he had won in the bet. He set it on the bed, spilling it over the covers to he could get his share. Illana remembered that he thought that she would allow him to leave with some coin, at least that was his assumption. But she promised no such thing.

“You know,” he began as he counted off the coins “I forgot to mention that someone was searching for you. I figured she would be worth the talk.”

An attempt to get on my good side? She thought. “Who is ‘she’?”

“Some young Nord lass. She claims she requires your services, though it struck me as odd. In no time, you will be a rich woman, I guess. With all these people wanting you for work. If only I had been so lucky.” he began to chuckle half heartedly. “I put in a good word for you, so don't you worry.”

“You know, someone put in a good word for you as well.” Illana said, unfazed by his sudden change of mood. It was all an attempt to try and lure her in a trap of pity and remorse. He wants everyone to feel bad for him.

Illana closed the door behind her, shutting it very slowly so it wouldn’t make a loud sound. She raised her crossbow to her chest as he continued to count all of the coin, still trying to brown nose her in any way he could, still convinced he would get part of the payment he owed for her services. Still looking at the bed where he hurried his pace, Benalin was oblivious to her position. “Who?”

“Drebaleb,” she said. The words were enough to freeze all of his actions. He kept his head down, fingers slightly twitching at the name. She had a choice, collect the septims and leave him alive, or keep her word to Drebaleb by killing him. She didn’t think twice. Not now.

Illana had accepted her mother’s legacy. Not just through the helmet and armor and dagger, not just through the deed of the house and the land, but her merciless wisdom and prowess, her discipline, efficiency and of course, determination. Benalin had run his course, he was wanted dead, and therefore his life was forfeit.

“Benalin!” she called his name to bring his attention. He turned to look at her. As soon as his eyes widened at the sight, Illana fired her crossbow. The bolt flew past the air, untampered by any blowing winds from the north or the south due to the enclosed room. The spinning projectile made it’s mark true, hitting the bewildered Wood Elf squarely in his face. His head flew back a bit on the impact of the quarrel. It was damaging and indeed fatal, as he had dropped to the floor as a rag-like doll, blood slowly running through the center of his face down to his neck and to the floor.

Illana proceeded to him, collecting the gold atop of the bed, throwing handfuls of them inside the sack. The job was done, at last. She couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty by twisting her words to make it seem she implied to let him live with a few amount of coin. But then she truck the sympathetic feelings away as she reminded herself that she does this for living.

Following his death, she grabbed hold of his small body and sought to stuff it somewhere so he would not be found. She spared a glance to his bloodied face as his dead eyes stared at the ceiling in lifeless eternal gaze. She dragged his corpse around the door. Where shall I put this now? And how can I leave here without taking the front door?