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Post by Lorren on Jul 29, 2007 19:57:32 GMT -5
The sanctuary was silent, the only sound throughout being the persistant dripping of melted snow from the ladder that led up to the trap door. It was a huge change from the constant clatter of swords and armor in the training room, or the soft snoring in the living quarters, the meaningless chatter in the main hall. Not a good change because it was a signal of the great losses suffered due to the war, but a change all the same. Now the Speaker sat in her bedchambers, Black Hand robes thrown over the desk chair as she rested against the headboard of her bed. She was staring down at a bow, Elven in make with a light blue sheen, a sign of the powerful frost enchantment it held. It was well used, but also well taken care of. She suspected that its previous owner had been much like her in that respect. Tristann had fallen in battle, like so many others. She had fallen to save her sister, the Speaker of Bruma, although the two had only met for the first time several months before. Lorren could almost imagine her walking through the door, ever present smirk on her face as she told her to get off of her ass and stop sulking. A sudden burst of cold, one that she hadn't felt in a while, pulled Lorren from her thoughts. She looked up, wondering who could possibly be entering her empty sanctuary now. It may be one of the surviving Speakers, maybe a lone initiate, or perhaps... someone else. Not one to take any chances, she grabbed Tristann's bow and a few arrows of frost and crept out into the main hall. ((For Qa-Dar, so please don't post unless you are a tongueless Khahjiit ))
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Post by Qa-Dar on Aug 2, 2007 0:08:28 GMT -5
(OH OH, I'm a tongueless khajiit. Can I post, can I can I huh, huh.)
Qa-Dar was cold.
He had been on the move for three days straight, hoping to make it to Bruma before he ran afoul any more Morag Tong agents. Yet he had been accosted by an enemy far more sinister than the Morag Tong. It had chased him through the cold Skyrim Mountains, along the paths beaten by centuries of nomadic Nord warriors, and down the twisting Imperial roads that had not been used in years. It was the one enemy that Qa-Dar could never run from or stab to death.
It was the weather.
Qa-Dar had been within sight of Bruma when the gray sky had broken and let forth a furious downpour of snow that quickly covered everything in sight. He had tried to run to the city gates, but his legs failed to speed him. By the time he had reached the gate, he looked like a walking snowdrift...with a tail.
The guards had abandoned the gate when the snow had begun piling up around them. In their flight, one of them had left the gates slightly ajar and Qa-Dar had almost no trouble slipping into the city.
Qa-Dar stumbled through the unlit city streets. The sky had gone dark and the snow kept falling, Qa-Dar was cold. He could feel his limbs growing stiff and his pace began to slow. His vision was hazy, his eyes squinted to see the streets ahead, but the snow was too thick. No lights burned, the homes of Bruma were barren and lifeless.
Qa-Dar tripped and fell into the snow, it began to pile over him. So close, so close. If only he could make it a couple more feet, but his legs seemed to have failed him. He felt cold, so cold. Qa-Dar's lungs burned and choked on the freezing air, he was going to die. He had come back to Cyrodiil, looking to make amends and now he was going to freeze to death in the streets of Bruma. Cold, alone, forgotten...
That was when he saw the light.
Perhaps it was only an illusion, but Qa-Dar's snow-covered ears perked up at the sight. A decrepit house sat crouched and rotting at the end of the street, its windows and doors boarded up. In a high window, a single candle burned slowly. Its flame flickered, dancing in the drafts which surely plagued such a run-down place.
Qa-Dar summoned all his remaining strength and pushed himself off the ground. As he dragged himself towards the house, he caught a fleeting glimpse of an unboarded cellar door. It was his only chance.
When the entrance to the Bruma Sanctuary opened, all the torches in the Main Hall sputtered and died. The wind howled down the corridors of the Sanctuary and stirred up the long un-moved dust of the place.
In a dark corner of the Main Hall, a Dark guardian stiffened in anticipation. It gripped its Axe tightly and its old bones creaked with the strain. It had been a long time since a new one had come, the Guardian's scattered mind could only remember one other, but this was not it. The figure that had just stumbled into the Sanctuary was a furry one, a cat-person. The Guardian stood still, its bones creaking and shuddering. Its broken mind to confused to react.
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Post by Lorren on Aug 2, 2007 9:43:26 GMT -5
((Lol, well I must say your description of my sanctuary is funny... but not quite right. Bruma sanctuary is in the basement of the house for sale in Bruma, which is the first house when you come inside the East Gate. I know the house for sale doesn't actually have a basement, but the Dark Brotherhood put one in when they built the sanctuary. It's only accessable through the trap door inside the house.))
A soft thump followed the magickal cold, and then silence. The Dark Guardian creaked as Lorren grew closer to the main hall. She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. The thing was practically useless, and with the security system she had she hardly needed him, but with the danger of the Tong looming around every corner before the battle, every sanctuary had been equipped with one.
The hall was dark, but her eyes were well adjusted by now. Only the dim cast of firelight graced the walls, not daring to reach towards the shadows. She was silent as she approached, bow still drawn. Whoever this was better announce themselves soon, because she wouldn't hesitate to shoot if she sensed danger.
The Guardian stood near the trap door, staring at something, though what she couldn't see. Her only chance to assess the situation would be to draw nearer. Steps muffled, she drew herself up to stand just behind the Guardian, arrow pointed at a shivering mass that was cowering just near the ladder. She strained her eyes to see, and a furry tail caught her attention. Khajiit.
Lorren couldn't remember any mention of a Khajiit being sent to her. She couldn't remember any mention of anyone being sent to her. Without the words of the Night Mother, they had no way to find new Murderers. Perhaps it was just a citizen looking for shelter from the storm. Either way, she needed to be sure.
"Speak. Who are you?" she asked, pointing her bow at the creature. She could barely tell it was a Khajiit for all of the snow on it. It looked near death, and had it not found her sanctuary, it probably would be. She needed to get a proper look at it. A weak light spell cast a dull green glow over the walls, and she looked closer at the Khajiit. Its fur was soaked with melted snow, and covered still with snow that hadn't melted. She was fairly certain that it was a male, and he looked slightly familiar, like someone she'd known long ago. She couldn't be sure though. He needed to identify himself.
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