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Post by Silence on Mar 11, 2008 9:35:09 GMT -5
((I'm having too much fun reading the Swishy thread. Don't want a serious charrie to interupt. =DDD))
Perhaps a random passerby would wonder why an Imperial was standing by himself, alone, in the drenching rain, in a forest near Leyawiin. One may also wonder how the Imperial even got there. Or they would, until they saw the dark mage robes and the pouches of spell components, and the mage staff decorated with runes.
Keyir Riyek was alone. That was the only reason he let his nervousness show. The figure in black robes had appeared to him only last night, or was it the night before? Keyir had lost track. But so much had happened...The Imperial was confused, and rightly so. It wasn't everyday one had a Speaker from the legendary Dark Brotherhood appear at their bedside.
When he was nervous, Keyir had a tendency to play with a coin. That was what he was doing now. He had started before he was aware with it. The coin danced along his hand, with its skilled fingers accustomed to tracing complicated runes and gestures in the air, and handling spell components.
With a sigh, Keyir made up his mind. He was so near Leyawiin already, was he not? As long as none of his contracts included mages...But what would he do if he did get an order to assassinate one of his guildmates? Did he care anymore?
The coin fell onto the muddy ground with a soft thud.
Keyir didn't notice as he started chanting the words that would take him to the abandoned guildhall of the Blackwood Company, where the dark-robed figure had said he will find the Speaker, the Khajiit M'aiq the Liar.
Keyir hated kowtowing to anyone, but this couldn't be helped. For now.
Less than an instant later, he was in the Blackwood Company Hall. Keyir's hand slipped to his pockets, and was about to take out a coin when the Imperial halted himself. With a small shrug, he retrieved his hand from his pocket and tugged his hood over his head.
With one hand clutching his staff, Keyir started down the stairs.
"I wish to see Speaker M'aiq." The Imperial called as he made his way down.
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Post by M'aiq the Liar on Mar 11, 2008 21:40:17 GMT -5
(Lol. So much fun for M'aiq.)
M’aiq was enjoying some peace and quiet now that he’d dealt with his new Argonian recruit. He was seated at the dining table eating an apple. Between bites, he conversed with it, asking the apple all kinds of things. Before continuing this, he looked around and listened quietly. His golden, feline eyes shifted throughout the torchlit room. He neither heard nor saw anyone. With a small grin, the Khajiit leaned in close to his apple.
“Hey, fruit,” he asked, “do you think she’ll ever like M’aiq? You know the girl he’s talkin’ about, and he means, really, really like M’aiq.” After a pause, he suddenly furrowed his brows and said angrily, “No! M’aiq only stole from her once! Besides, why would that matter!? You, sir, are ridiculous.” With that, he flung the apple over his shoulder.
Seconds after he heard it land, there came the voice of an Imperial calling out for him. The Khajiit furrowed his brows as his ears flattened back. Eww, thought he, it’s an Imperial. Ew, ew, ew. Get it out of M’aiq’s sanctuary. It might get…law…on the carpet. Wait, he said “Speaker”? The Khajiit heaved an audible sigh, cursing incoherently under his breath. That meant the Imperial was another new recruit for Leyawiin. M’aiq glanced at the apple, located only a step down from where the tall Imperial stood. You were right, crazy apple. Sithis would send an Imperial after all.
M’aiq’s ears lifted a bit as he said with slight exhaustion, “Well, you haven’t pinned M’aiq to the ground, stolen his Skooma, and told him he needs to stop telling children that britches are for sissies—yet. That being the case, the Khajiit assumes you’re looking…to stay…in the sanctuary, Imperial…person?”
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Post by Silence on Mar 12, 2008 5:49:35 GMT -5
Oh great. So M'aiq the Liar was really a fluffball furlicker. Keyir sighed inwardly. He had been hoping that the figure in the black robes was joking, but then and again, he or she didn't seem to be the type to joke. Keyir still had his hopes though. There were precious few competent Khajiit, and he knew of only one or two Khajiit mages that didn't blow up everything by miscasting a spell.
"Yes. I am here to join." Keyir said slowly, placing emphasis on each word. The Imperial sounded as if he was speaking to a small, incompetent child. Which was exactly how he viewed M'aiq, aside from the child part. It seemed there was no chance of the Khajiit being a mage.
The little housecat sounded like he was insane too. If Keyir had Khajiit ears, he would have folded them against his skull. But since Keyir wasn't a Khajiit, and wasn't used to expressing his emotions, he simply padded down the last few steps, his staff thudding lightly against the ground.
"You are Speaker M'aiq, yes?" If one listened closely, they might have heard a note of hopelessness and defeat in his voice.
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Post by M'aiq the Liar on Mar 13, 2008 22:31:58 GMT -5
(Lol. “Fluffball furlicker” sounds so racist. Just like “blueskin”.)
M’aiq complacently watched as the Imperial stepped down the remainder of the stairs. He looked like one of the kinds who used magic a lot. Maybe he was an alchemist. If he could do alchemy, then maybe he’d make Skooma for M’aiq. However, he was an Imperial. The chances of him actually doing that were very slim, as slim as M’aiq getting a girlfr—hey! Anyway, the Imperial was definitely here on official Dark Brotherhood business. At least M’aiq wasn’t stuck on a bookshelf this time.
M’aiq did note the tone that the man held, and the Khajiit didn’t like it. Of course, the tone was that of every Imperial he’d ever had the misfortune to have to hold a conversation with, the same belittling and condescending tone that every Imperial had. They probably talked to each other like that.
M’aiq could just see it in his mind, Oh, Imperial. You’re not as Impy as I am. I need to look down my tiny nose at you because of it. Then, the other would reply, Oh!? Well, I’m more hairless than you are! You have a few hairs on your chin. Why, you’re practically a Cat-jeet! Those Imperials and their horrible speech. They just disgusted M’aiq sometimes.
Suddenly, the door upstairs slammed open and one of the Golden Saints that “guarded” the Sanctuary came running down the stairs yelling something. He was waving his hands in the air. As he came down the steps, he slipped on the apple core M’aiq had thrown on the stairs, and he fell down, landing on the stone flooring at the very bottom. The Khajiit heaved a small sigh before slipping on his Colovian fur helm and heading over to his desk. Since the man was an Imperial, he’d actually have to go sit at his desk and look like that’s what he did all the time.
As he sat down, he pushed aside a small stack of bottle corks with faces drawn in ink on them and said, “Okay, Imperial, if you are to be an assassin here at Leyawiin Sanctuary. You need to…” M’aiq not-so-casually glanced down into his lap, where there was a piece of paper, “…have a snack. Oh wait, that’s M’aiq’s to-do list.” He flipped the paper over and said, “Ah, that’s it. Interview. Oh, by the Nine…”
M’aiq was supposed to be interviewing all of his new assassins, but he hadn’t always been a Khajiit of procedure. However, he felt that with Sithis watching him that he needed to do something right for a change. The only problem was that M’aiq had no clue about what in Oblivion to ask.
“Do you…like cloth?” was all M’aiq could come up with.
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Post by Silence on Mar 14, 2008 8:20:27 GMT -5
((There are many ways of insulting a Khajiit, furryface...=D))
Keyir remained standing, with a rather stiff posture, keeping hold of his mage's staff. He hoped that the furry housecat wouldn't try take it away from him, like another Khajiit he met once. At least he could spellbind the other Khajiit, but Keyir doubted very much if the Dread Father wouldn't mind him casting a fireball at a Speaker.
Things, predictably, got worse when a Golden Saint of all things slipped on an apple core that just happened to be lying around. Keyir wondered idly where the rest of the apple was, and decided that the Khajiit Speaker must have ate it. Keyir sighed inwardly. Outwardly, his face still retained its coolly interested expression as M'aiq headed over to his desk and sat down.
After a moment, the cat started speaking. It seemed to be mostly rubbish. Keyir half-listened, nodding every so often. He didn't try hide his boredom this time.
“Do you…like cloth??
If Keyir had less control over his expression, he might have started gawping at the Khajiit. As it was, his dark eyes simply went a bit wider. "Um, yes, I like cloth." He muttered, absently smoothing down his own robe. "Cloth makes clothes. Makes my mage robes. That is enough, methinks."
The Imperial cleared his throat, shifting slightly. "Are you not suppose to give me some sort of...task to fulfill?" Keyir asked, trying to seem as polite as was possible.
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Post by Speaks-With-Silver on Mar 14, 2008 13:28:48 GMT -5
Speaks-With-Silver had spent about half of the day wandering around Leyawiin, checking out the town and re-familiarising himself with it. Of course, he had been there before: it was his first stop after leaving the Black Marsh, but more than a little had changed in the five years since he had visited.
Swishiness remained elusive, although Speaks was certain that a major breakthrough was in sight, and True Swishiness would soon be within his grasp.
The Argonian hummed to himself as he entered the old Blackwood company building and walked purposefully across the room, quickly starting to descend the stairs down to the now-familiar and friendly surroundings of the Leyawiin sanctuary. On the way, simply for something to do, Speaks pulled out three of his throwing knives, clenched them in his hands for a moment, then began juggling them. All were well balanced weapons, and Speaks, having whiled away long hours with this past time, maintained a perfect rythym.
One of the Golden Saints, who nominally 'guarded' the Sanctuary (although they appeared to be so drunk as to be incapcitated the vast majority of the time) was sprawled at the bottom of the staircase, and Speaks stepped over him, whilst continuing his juggling. In the light proper, Speaks saw that the Speaker, M'aiq, was seated at his desk, and a tall, dark haired Imperial, clenching a mage's staff, was standing nearby.
The Imperial seemed like a scholarish sort, and obviously had to be part of the mages guild: as far as Speaks knew, you couldn't get staffs anywhere else. Judging from his tone, which Speaks heard, catching the tail-end of his conversation with M'aiq, he was educated, intelligent and polite.
Speaks hated him instantly.
The Argonina cleared his throat to draw the newcomer's attention, then asked the question he knew would determine any further relations.
"Greetings new brother. This one wonders: what does the human know about stacking, and of course, Swishiness?"
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Post by M'aiq the Liar on Mar 16, 2008 22:02:22 GMT -5
M’aiq was slightly disappointed by the Imperial’s lack of creativity with his answer. Of course, the Khajiit’s question didn’t necessarily give him much to go on. M’aiq tapped a claw on his desk as he thought about another possible question to ask the man. This Speaker stuff was a lot harder than it looked. No wonder Shady ran out on the job. It was hard work. M’aiq often wondered why he did it, but it gave him a home and food, which was good enough. He also had the opportunity to kill Argonians and Bosmer and even Imperials sometimes; that was very good.
Before M’aiq could think of anything else, the Imperial—quite snobbily so—asked for a task. He’d get his task, but he had to be interviewed first. There had to be something, anything M’aiq could get out of him. Maybe the Imperial had a secret fetish of some kind or perhaps, like some other Imperials, he liked to dress as a jester every Sundas late at night and had unnamed children roaming his basement.
“You’re weird,” commented M’aiq under his breath as he looked at the man before him sternly. For M’aiq to say something was weird…well, that definitely meant something.
M’aiq’s other new recruit, the Argonian named…Speaks…With…Words Or Something came down the steps. He was very deftly tossing his knives in the air and catching them. M’aiq needs to learn how to do that with calipers, thought he, stroking his furry chin. The Argonian stood by the Imperial, looking him over. M’aiq noted Speaks’ somewhat noticeable disapproval of the man. Perhaps the Argonian had potential to be likeable. If he hated haughty Imperials, which he seemed to, then perhaps it was possible for M’aiq to almost begin to start thinking about getting over the fact that he was Argonian. The chances of him almost beginning to start thinking about something like that were slim though. The chances grew ever so slightly as he asked the Imperial a very good question.
“Of course,” said M’aiq with a nod towards Speaks, “that is a very good question, Brother Speaks-About-Something-Or-Other. Your stacking skills are indeed very important to the Leyawiin Sanctuary. And um…Swishiness. Whatever that is.”
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Post by Silence on Mar 20, 2008 4:33:06 GMT -5
With an inward sigh, Keyir decided that he had to humor both the furlicker and the lizard. What fun. Why couldn't he be assigned to a better Sanctuary? The dark-robed figure who initiated him seemed sane enough. At least compared with these two. What was Swishiness anyway?
Outwardly, of course, the Imperial mantained a cool, polite expression. It wouldn't do to offend the Speaker of a Sanctuary, after all, from what he had heard of the Dark Brotherhood. Perhaps this idiotic mannerism was just a facade? Keyir hoped it was. The Imperial decided to answer the lizard's questions and just be done with it.
"I know about stacking books." He said, with elaborate patience. Keyir considered it an immense sacrifice on his part to deal with these beasts. "And I know about stacking chairs, and plates." Keyir hesitated briefly before answering the second part of the Argonian's question.
"Please specify what you mean by 'Swishiness'. Do you mean the swish of a cloak or the door closing? Or something else entirely?" Keyir gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "What is your name, Brother?" The Imperial was careful to keep his tone polite. If this lizard was a high-ranking member (which Keyir doubted), it wouldn't do to insult him.
((M'aiq, mind giving me a few lessons on 'How to Insult an Argonian'? It's so much easier with Khajiits. You can call a Khajiit 'mangy housecat' but you can't call an Argonian 'Iguana with its scales falling off'.))
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Post by M'aiq the Liar on Mar 23, 2008 16:59:14 GMT -5
((Lol. That's one of the few topics on which I haven't written a fan-fiction about concerning M'aiq. Uh, just comment on the fact that they have scales and spikes, they swim around a lot (in sewers mayhap), and spread disease. They don't get diseases often since they're immune, but they spread disease to others. Also, I'm not posting yet since I think Speaks should go next.))
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Post by Speaks-With-Silver on Mar 24, 2008 4:38:24 GMT -5
"This one is called Speaks-With-Silver... Brother," Speaks told the Imperial, barely bothering to disguise his less-than-approving tone. The way he figured it, it was unlikely that the Imperial could decipher inflection through his rasping tones, and if he could... Speaks didn't actually care. Polite as he might have been, it was most certainly forced.
"If he needs to ask about Swishiness, then he is of no use to Speaks," the Argonian grinned at Keyir, displaying all of his teeth. "As for stacking... Speaker M'aiq knows more about that than I..."
Speaks felt no necessity to involve the Imperial in any discussion of Swishiness: it was clear that he wouldn't understand it. Probably, he would start looking down his nose about it.
Speaks hissed through his teeth in exasperation when he realised the tenants would prevent him from ever causing Keyir grevious bodily harm. Then again, the 'Wrath of Sithis' never said anything about elaborate practical jokes...
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Post by M'aiq the Liar on Jul 9, 2008 0:18:14 GMT -5
M'aiq peered from the Argonian to the Imperial and back again. A long silence had followed in the wake of the Argonian's words. Both seemed expectant towards M'aiq to break the silence. The Khajiit didn't know what to say. He wasn't about to explain the art of stacking right then and there. It wasn't the place. Besides, M'aiq figured that neither of them would understand it anyway.
He tapped his claws on the table rhythmically, trying to think of what to do. He had to finish getting the Imperial into the Dark Brotherhood. The interview, however, wasn't going well. He didn't think that it would, but he was trying to go comply with Dark Brotherhood regulations. Although, he usually didn't. M'aiq had been having weird dreams at night, which he attributed to Sithis. Thus, he decided to start playing by the rules, else he'd be waking up again screaming, "That mudcrab won't stop talking to me!" An embarrassing situation to say the least.
M'aiq then moved across the sanctuary to his desk, where he sifted through papers. Although he pretended as though he were looking for something in particular, he was just making noise. He didn't like the weird silence. There was a paper that was underneath all of them. A few small crystals of moon--ahem, dust were on it. The Khajiit cleared his throat as he swept them off his desk nonchalantly. When he picked the paper up, he discovered a contract on the back of it. The contract had been dated...about a year ago. M'aiq scratched his head as he read it over. It had been for some Nord named Attilde the Blonde. The Khajiit bit his lip. That was probably the reason for Sithis cursing him with weird dreams--not his lack of formalities with his recruits. Well, he was glad to have figured that out.
Looking up, the Imperial and Argonian were still there. He cursed mentally and looked back down at the paper in his hand. He knew what to do from there; it was obvious: burn the contract and just hope that the girl would drop dead. Wait, thought M'aiq, Khajiit is supposed to think things through from now on. The last time he made a rash decision was when he hired his "defense" for the sanctuary. Let's see. M'aiq has a contract that needs to be done, and he has a recruit that needs to leave M'aiq alone. He placed a hand at his chin as he thought. It was certainly a perplexing issue. He'd have to do something drastic. At the sudden growl of his stomach, he knew what to do.
M'aiq crumpled up the contract and shoved it into his mouth. He slowly chewed on it until finally swallowing it. After that, he heaved a small sigh of relief. The evidence was gone at least. All he had to do was just ask a "favor" of the Imperial. It was the perfect solution!
The Khajiit walked back over to Keyir and said, "Well, Imperial, M'aiq has something for you to do now that our interview is over. You must kill Attilde. The Khajiit does not care how, but he'd like it done...uh, before bedtime--er, the Khajiit means, as soon as possible, of course. Now, get going!"
With that the Khajiit walked back over to his desk and sat down, placing his feet atop it and leaning back in his chair. He smiled as he picked a bit of paper out of his teeth. He was certainly a bright Khajiit. M'aiq thought, The Khajiit can't believe he thought up such a clever--oh wait a minute, he could have just assigned the contract to the Imperial. Nine damn it! He heaved a sigh and slammed his head against the desk, lying on its surface as he pondered upon his foolishness.
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Post by Silence on Jul 9, 2008 0:41:08 GMT -5
That little fluffball couldn't honestly expect him to go on with such little information. This...Attlide could be anywhere from the Black Marshes to Skyrim! Who was Attlide anyway? A Khajiit with an odd name? A redguard? Was Attlide male or female?
This so-called Speaker was obviously insane. Or perhaps he was a minion of Sheogorath. Or something. Keyir tried to come up with a reasonable explanation of why the mangy housecat was even in the Dark Brotherhood, and, of course, failed.
Keyir decided to try and be patient, although he doubted that it was going to work. The sooner he got out of here, the better.
"Describe this....Attlide." He murmured, although it sounded more like an order. "First off, what his or her race is. Or perhaps you may actually tell me whether it's a male or female. Perhaps you may even tell me where I can find her."
Why, why did he have to be in this Sanctuary? Couldn't he actually be in one that had a sane Speaker and sane members that were not from the ignorant beastial races? Or was that too much to ask?
Keyir didn't think so.
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Post by M'aiq the Liar on Jul 10, 2008 15:53:12 GMT -5
M'aiq's ears perked up, and he felt a squelching in his stomach. It wasn't just the paper giving him indigestion. He realized he'd thrown away the instructions of the mission and location of Attilde. The contract was pretty old after all, so who knew if they would have been right anyway? Still, they would have at least given Keyir an idea as to where to start looking for Attilde. The Khajiit's ears lowered as he thought.
He couldn't make himself look like an idiot and admit his mistake. Only humans did such a thing. The Khajiit had to do something to keep his integrity intact, or at least, his own slightly deluded image of it. M'aiq thought for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. Then, it hit him. He knew exactly what to do. It was so simple. He could lie. Of course! He was a Khajiit; it was what Khajiits did best!
M'aiq cleared his throat and said, "Well, Attilde the Blonde is a Nord. Her whereabouts are...unknown. However, the last place she was seen in was..."
The Khajiit paused to glimpse behind him at an upside down map of Tamriel. In big bold letters, he saw the word plohurnoW. He curiously cocked his head to the side. He'd lived in Morrowind but never head of such a place. Maybe the map was old or maybe it was new. The Khajiit didn't want to look dumb and unable to read a map.
"...well, somewhere in the general area of...here," he said, pointing a claw to what was actually the upside down city of Mournhold. "So...uh, good luck!"
With that, M'aiq folded his claws together and rested them gently on his lap as he congratulated himself on a smooth performance. He figured he must be greatest Speaker ever.
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Post by Silence on Jul 11, 2008 2:43:10 GMT -5
The fluffball really was insane. Or just plain stupid. That much was clear.
That map was upside down. Keyir had to strain his eyes, tilt his head, furrow his brow, before he could make out the word "Mournhold". Even then, it looked somewhat wrong. Oh well. At least he would be out of this sanctuary and the mad Khajiit (Madjiit?) Speaker for some time. Mournhold was far, and Keyir didn't really make a habit of visiting Morrowind....And those Dunmer were so racist....
And Keyir got this uneasy sense that the Khajiit had no idea what he was talking about. Did this Attlide the Blonde even exist?!
He sighed inwardly.
"I'll be going. Expect me back....soon."
Or perhaps not.
Shrugging slightly, inclining his head to the sewer-swimming lizard Speaks, and dropping into a half-bow to the fluffy housecat Speaker, Keyir murmured a spell, and teleported to Mournhold, hoping that he could get a map somewhere.
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Chaslin
New Member
"Are you insane?" "No, I'm a pirate"- JD and Janitor, Scrubs
Posts: 41
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Post by Chaslin on Jul 18, 2008 23:38:10 GMT -5
S'Jhavir walked out of the one of the dark corners, having watched the entire scene with much interest. He was dressed in the usual Shrouded Armour, it's fingers cut out so he could properly extend and manipulate with his claws. The Silencer walked quietly over to the Argonian and M'aiq, his eyes narrowed at the lizard, his tail swishing with impatience.
"The job in Hammerfall, honorable Speaker, it has been...taken care of," the Khajiit said slowly. Only S'Jhavir and M'aiq knew about the 'mission', namely to collect/steal a large shipment of skooma. He had hidden the crates in the sewers of Leyawiin, to be collected at a later date.
But the Imperial and the Argonian; how many new members did the guild hall have? And S'Jhavir wasn't even finished cleaning. His room on the third floor had improved dramatically; he had more clothes, maps of each province, and a book on how the Morag Tong was structured. He had even bought a new lock for himself, which he hoped to improve further.
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