Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Tread Lightly (CLOSED Oblivion RP)

Dust clutched her bag to her chest as the so-called 'thieves' were at last given their freedom. It was dark by the time they were freed and were waiting - for what, precisely? in the waterfront. The Bosmer seemed to know what he was doing - when a man approached, he greeted him calmly. Shadow hide you.

It was secret and separate from her, something she couldn't fully understand, yet was uncomfortably familiar. She shifted, standing behind Astarill and watching as the Mer and Redguard spoke. Like it is with the Dark Brotherhood, all over again.

They seemed to come to some understanding before Dust and Astarill were dismissed by the Redguard, his piercing gaze focused on them until they strode away. Close enough to still see the faint flicker of the Redguard's torch, but too far away to hear. Dust bit her lip and gazed up at Astarill. "I'm not - entirely sure I trust the Bo - Ath'Vesu. And I don't think it's entirely fair they're excluding you from the conversation when it's rather your life at stake." She glanced over at them, able to see their shadowed forms, but little else.

(OOC: I wasn't sure exactly what Armand would tell Ath, so I figured I'd leave it up to him, including whether or not we even see what is said or only hear it secondhand from Ath. If that's not okay, please tell me! C:)

Ath walked off with Armand after casting a glance back at the other two. He would have preferred the other two hear what the male had to say, but they all had there rules to play by right? After a bit of time Ath came back over to them as Armand walked off into the night. The bosmer crossed his arms over his chest and was frowning.

"Armand says that the rumor is an altmer took up residence in ruins northeast of the city, just out from the imperial prison." He sighed softly. "Though it may not be him at all, then again it could be and probably one of the few places someone would look considering." He rubbed his chin gently then shrugged. "I think its worth the look."

Ath then bit his lower lip chewing on it for just a few brief seconds. "The rumor is as well, that what was stolen from the brotherhood was very important and could make things very difficult for the brotherhood to remain hidden as they do." What that item was he could not say but he knew it must of been something very valuable, and hard to steal which spoke of Lorundils skill, but also said just how big a mark Astarill had on his back for looking like the other.

Dak still wasn’t sure if the Bosmer and his Nord friend were worth the wait and the money. She had no idea where the “thieves” were now, but she was quite sure they weren’t in jail anymore – unless the Bosmer was stupid enough for having some dirty laundry hidden. Which, considering the other thief she was looking for, was very possible. She had to hurry now.

The Nord rubbed his chin with a nasty glint in his eyes. “You’re looking for an Altmer, eh? I think I know the fellow you’re speaking about. He’s hidden himself somewhere, in a place worth a swollen, heavy purse.” In answer, Dakari threw him a another purse, barely missing his face. “Aye, milady. There are ruins northeast of the city, just out from the imperial prison. Last time I heard of Lorundil Glaro, he was heading here.”

“…I hope for you he’s still here,” said Dak with a tilt of her head and no blink of her eyes. “Because if he isn’t, I’ll find you again, and I’ll get my money back. And it will not be pleasant at all.”

“Is that a threat, missy?” spat the men while making a step in her direction. Thoronir turned white and attempted to grab his arm for preventing an accident to happen. Dakari wasn’t impressed though. Or, more exactly, she didn’t care anymore. The man was no more of use for her.

“Consider it a promise,” she answered. Without a look behind, she started running. The ruins weren’t really far, but if the Altmer and his clique already knew, she had no time to lose anymore. The prison was too close of the ruins for her liking.

Astarill looked briefly at Dust and shrugged. “Trust is hardly required,” he said, and turned his gaze on the waters of Lake Rumare. “And if there’s anything relevant he neglects to tell us, we’ll know sooner or later.”

Possibly while dying in excruciating agony, he added in thought and snorted quietly to himself, finding the idea oddly entertaining. The key was to expect the worst and prepare for it, so that when the first signs of it began to show, you could recognize it in time and try your damnedest to avoid it. And he always expected the worst.

He frowned then, thinking back on what he had said. We will know sooner or later. We? He looked at Dust again, this time with an expression such as one might have while trying to solve a difficult mathematical problem. He opened his mouth to ask why in Oblivion she was even here, but at that moment Ath returned to relate to them what Armand had told him.

Astarill listened, and raised one skeptical eyebrow. What kind of an idiot would hide in a remote place like that, without witnesses, where the Dark Brotherhood could torture him for days without ever getting found out? He was either stark raving mad, or very, very good. Neither was convenient, from Astarill’s perspective.

“I find that unlikely,” he said, a bit sourly. “But if that’s the best your people can come up with, we have little else to go on, haven't we?”

Dust nodded as Astarill spoke, giving a quiet, half-hearted laugh. True - trust really didn't factor into this, since they really didn't have much of a choice one way or another. She drifted off for a moment before feeling eyes on her and glancing back at the Altmer who looked at her quizzically She frowned and raised a brow as he was about to speak before they were interrupted by Ath.

"Well - maybe that makes things easier for us. I mean, easier to find someone somewhere remote and isolated than in a crowd, yes?" Dust fiddled with the strap of her bag. And Astarill was right, as he often was - they had nothing else to go on, anyway." She glanced between Ath'vesu and Astarill, biting her lip. "What now?"

(((OOC: Since there hasn’t been word from anyone for 6 days, I’m going to assume me and Quillweave will continue this on our own or declare the RP dead. Unless there’s a reason why there hasn’t been any posting, in which case I apologize thoroughly! Kept my post short and neutral without really going anywhere or introducing new things, in case people still wish to continue.)))

“Now? We make our way to the opposite side of the bloody island,” Astarill grumbled in reply to Dust’s question. “Again,” he added, annoyed.

He briefly pulled up a shoulder to readjust his backpack, then started back to the Temple District and the Green Emperor Way, headed once more for the Imperial Prison. Without an escort of the City Watch this time, though. And this time he kept his eyes on alleys and rooftops almost continuously.

(OOC: I apologize for the delay, I was waithing for Ath's post, but since he aparently can't post anything for the coming week, well, here comes my post)

In the darkness of the night, the bridge leading to the Bastion was far more sinister than it was during the day. The two, huge braziers that lighted the way also casted moving, grotesque shadows on the cobblestones and there were horrible screams coming from the jails. Dakari wondered for a brief moment if the unfortunate prisoner was a friend of the Bosmer – or, for that matter, the Bosmer himself. But she quickly pushed the idea away and ran. Near the prisons’ gates, there was a passage large enough for someone to edge his way into. Dak went along the walls carefully until she noticed a fire camp in the distance, the light coming from the approximate direction of the ruins. A curse escaped her lips. Bandits were using the ruins as a hideout from time to time. Guards (and wannabe adventurers) often “cleaned” the place, but there were always bold or stupid people for pretending it was a safe place. And if that Altmer thief wasn’t stupid…well, her name wasn’t khajiiti. Of the last, she was sure. The first wasn’t difficult to decide either.

Slowly, carefully, Dak followed the path leading to the shore. She knew it well, since painting the ruins in the morning sun had been a pleasure of her before her “death”. It was one of the few places of the island that the City hadn’t totally overwhelmed yet – if you were able to ignore the exit of the sewers near the water. And, from time to time, a fisherman left his boat at the boarding in front of the sewers. Why fishermen were fishing in those waters, Dak wasn’t sure, but maybe it was because of the rumors of gigantic fishes…?

It was one of this boats she was hoping to find. She hated boats, yes, but in this situation, she was willing to forget about this burning – and sickening – hatred. It actually would be an interesting way to kill the thief, if he was unwilling to cooperate: to put him in a boat on the middle of the Rumare, and to wait for a gigantic slaughterfish to devour him. But first she needed a boat. And the gods were looking upon her, because there were two little boats waiting for someone to use them. She would take one, and for the other…she took her knife and cut the rope. It took some time, but eventually, the boat drifted away slowly. After what she climbed carefully on the boat and cut the second rope. Using the only oar she food in the boat, she slowly rowed in direction of the ruins. And puked halway.

Ath was quiet for a good bit as he was deep in thought on different things. "He is very smart, after all those old ruins are known quite well for the traps that most wouldn't be able to navigate." After all, even the most experienced adventurer, thief, assassin and warrior got bit by traps now and then. "We should make our way there now then." With that Ath turned and started off to where the ruins were.

Ath made his way through the city as he glanced back. "You should be happy, least we have a lead and are not stumbling around blind, this guy is crazy good at what he does. After all, would you suspect the insane, muttering ragged fool to be a thief?" he asked. Most would shy away or just shun just such a fellow, which only helped the man. "But hopefully he will be there."

After a good bit of traveling he would arrive at a dock that seemed to hold no boat. That would make Ath frown. "hmm, maybe it sank?" he would throw out optimistically.

(OOC: Sorry about the late post! Final exams and Skyrim, 'nuff said, since I have no other way to excuse myself for taking so long. )

Dust walked quietly between the man, beginning to feel a twinge of annoyance with the Bosmer's jovial attitude. Doesn't he realize Astarill could die if this goes wrong? That gave her a little pang of guilt - she shuddered before shrugging it away. Something else caught her attention as they at last reached the docks - there appeared to be no way for them to cross.

"Hmm, maybe..." Dust bit her lip at the Bosmer's suggestion. "Or maybe someone took it ahead of us. In either case..." She suddenly forgot about the gravity of the situation as she knelt, shuffling through her bag and giving a wide grin. "Dust's magic bag of tricks! Er, potions. Here." She pulled out three small vials, keeping one for herself and offering the others to the gentlemen. "Water-walking. Should last long enough to get us where we need to go, but we shouldn't take chances either. Let's make it a quick trip."

Astarill tore his eyes off the rooftops briefly to glance at the Bosmer, when the thief told him he should be happy. He scoffed.

“I don’t know. I don’t know him. I didn’t know he is a ‘muttering, ragged fool.’ And I don’t know why you think that fact should reassure me,” he grumbled in reply, his tone growing more sarcastic when he continued, “But thank you for sharing.”

He neglected to add that it seemed to him he should feel insulted, having been mistaken for a gibbering maniac, and a ragged one at that. He pushed that thought away and forced himself to remain alert. After all, he had been insulted with worse things throughout his life. Surely. He couldn’t immediately think of an example, but surely.

When the group of three reached the north-east side of the island, Astarill looked ahead to the ruins on the other side of the water. Moonlight reflected on the white stones, and a shimmer of bright blue light originating from one of those Ayleid wells could be spotted, even at this distance. Vilverin, he seemed to recall the place was called. He had never gone there. Ruins situated this close to civilization had long since been robbed clean of anything that might have been of scholarly interest, unless you were interested in two eras’ worth of archaeological remains from bandits.

He got torn out of his thoughts when Dust offered him one of the potions. “Thank you,” he muttered, and took the vial from her. Precisely at that moment, there was a soft twang! of a released crossbow string, followed by a quiet sigh on the wind, and a dull thud! as a bolt lodged itself firmly into the soil beside Astarill’s feet.

The Altmer stared at the bolt for a second, then hissed the words of a Detect Life spell while he turned around. He blinked and when he opened his eyes again, they seemed to glow with a vague purple light as they darted quickly over the area in between the shore and the Imperial Prison. He spotted a life sign up in a tree, and by the looks of its movements, it was reloading its weapon.

Astarill cursed under his breath, and nodded in the direction of the tree in question. “Up there.”

-

A dozen yards away, up in the tree, an auburn-haired Breton man dressed in the armor of the Dark Brotherhood, muttered curses of his own, fumbling with his crossbow. He had meant to shoot his target in the leg, to immobilize it. Instead, he had alerted it and its companions to his presence. A mistake that would have to be corrected, before they got away. Or worse; before they got him.

The ruins were silent as a grave, except for the sounds of slow, calculated footsteps walking down stone stairs. Dakari had been taught that Vilverin was once an Ayleid city, but to her, it looked more like a necropolis: a ghostly fog hanged in the air, thick and heavy like a shroud, and an icy coldness slowly insinuated itself into Dak’s fingers. She was glad the few traps she met were already disarmed, as it meant that someone else had been here before her – though it could had been days or weeks ago. And, well, she had never been good at disarming those things anyway.

The stairs leaded into a vast room. Pedestals were standing around, their precious welkynd stones stolen a long time ago, and from where she stood, Dakari could see another stairs, as well as some kind of edge. Dak looked carefully around for an indication of a recent presence. Some former occupants had once laid the table, but it was now covered with dust. However, someone had recently started a fire. So recently, actually, that the embers were still glowing in the fireplace.

Taking her bow, Dakari prepared an arrow. The hunt was starting over.

Glanced to Astarill. "Oh your quite welcome." He even gave a small nod of his head. He would glance to Dust and smile at her suggestion of water walking. It was a good idea all in all or so he thought. He was about to head for the water when the arrow came out of nowhere. The elf quickly turned pulling his bow down and nooked an arrow pulling it back.

Ath would scan and just barely make out the outline of a person in one of the trees. Without waiting he let the arrow loose aiming roughly where he thought the shoulder would be on the attacker. Without even waiting to see if the arrow hit he would nook and fire two more in rapid succession to disable or outright kill depending on if the attacker moved.

Dust frowned as, just as they were about to turn to the water, there was a soft sound beside them, something whizzing by. A bolt - she blinked, glancing at Astarill who had already cast detect life and who's violet gaze already glowed eerily as he cast it up to the trees.

Dark Brotherhood, no doubt. But which one was it? She chewed her lip. It could be any - someone she didn't know, or...

Ath'vesu released arrows in quick succession, and Dust's eyes grew wide with alarm. "Don't kill - " She managed to snap her mouth shut before finishing, embarrassed. They were trying to kill Astarill, why shouldn't they die? But the thought that it might be Teinaava, or Antoinetta up there made her shudder. She felt her cheeks grow hot and fell silent.

The assassin uttered a gasp and hissed another curse, taking the first of the Bosmer’s arrows in the left shoulder. He gave up on reloading his crossbow, and tossed the bolt away to free his hand. He crouched on the thick branch and made ready to jump. At that moment, the second of Ath’s arrows lodged itself in the tree stem, and the third in the assassin’s right thigh. The man let out a howl and crashed to the ground, unable to catch his balance. He rolled to lessen the damage that his fall’s momentum could have caused, although the shafts of the arrows broke, further aggravating his wounds. Grinding his teeth against the pain in his shoulder and leg, he made a brave attempt to get up on his feet again, drawing his dagger.

Astarill needed to restrain himself from legging over and tearing the Bosmer’s bow out of his hands. “Disable, don’t kill,” he barked, instead. The speed at which the Bosmer had fired three arrows in a row was lethal indeed, and he needed the assassin alive. Someone needed to return to the Dark Brotherhood with proof that this particular Altmer was not the gibbering maniac everyone was after, and that proof first needed to be gathered.

He drew his sword and approached the assassin slowly, summarizing his situation for him; “You’re in no state to fight us, and you can’t outrun us with that leg. You’re going to come with us. You won’t be harmed.”

The Breton glared at the Altmer, then at the two people by the shore. His gaze rested on Dust briefly, then turned furious as it came to rest on the one who had incapacitated him so efficiently. “Won’t I?” he spat, “And why not?”

“I’m not the one you’re after, and I’m going to prove that to you,” Astarill said. While he had no doubt Dust would accept his plan of action, he wasn’t so sure of Ath. The Wood Elf’s plans for his ‘friend’ likely conflicted with his own. Yet, he continued, “And I need you to bring that proof to your superiors.”

The assassin did not tear his seething glare off Ath’Vesu. “And what if I refuse to cooperate?”

“Others will come, and they might be more reasonable. So…” Astarill paused, and gestured towards the shoreline as if to invite the assassin to precede him. “We’re going that way, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

The Breton assassin took his eyes off the Bosmer, sheathed his dagger, and complied, perhaps seeing the logic of the proposal, perhaps merely biding his time. He stumbled towards the shore, visibly hampered by Ath’s two arrows.

(((OOC: By the way, everyone is free to make the assassin do or say whatever they want to serve their own purposes! Also, long post is long. As always, if there's something wrong with it, let me know and I'll edit.)))

After a short exploration, Dakari had discovered two more stairs. One leaded to a small room, which contained nothing interesting except of a skeleton lying on a bed and a desk covered with crumpled papers and a worn copy of the Guide to the Imperial City, from which Dak deduced the skeleton surely had been a misguided tourist. There were no tracks of her thief though, and she walked back into the gigantic main room.

A sudden move behind a pedestal made her take aim and shoot. The arrow hit the ground near the base of the pedestal, provoking a high-pitched scream.

“Please, please, don’t kill me!” begged a shaking voice. “I’m too stringy, I would be an awful meal, please don’t eat me either!”
“…you should show yourself,” sighed Dak while nooking a new arrow, “next time I will not miss you.”
“…oh, oh, you’re not a monster, right?! Wait, unless you’re a ventriloquist monster possessing a humanoid body! Ahah! Nice trick, but I’m not swallowing your lies! Stay away from me, ventriloquist monster!”

Dak blinked. Then sighed and let her arrow fly. It hit the ground at the same place than before, provoking a new scream. “…I am not kidding,” she concluded.

After a fleeting moment of hesitation, someone crawled away from the pedestal and slowly got up. It was an Altmer man with long, blond hair partially covered with a dirty scarf. He was wearing torn clothes and he was holding a fork tightly. He eventually looked at Dak with a scared expression on his face and she finally understood why the Bosmer had mistaken the Altmer at the bar with this one. Except of the color of the eyes and the shape of the corners of the mouths, they almost looked identical.

“…so I eventually found you.”

Lorundil Gladro blinked. And ran away yelling, to Dak’s dismay. He took the stairs that leaded deeper underground into the ruins. With a sigh, Dakari started running as well.

Ath would keep his face blank when the others said to disable not to kill. He would quickly put his bow back up and cross his arms over his chest while staring back at the wounded assassin who seemed to take interest in him? Then again, it was Ath who had put the arrows into the assassins body.

Ath's eyes would then begin to roam over the assassin noting the shrouded armor and if the others were to look at the bosmer in that moment they may very well see a calculating look in the wood elf's eyes while looking the man up and down. The breton was roughly the same size of Ath and the armor looked like it could fit him to. He wondered then just how close knit the family was, if the dark brotherhood would notice a stranger in there midst for just a day, maybe two at the most.

Ath turned his attention to Dust and stared at her. She had rather quickly stopped what she was going to say and he was curious why. He could understand why Astarill did not want the assassin dead, but there was little reason why Dust would just cut off....or so he thought. Calculating eyes watched her for a few more seconds before turning back to the assassin.

Ath's hand reached behind his back as if resting there and his fingers came to rest upon the hilt of a dagger he had hidden there. The bosmer debated killing the breton for a few different reasons, not the least of which having a pissed off dark brotherhood agent remembering his face later on after all this was done. The bosmer glanced to the ruins, then back to the assassin. They had little time really, but the more important issue right this second was the breton in front of him.

"Would they believe it though....." He muttered and rubbed his chin with the hand not resting on the dagger. "To bad there is not a potion to change appearances." A soft chuckle escaped his lips along with a cruel calculating smile. Seemed the happy, jovial bosmer had a darker side to him no? Now was the time to make a choice though. Hand gripped a little tighter around the dagger hilt as he was leaning towards just killing the man and being done with it.

Dust bit her lip, watching as the Breton man was given the proposal by Astarill. She felt oddly relieved, even if this was not one of the Brotherhood members she called 'family.' She watched as the man stood after accepting Astarill's proposal, offering him a hand. "What Sanctuary are you from?"

The Breton frowned, confused, before his eyes widened. "You're one of - ?" He trailed away, narrowing his eyes in suspicion before speaking. "I'll follow, but I see no reason to tell you anything. You could be lying." His eyes trailed from her face down to her hip, to the dagger strapped on her belt.

"If you're going to follow, we may as well get those arrows out. Otherwise blood will attract the slaughterfish." Dust ignored the assassin's misgivings, raising a brow as he tried to properly put weight on his leg and collapsed, cursing. She knelt by him as he growled, drawing her dagger and beginning to saw away the shaft of the arrow. The Breton grit his teeth in pain, only speaking when he gazed at the dagger, and the tendril of nightshade engraved on it.

"…You are one."

"An alchemist, that's all. Hold still." Dust grabbed the edge of the arrow and effectively pulled it from his shoulder, healing the wound shut as best she could before repeating the procedure with his thigh as he breathed raggedly. "We don't have time for me to properly bandage it right now, but that should hold you until - " Dust trailed off, faltering as the Breton's breathing slowed and he gazed at her intently. "…What?"

"I remember you, now. You're Lucien's woman."

Lucien's. Dust made a small sound of disgust, getting to her feet. Where does he recognize me from? Some sort of meeting, perhaps… "I'm nobody's 'woman', except my own, thank you. Drink this, now, and follow us." Dust offered him another small vial of waterwalking from her bag before turning, looking increasingly annoyed.

Astarill sheathed his sword and pulled one mouth corner into a vague look of dismay, while he observed Dust kneeling to help the assassin with the arrow wounds. He would have let the Breton stumble on a bit longer, but he had to admit it was more efficient for him to be mobile, free of the worst of the pain, and out of immediate danger of blood loss and infection. In any case, it wasn’t as if he expected anything else from the alchemist. He knew her by now.

While Dust quickly patched up the assassin well enough for him not to slow them down, Astarill turned his gaze to the Bosmer. The man looked odd. Tense, it seemed. Though not quite. Astarill narrowed his eyes at him, his gaze wandering to the arm of which the hand was hidden from view behind Ath’s back, then up at the Bosmer’s face, following his gaze to the assassin and back.

Interesting, Astarill thought, And not in a good way.

Regardless, he opened the vial Dust gave him and downed its contents.

-

With a suspicious glare, the assassin took the potion. He felt more willing to cooperate now that he had identified Dust as a Sister, but he wasn’t about to earn the title of ‘credulous nitwit.’ He looked at the vial from which Astarill drank, looked down to study his own again, decided they were similar, and only then downed the potion. Immediately after that, he received a shove against the shoulder from the Altmer to urge him to move.

Pushing the man onto the water ahead of him, Astarill started walking toward the ruins on the other side.

“…could you stop running and allow me to explain myself?”
“Your mother was an Imp and your father smelt of comberries!”

Dakari had to acknowledge two things about the Altmer: he was an excellent runner and had a quick wit. Too bad he was also totally irrational. The chase had them too deep into the ruins for her own liking and the Nine only knew what could be waiting for them in a corner, yet it didn’t seem to bother Gladro.

“…listen,” she called again, “I mean you no harm.” At least so far, but it wasn’t something he had to know. “I, however, need your help.”

After a few more meters, the Altmer stopped his race and turned for looking at her. His expression was unreadable until Dak caught up with him. He examined her and started laughing.

“Oh, so you’re here for the game!?”
“…no, I’m just here for the…”
“My master was convinced it would be funny! Those guys have a broom stick up their collective arses, they need to learn how to have fun!”
“…so it’s just a game?” insisted Dak. The Altmer nodded vigorously and laughed again. “You’re mad,” she concluded gloomily.

Lorundil just smiled and walked on. With a deep sigh, Dak followed him, not sure about what going on anymore.

Ath shook his head and removed his hand from the dagger that was behind his back. In the ruins he would decide the assassins fate, among the many twists and turns. With that decided Ath would pop the cork on the bottle of water walking and down it. Once it took affect he stepped out on the water and made his way over to the ruins.

Ath didn't waste any time on walking over there and when he was there he looked about. "There is the boat." He pointed to it then looked up to the entrance and headed over to it. Once at the door he would check for any traps and finding none opened the door and entered. He was here for a singular purpose now and that was to find his friend.