PROTOCOLLUM ECS CONCILLIUM CHORROLINIUM Vol. I

serigraphed by Hagios Quidquiddicto

LOGOS: Year 3 of the fourth Era, admit growing fractures in the clerical and lay communities regarding The MYSTERIUM TREMENDUM ET DRACONANS (the miraclous occurance that officially ended the Oblivion crisis), The Elder Council order that an Ecumundrial Council to be convened at Chorrol’s Stendarr chapel so as to [a] Author the definitive protocanonical and deuterocanonical account, and [b] Determine the culpability-spiritual-qum-actual of the those accused of proliferation of the "Mythic Dawn" blasphemy and deliverance of due spiritual-actual justice as is shown appropriate.

Deliberations began in earnest, but were plagued with incessant cultural-qum-theosophical posturing and aad-baculum-baiting. Then the Toshic Archbishop was plundered from Misrule by the mythitresses of his colleague.

In Attendance:

From The NONACATECHON//Turrifical College of Nine

Remanisthenes Ottus* (Archbishop of AKATOSH)

Taela (Vicar of the Archbishop of MARA)

Feona Barrowhart (Vicar of the Archbishop of KYNARETH

Xarlys (Archbishop of DIBELLA)

Julius (Archbishop of ZENITHAR)

Yggrid Spear-Shanks (Archbishop of TALOS)

From The Imperial Guild of Mages

Heedal (Warlock)

From The College of Winterhold

Gagarin (Mananaut)

From Mother Cyrod

Belharzslav Olodiil (Arbiter)

Ehn? (Librarian)

From Fair Skyrim

Allerleirauh (Lay-martyr)

Loranna (Vicar of the Archbishop of Barmaids)

Kai Ocean-Mist (Lay-martyr)

From Bretony-upon-High-Rock

Tralen Emerich (Archbishop of Ebonarm)

Arynel (Lay-martyr)

From Morrowind

Sufjan Sarethi (Vicar of House Redoran)

Theya Liore (Priest of Tribunal Temple)

Indoranys Hyamentar (Envoy of Lord-Councillor Fyr)

Jalmar Drenim (Priest of Maggots)

From Summurset Isle

Qorowen (Vicar of House Thalmor)

In Custody: Twenty-Seven Heretics of The Blaspheme of Mythic Dawn, hence individuated by neonumerals 1-through-27, their natal praenymics purged from all pro-posterity spores and silks as per the subsequent ruling of the Council**


Perrifiat et Cyroda Victa

The Law is Sacred; Obey the Law.

*however briefly, as per the schemes of laB galoM
** save for Heretic #1: Elbero Not-So-Tall, Lead Heretic, due to mothnastic seriscription protocol 8 v.1 subtexta 1008., requiring no less than one haeccinyms for factional interlocutories in order to insure proper anamnemolic idiosyncrensis in future playback.

Edited by Haute Quêteure, 12 February 2012 - 11:15 AM.

Quote

The Nordic lass watched the red-head's display with an especially heavy-looking, empty tankard hefted in one hand, an uncharacteristically dour expression twisting her face.

"Do ye mind?" she asked bluntly. "The poor man be unsettled enough as it be, and that's putting it mildly enough to make me sound an even bigger fool than usual. If ye be wanting to help, ask first."

"You seem to have things well in hand," Allerleirauh said, smiling. "Warm drink is the best remedy for Coldharbour. Sir, welcome back. Now, it seems we have a dispute over succession? Perhaps we should break until the gentleman recovers."

((well, everyone has settled into normal prose now, so I might as well fall in line... ))

The wild woman opened her mouth to respond to the Bishop of Barmaids, though the words took several seconds to find shape

"..Tendering to jibbering old men is your prerogative, not mine. I was merely concerned he was a daedroth. He stinks of one, and not the pleasant sort. The type who play rough." Feona Barrowheart threw a dirty look in the direction of the Archbishop of Akatosh, "Anyway, it was a false alarm. A pity, really, as the shape-shifting ones are rather the most fun" at which the uncomfortably tall red-headed woman turned away to return to her seat, this time taking the long route around the table.

Edited by Vincent McCool, 12 February 2012 - 03:15 PM.

'Allerleirauh', on 12 Feb 2012 - 09:31 AM, said:

You seem to have things well in hand," Allerleirauh said, smiling. "Warm drink is the best remedy for Coldharbour. Sir, welcome back. Now, it seems we have a dispute over succession? Perhaps we should break until the gentleman recovers.

"Might not be a bad idea ..." mused the Nordic lass, warming a mug of cider for the Archbishop in addition to the tankards of ale he was gulping down like water.

'Vincent McCool', on 12 Feb 2012 - 12:15 PM, said:

((well, everyone has settled into normal prose now, so I might as well fall in line... ))

The wild woman opened her mouth to respond to the Bishop of Barmaids, though the words took several seconds to find shape

"..Tendering to jibbering old men is your prerogative, not mine. I was merely concerned he was a daedroth. He stinks of one, and not the pleasant sort. The type who play rough." Feona Barrowheart threw a dirty look in the direction of the Archbishop of Akatosh, "Anyway, it was a false alarm. A pity, really, as the shape-shifting ones are rather the most fun" at which the uncomfortably tall red-headed woman turned away to return to her seat, this time taking the long route around the table.

Point," the barmaid admitted begrudgingly. "Your vigilance be welcome. I just be too used to folks who say they know what's best, jumping in when I be trying to help a poor soul.

Under her breath, she muttered "Least we be having matching ideas of 'fun', I guess ..."

===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

"Coldharbour? What manner of business was bein conducted there, I wonder. Once the archbishop recovers I suspect we shall require a thorough examination."

Edited by Muertos1130, 12 February 2012 - 04:25 PM.

'Muertos1130', on 12 Feb 2012 - 1:13 PM, said:

Coldharbour? What manner of business was bein conducted there, I wonder. Once the archbishop recovers I suspect we shall require a thorough examination.

Feona Barrowhart smiles as she passes the mage, leaning in to lay a delicate hand on his shoulder and whisper something in his ear to make his grey skin go white; a colourful, yet deadly accurate description of one of the more memorable scenes from her last visit to Bal's realm. A guess, no doubt, but an educated one.



((OOC: Um, I think he's a mage? Some indicator in each post, or in the OP of who owns who might be useful))

Edited by Vincent McCool, 12 February 2012 - 08:07 PM.

Gagarin stirred and looked up from his writings, amber almonds shining from beneath his College hood, and he placed his alchemy-stained hands on his knotted, fawn beard. "Extend welcomes and comforts to this Man, but tread lightly, friends: anyone coming from the realm of the King of [censored] is to be watched with a steady eye. The Daedra may have corrupted him in typical Molag Bal fashion." His eyes traced the crowd and again washed over the Thalmor present. He squinted in distaste and turned back to his notes.

(Kinda late with this) /OOC

Theya was shaked by the words of the Archbishop of Akatosh. At first she couldn't tell as well whose voice that was, but everything became clear soon after.

Why did this happen to this man. she thought.

"If I can be of any help, tell me." she says, looking anxious.

"What brought him there? If he is corrupted, let the stars pity him. As other have said, be sensible, be careful. We don't want any more victims."

(OOC: He's an adept in the school of Restoration, though he wouldn't refer to himself as a mage. That's Telvanni-talk. He's a Healer. Sufjan Sarethi, that is)

Many words Vehk spent on the vileness of Bal. I need not hear more.

Sufjan, flustered by Feona's words, rises.

"I second the librarian. A recess would be most welcome. I believe there was the matter of the Nord's leg to attend to, as well..."

(Drenim rises and looks at the assembly, a faint smile plays around his lips.)

Why did this happen?
I would think that a better question is how he got in that unfortunate circumstance in the first place.
For those with less than superb mermories, I am sure the scribes present will confirm me when I point to what a member of this very council spake, all those weary hours ago.

(Drenim look across the table and speaks, mimicking the voice of the Thalmor representative in an eerily indistinguishable way:)

You will not find Remanisthenes among these stone walls. He resides in the void, such was his ignorance of the Dragon.
Something to ponder upon, I should think, my colleagues.

(Drenim chuckles, retakes his seat and eyes the assembly smugly, as if he's just performed a rather good trick.)

Edited by Merari, 12 February 2012 - 08:11 PM.

'Muertos1130', on 12 Feb 2012 - 3:30 PM, said:

(OOC: He's an adept in the school of Restoration, though he wouldn't refer to himself as a mage. That's Telvanni-talk. He's a Healer. Sufjan Sarethi, that is)

Many words Vehk spent on the vileness of Bal. I need not hear more.

Sufjan, flustered by Feona's words, rises.

I second the librarian. A recess would be most welcome. I believe there was the matter of the Nord's leg to attend to, as well...

If ye could be so kind as to see to that, serjo?" the Nordic lass asked, smiling faintly. "'Tis unfair to split a healer's attentions betwixt two patients.

And if by chance the Archbishop is a fake, she thought to herself, better I'm the one within its arm's reach. Me, at least, I know what I can handle ...

===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

"Eh? Fine. You can try to heal me, if you like."

"He seems to have been gifted enough to find 'harbor' within the Void," Allerleirauh said. "Even cold harbor is better than none... haven't we all been there, battering like moths outside a lighted window? I doubt one with his protectors is permanently harmed. Only chilled, inside and out. And if by chance he has been corrupted, this company is not without defenses."

Sufjan rises, walks to where the Nord is seated, removes his Padomaic gauntlets, and begins to focus restorative energies.

"I'm hardly a surgeon of the Psijic, but this
should help the limp. When we conclude this council, I'll proscribe some herbs to treat it with for continued healing."

What right does the miscreant Bal have with this order? Taela's heart goes out to this man in pain.

Well, welcome, certainly, Your E'er-Holiness. We missed your eminence at the opening of these proceedings " Olodiil motions for his throne underneath the hourglass sigil " But please, take your seat.

The old Nibener obliges, toddling unsteadily even with the support of his serpentine crozier to the massive throne at the at the center of the hemicycle's curve. Yggrid spies her brother-bishop with arrow-slit-eyes as he creeks his old bones into place.

Belharzslav sweeps grandly with widespread arms "Now, Presbyters, if we all might return to the proscribed issue at hand..."

Edited by Haute Quêteure, 12 February 2012 - 08:16 PM.

Ah, yes your Lordship. The happenings over Rumare were unsettling to witness from afar. This one can only account the events in the land of Sugar, but from reports more closer to the hub, a dragon believed to be Akatosh apeared in it's full glory to crush the invading Dagon. Whether it was Akatosh himself, an avatar, a hoax, or a mantling has yet to be determined. This one believes it to be Akatosh himself as he is bound to Alessian laws. But the dragon is no Alkosh, Taela will tell you.

Edited by The Tamriel Terror, 12 February 2012 - 08:27 PM.

I spy a hearty Nord's quaint yearning for for some violence. Mayhaps this Council has meandered too long for her interest?" The Telvanni mutters. "Muthsera, thank you, but should there be Daedroth here, I assure you there are people here, who would command more efficacy with but a wave of their hand, than any weapon you may have in defeating it. Ahh, the temperments of men and their confusing gods!

"Considering that Dagon was banished utterly from this plane, one explanation would be imply that the Dragon knew that Prince's secret names, and used them. There is much talk of the Prince being forever banished, but time will tell about that. Consider, though that Dagon, having been banished several times from this plane, must have had new protonymics; to banish him forever, would have required a more profound command. I would daresay to asscribe such knowledge to Martin is scurillous. To Aka, yes."

Edited by Lord Hyamentar, 12 February 2012 - 10:46 PM.

Remanisthenes strikes the buttcap of his crozier against a paravanic floor-mosaic. "' 'Tis more between 'Blivion and 'Bella's oyster-face, Hortator, than are buggered 'bout in your veal cutlets he quotes questionably I'm reminded my dear nephew, Fecundus. Strapping lad, dumb as salted barley, but damn what a tight buttocks! He was serving in His Majesty's Legions in Senchal when the Daedra turned his innards into festive fats for the kitties sugar soirees. Oh, what joys, what curl-toe ecstasies!"

Olodiil is understandably vexed by all this.

"...hmmm, Where is Xarlys, that baudy minx? " the Archbishop croons while threads of glistening drool dance about his mouth in like a drunken Stagmoth going way off pattern "I...I...want to [censored] her little....[censored] with big [censored] [censored]...[censored] her between [censored] with dreugh [censored] [censored]...give her my [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] kalpas [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] Vivec [censored] into the [censored] [censored] bloody [censored] muatra...I think...[censored] [censored] oh and [censored] [censored] [censored] CHIM [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored]...also...known...as th- the old Smaug...himself..."

Edited by Haute Quêteure, 12 February 2012 - 11:31 PM.

Taela blushes at Remanisthenis' words and pulls her hood over her face. Though the words were not directed at her, the monologue was uncofortable to listen to.

You uh...you sure do know your way around the bedposts. Or maybe that was not the intent of your wise speech. Perhaps there is a hidden message within Remanisthenis'...words? This one is perplexed.

Edited by The Tamriel Terror, 12 February 2012 - 11:29 PM.

A priest should know better. The piercing of the second aperture is forbidden!

'Muertos1130', on 12 Feb 2012 - 8:29 PM, said:

A priest should know better. The piercing of the second aperture is forbidden!

I'm pretty sure that most apetures are.

So, this seems to be foolish lust like the influence of Sanguine, yes, but Molag Bal is a creature of domination as well as sex. Do not underestimate his madness, for Molag Bal's goal is to enslave all and destroy anything he cannot bend to his will.

Edited by SithisLorkhan, 12 February 2012 - 11:54 PM.

The Nordic lass was preoccupied tending to the scribes, who had all been stricken blind and deaf as statues by the long, uncensored strings of misruled verse and void-cracked epithets.

And this be why Vivec only gave him his head, and for but an hour," the barmaid muttered as she rubbed the backs of the scribes, deftly kneading calming enchantments into their stone-stiff muscles. "Clearly, the good Archbishop needs some more time to recover from his ordeal, despite his protections.

That, or the old fool was a lech even before he fell into Coldharbor, she silently added.

"I heard it told over tankards of ale that the Champion quested for the Princes at Martin's behest, serjo," the barmaid continued aloud, looking to the Telvanni. "Just what the Champion was seeking, I couldn't tell, but if the tales be true, mayhap one of Dagon's rivals in Oblivion saw a chance to work sabotage, and exchange hidden names for favors?"

===

OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

Edited by Loranna, 13 February 2012 - 06:34 AM.

"Aka's Archbishop has a healthy appetite for a Nib'nman, " Spear-Shanks opines through grinning lips "But ve drift dangerously close to foul heresy in the mere suggestion that either Marteen or the Champion vould dream-darkly of conducting affairs vith the void principalities."

She pauses ever-so-briefly to beckon for the barmaid with a spidery finger "Moreover, it is superfluous to the last, beyond all good horkersense. Clearly, The Dagon vas vanquished with the same Imperial Veapons of Rapture vhich trounced Man's enemies time and again. Talos held them in his breast and made Alinor kneel. Marteen, of that same sacer lineage of heart's blood, bore those ruby instruments of calamity and spoke ruin onto ruin itself."

Edited by Haute Quêteure, 13 February 2012 - 10:59 AM.

Sufjan stops in his tracks midway between Kai and his seat, mouth agape at Yggrid.

Heresy? Daedra worship is an integral part Of the Velothi tradition, as formally recognized by the empire! If those that were wise enough to know not to partake in Lorkhan's scheme choose to prolong its amusements, then let us be grateful for their assistance.

Edited by Muertos1130, 13 February 2012 - 11:06 AM.

"The Archbishop is not with us anymore. This man I just heard...his words were not of a sane man. Either way, I wish him well. Do we have to bring the affairs of gods into discussion? Vivec fought his way out as he could, did what he thought to be wise. As I've said, these are the affairs of gods, things obscure to us."

"The Champion could have sought those Daedric artifacts for himself or herself. That's what adventurers do, don't they? Didn't someone say that Martin was once a Sanguine worshipper?"

Edited by War_Psyence, 13 February 2012 - 11:07 AM.

"Posturing! Ahh, the sacriledge of truth when bereft of comfort! I recall that unique rumour, of times past when men proudly indulged in more baser natures without shame. Did not the Prince of Pleasure himself, Sanguine, reside in the Imperial Palace for a time... So it is said. A quint tale. But a great honour, I say. Though I say, when it comes to the Daedra, the more Mundus-experienced amongst them know how to bend a rumour they like, or dislike. What joys must have been embraced during that carnivale?"

"Salacious hearsay. Though if Martin should have indulged certain Sanguine mysteries in his dark-years on the Colovian heath, surely his divine labor is penance enough. But Marteen-Prince, I can attest, suffered not the trafficking of Demonways into the sanctums that he trod after coming to know his lineage."

Heresy, hah, the barmaid thought dourly, though she kept her thoughts from showing on her face. You want to hear heresy ... bah, not worth it. Lucky you I always liked tall girls.

Begging the Archbishop's pardon then," the Nordic lass asked, sashaying to Yggrid with her tray balanced easily on one hand, "but could ye detail these Imperial Weapons of Rapture? For the sake of the record if nothing else? The scribes seem to have recovered from their distress.

===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

"...as any altarboy can, Yggrid upbraids as she handily grasps a tankard at the rear of Loranna's tray, knuckle-skin momentarily gracing the material of her skirt, all without having to lean-in or indeed sit even slightly forward - such are the length of her members Ahem, 'All told, fifty-score and eight\Aka-shic vheel -"

"Hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee!" comes gales of rictal laughter from Remanisthenes so forceful and constant that the old man's body seems to twist into several species of nautical knot.

Olodiil raises a finger "Could...someone, maybe...with Restorative training...see to...that?"

'Haute Quêteure', on 13 Feb 2012 - 3:16 PM, said:

"...as any altarboy can, Yggrid upbraids as she handily grasps a tankard at the rear of Loranna's tray, knuckle-skin momentarily gracing the material of her skirt, all without having to lean-in or indeed sit even slightly forward - such are the length of her members Ahem, 'All told, fifty-score and eight\Aka-shic vheel -"

"Hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee!" comes gales of rictal laughter from Remanisthenes so forceful and constant that the old man's body seems to twist into several species of nautical knot.

Olodiil raises a finger "Could...someone, maybe...with Restorative training...see to...that?"

I'll do what I can," Allerleirauh said. "My restoration skills are fairly straightforward, but my alchemical studies have been... esoteric. Loranna, if you don't mind...

Allerleirauh spoke briefly and quietly to the barmaid about doctoring a drink. A sweet, heady smell filled the air, a scent like summer, like sunlight.

It's only honey," she assured Olodiil. "Just honey from very far away.

She approached the cackling old man warily.

"Venerable archbishop, please. Remember yourself."

(OOC: ninja'd by allerleirauh, but the man needs help)
Sufjan takes the hint and rises to aid the archbishop.

"we're absolutely certain he's not a daedroth?"

pacing in the manner of one faced with a particularly challenging riddle, he ponders a course of action while Allerleirauh prepares her tonic.

"I'm mixing schools here, but a spell to restore the mind's capability and willpower combined with a calmative effect might stave off the madness." the Padomaic gauntlets come off again, and the Redoran lays hands on the Dragon's spokesman.

Edited by Muertos1130, 13 February 2012 - 06:50 PM.

You should let Mara's child to take care of... that. It is Taela's forte. But your more than welcomed to help.

Edited by The Tamriel Terror, 13 February 2012 - 07:25 PM.

Like lightning, the Archbishop snatches up the honeyed draught and drains the cup, downing it like water. He goes entirely limp, the cup and his crozier clanging across the floor.

Terse seconds pass...

Then a macabre tarantella of movement, as if someone was tugging madly at a marionette's strings. He settles into a perfectly upright posture, with rictal grin and his eyes slowly but surely dialing into the dark-side of his skull, leaving only hemorrhaging sclera to greet the world.

Then the grinning maw parts, letting out a queer voice "Hello, Mundus! What did I miss?"

Edited by Haute Quêteure, 13 February 2012 - 07:38 PM.

"Mercy upon us!" Sufjan shouts, drawing his hands away, and hastily replacing his gauntlets.

"Devil! Coldharboured fiend! Corner of the Troubles, the laystone of the House, I rebuke you in the name of Boethia, and demand you speak truth! Are you that terrible Prince of the Realm where this soul was detained, or are you but a servant? Quake where you mock-stand, for you are before daedra-slayers amassed!"

Sufjan turns then to face the assembled.
" What, then, now, of Akatosh's supposed protection? His own archbishop falls prey to the Four-Cornered House!"

It is obvious, the Dragon's protection is spent! Of it's own doing, Sufjan Muthera!

The sorceror conjures a black soul gem from his robes, and casts it onto table.

"Banish this nuisance from our presence. Let its master know his is the most vile and worthless of the Realms Daedric."

Edited by Lord Hyamentar, 13 February 2012 - 08:03 PM.

Well, [NUMINIT]. If a Daedra was to come here, why couldn't've it been a Scamp, Dremora, Golden Saint or something that I actually know how to deal with? I never seen a Daedra like this. I agree with Indoranys on this matter. If we keep it around, who knows what it would do?

Allerleirauh backed away quickly.

"Well, gentlefolk, unless you want his brains bashed in, we are now officially outside my area of expertise. Yet I would have sworn that when he first arrived, the true archbishop still spoke through this mouth."

I would advise caution. This is no accidental intrusion. To banish it now means we will not learn what it is and of its purpose, if this is not merely the Archbishop in a fit of madness.
If the council would allow me to arrest his heart, I could easily transform the body into a sealed vessel a daedra may not vacate until permittted if entered on its own accord, which it did.
No?
I thought not.
Well, nevertheless, I advise against rash banishment.
We are in a protected place and surely this august company has the prowess to safeguard itself.

Edited by Merari, 13 February 2012 - 08:52 PM.

"I'd rather see it restrained and questioned before we go about returning it to its master. As the maggot-marshal said, The Lord of Domination is not known for jesting- This message has an intent."

"Most uncivil. For shame. I have come at great personal expense just to parley with you fine churchmen, perhaps even share my mind. You need not worry. I've not come to distribute any ill-will, either of my accord or that of Brother-Razor."

B-Bu-But! Our wards and sigils and wraithwalls teeming with ancestor mythitropes! How have you breached them, fiend?!

"Remanisthenes is now sacred to me - a vassal, a sarcus-key past all your silly locks and thorny hedges."

Impossible! This man has sworn ever fiber of his being to the glory of Our Toshic Father! He would never...sully himself with your...disgusting largesse!

"Your faith, in all matters, but especially in Ottus' - shall we say - 'tensile strength' is ill founded. After a banquet lasting only 120 cycles did he swear his body, soul, silks, and facial inks to me in kowtows and proskynesis upon my [NUMINIT]. His blood stretches back all the way the time before LYG abandoned your nation to my pupils, Ald Ayleidoon. All the magnaneries in Cyrodiil together could not deny passage to such a venerable history."

Edited by Haute Quêteure, 13 February 2012 - 09:04 PM.

Our fears are proven too optimistic. Rude spirit!

'Haute Quêteure', on 13 Feb 2012 - 3:16 PM, said:

"...as any altarboy can, Yggrid upbraids as she handily grasps a tankard at the rear of Loranna's tray, knuckle-skin momentarily gracing the material of her skirt, all without having to lean-in or indeed sit even slightly forward - such are the length of her members Ahem, 'All told, fifty-score and eight\Aka-shic vheel -"

"Hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee!" comes gales of rictal laughter from Remanisthenes so forceful and constant that the old man's body seems to twist into several species of nautical knot.

Olodiil raises a finger "Could...someone, maybe...with Restorative training...see to...that?"

Loranna's eyebrows raised ever-so-slightly as she felt the brush of Yggrid's fingers on her skirt - and on her soft, golden hair ...

'Allerleirauh', on 13 Feb 2012 - 5:42 PM, said:

Allerleirauh backed away quickly.

Well, gentlefolk, unless you want his brains bashed in, we are now officially outside my area of expertise. Yet I would have sworn that when he first arrived, the true archbishop still spoke through this mouth.

... but any reply she might have made got lost in the sudden commotion. Eyes widening, she hastily handed Yggrid her tray with a quick "Justamomentdear."

With a sudden flash of her hair and skirts, Loranna crossed the distance between herself and the seemingly-possessed man, a golden cord in her hands - woven from her own hair, if anyone looked carefully enough. During the creature's speech, she hesitated but a moment, but then flashed forward again.

Do forgive me, your grace," she grimaced, a calming spell woven into her apologetic words as she made to peacebind the Archbishop's limbs. "And visitor as well, but ...

This should keep him from hurting himself - and us - if it works, the barmaid thought while her hands and hair flashed. If not ...

===

OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

Edited by Loranna, 13 February 2012 - 09:17 PM.

Your personal expense will be great indeed if you have ventured here without the blessing of your master. You of all things need no reminding of your Master's countenance towards those who disobey... I remind you of your brother, Menta-Na, that lazy Daedroth, and the woe-full torments incurred by his laxity.

"No servant of Molag Bal would risk such impunity. You are here either of his accord, or you have fallen from his graces."

Edited by Lord Hyamentar, 13 February 2012 - 09:05 PM.

'Lord Hyamentar', on 13 Feb 2012 - 6:03 PM, said:

Your personal expense will be great indeed if you have ventured here without the blessing of your master. You of all things need no reminding of your Master's countenance towards those who disobey... I remind you of your brother, Menta-Na, that lazy Daedroth, and the woe-full torments incurred by his laxity.

No servant of Molag Bal would risk such impunity. You are here either of his accord, or you have fallen from his graces.

Allerleirauh shook her head slightly. "These are assumptions, seek facts."

She addressed herself to what had been the Archbishop of Akatosh. "With whom do we speak?"

The Telvanni scoffs at the woman.

"Apologies, you must be one well acquainted with the peons of Coldharbour." The Dunmer grimaces, "You at least look, and smell it." he mutters.

The sorceror sighs. "Let the little razor speak."

The new entity seems quite comfortable in its new hair-shackles. "You have the pleasure of speaking to the nymical-proxy of Molag Bal. Charmed, I'm sure."

Edited by Haute Quêteure, 13 February 2012 - 09:29 PM.

"Foul-breathed beast of base will, you present yourself to us dressed as the Cliff Racer in mating season- dressed in the plumage of civility, belying the abominable nature beneath. You claim to have words to speak to us-I say speak them, then, and begone! We will not suffer your seductions here!"

The wild-looking woman with a nest of red hair leans in deeply on her chair, peering across the table at the possessed man, as if trying to catch some sign in his eyes.

"Hallo, devil. I'm not sure we've had the pleasure of meeting." she says, face rapt, cruel lips curled to smile, "I know your game though, oh how I've played it before. It's name is domination and knows no feeble trickery, and abhors parlance in good will. Tell us your song, and see if we find it as delightful as this man of the drake did. I'm sure you have not forgot the last time such an auspicious void-strider as yourself visited upon a temple of the divines, and who stood in dominance, and who retreated in chains. Sing your tune then. It's rhythm will catch, or it will not. But do not bore us with whispers. Subtleties suit the lips of Boe and of Meph, and not you, dear Bal."

Edited by Vincent McCool, 13 February 2012 - 11:05 PM.

[DREAMSLEEVE TRANSMISSION]
{PROTOCAL NUMERAL: 038497773y4596n
DESTINATION: Belharzslav Olodiil
ORIGIN: Taela
INTERCEPTION PROBABILITY: 32%}
Dearest Arbiter of ceremonies. It is difficult to express the hardship in sending you this message under the circumstances.
You see it right in front of you. The Archbishop of Aka enthralled before your eyes. The great dragon looms over in awe, as
a man by his moniker is possessed by an agent of wickedness. I do not know your plans concerning this and can only hope
you know what your doing. What could this mean? Are the barriers grow weaker with every passing minute!?

[TRANSMISSION END]

Edited by The Tamriel Terror, 13 February 2012 - 11:46 PM.

Allerleirauh seemed to be retaining her temper with an effort.

"Why all this hysteria? This is what you asked for. This is what it looks like. He is here because some among you invited him."

To the body of the Archbishop, she now spoke.

"Indeed, we are uncivil. This gathering was summoned for a purpose: to determine what happened on the day when, as some say, Martin Septim confronted Mehrunes Dagon, the Amulet of Kings was broken, an avatar of Akatosh appeared, and the gates of Oblivion were sealed. Those gathered here disagree about events and about their meaning. What say you? What happened there, and why?"

While Allerleirauh spoke with the possessed bishop, Loranna quietly took up a vigil to the right of the conclave's guest, remaining quiet but watchful. If Remanisthenes's body made any sudden moves, or the spirit within tried any shaping or misrule, she would unleash a torrent of frost, lightning, and raw magicka into the doddering, rictus-grinning meatpuppet. Such a display of mortal violence would mean little to a true Prince of Oblivion, in the long run, but that was no excuse to let down their guard.

===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

*Julius slowly unsheathes a silver sword. He hadn't used it for years, and merely bought it in case he met any bandits when travelling.*
If you do anything, just remember this. I used to hunt Daedra, back when I was in my prime. And if I have to, I wouldn't hesistate to hack off all your limbs and leave your vessel to die slowly of bleeding.

DREAMSLEEVE REPLY-TENDRIL//
RE: 038497773y4596n

FIBRIL ACTIVE// breathing vainglory:

"Observation, presently. Our fellows certainly seem to have it contained. Should they fail, Shurz and his men are in position."

FIBRIL CLOSE// the tongue slumbers.

Theya stood quiet for a while so that she could observe, for that's what she was, rather the observer and not the doer.

" You belong least here, yet this is where you show up, Bal. What would you gain from this meeting? Don't lie - leave that to others-, you have your motives, you came here for a reason and you don't like the sight, I'm sure. "

Then she speaks to the others. "Trifle with him and you'll doom upon us all. Yet, if he makes one bad move..."

She sits up and walks towards Jalmar and whispers him. "You're the oldest of us here. What chance do we stand against this foul mouth? No, don't get me wrong. If there is to be a fight, we're all in."

Glancing over the body of the Archbishop, she summons a sword of the Daedra. She is being cautious.

She moves next to the Redoran and says to him.

"I always expect Daedra to do such things but we didn't came here to hear them talk. We were so curious."

(edited - spelling)

Edited by War_Psyence, 14 February 2012 - 10:23 AM.

'War_Psyence', on 14 Feb 2012 - 07:22 AM, said:

..

She sits up and walks towards Jalmar and whispers him. "You're the oldest of us here. What chance do we stand against this foul mouth? No, don't get me wrong. If there is to be a fight, we're all in."

..

(Drenim raises an eyebrow and subtly shakes his head, once, twice. The meaning is clear, if the Daedra has ill intent, it may do considerable damage even though it forced his way into the Mundus via a vessel and was not summoned.
To himself Drenim notes his wards are not screaching their warnings but remain silent.)

I advise subtlety. Parlance.
Let His Eminence the Defiler make the first move, as he is so fond of.

"Tsk tsk tsk. You all have no manners. But no matter. Ask of Bal and he will answer..."

Yggrid meanwhile is furious. She breathes so deeply that her exhales come out as petite spears of flame.

Kyne's daughter has voiced our question, unbeautiful. Answer so we may banish you.

(Suddenly, XARLYS shivers, spilling her glass. She sits up straight and reaches behind her, feeling the small of her back. There is a frown on her face, and she is very awake.)

Morwha's breast!
(She stares at the DAEDRA.)
You know I loathe that touch. Do not do it again. ...
Not that you ever listen

(XARLYS unscrews the pommel of her sword. She tips the hilt slightly, and globs of lotion spill out, gushing all over her hands)

It's for ... frostbite
Do not smile like that

'qrsComplex', on 14 Feb 2012 - 08:05 AM, said:

(Suddenly, XARLYS shivers, spilling her glass. She sits up straight and reaches behind her, feeling the small of her back. There is a frown on her face, and she is very awake.)

Morwha's breast!
(She stares at the DAEDRA.)
You know I loathe that touch. Do not do it again. ...
Not that you ever listen

(XARLYS unscrews the pommel of her sword. She tips the hilt slightly, and globs of lotion spill out, gushing all over her hands)

It's for ... frostbite
Do not smile like that

Bal-qua-Ottus is seized by another fit of seismic laughter. Just enough to snap the cervices and let the head dangle free, so that his pupil-less eyes can meet Xarlys' own without having to fight his restraints "Oh, what a fine greeting for an old lover. Long where those days when I played Wryneck to your Valentree. How I loved to strip your bark in search of juicy woodlice and ants."

(Drenim looks from Xarlys to the Archbishop and waves his hands in an arcane pattern, a scamp materialises from the void.)

- Do not be alarmed colleagues, but if we were to question a Prince of Oblivion I would do it via this intermediary rather than fall victim to any quagmires, curses and traps myself.

(Drenim looks intently at the scamp, who falls to its knees, voids its bowels and turns toward the Archbishop possessed. The scamp does not raise its eyes from the flagstones and is trembling with fear but with a curiously high-pitched voice asks the Daedra:)

- Oh great Lord who I am not worthy to adress, no, not worthy, I have come to you with a great doom set upon me by my master.
He bids you kindly and names you all your hidden names in praise, or rather has me do it, yes, and asks of the Great and Mighty before me if he can shed His terrible insight into the events as transpired at the Temple of the One when your Magnificent brother was so crudely banished.
My master seeks knowledge as to the apparition of that foul Drake, yes, and the final fate of the one called Martin Septim.
If it would please my Lord, He can adress my master and his council Himself directly, yes, trusting the proper adherance to protocol has pleased my Terrific Lord, oh yes, Lord I grovel for thee..

(With that the scamp dissolves back into Oblivion, fortunately taking its waste with it.)

Edited by Merari, 14 February 2012 - 11:37 AM.

'Merari', on 14 Feb 2012 - 08:22 AM, said:

(Drenim looks from Xarlys to the Archbishop and waves his hands in an arcane pattern, a scamp materialises from the void.)

- Do not be alarmed colleagues, but if we were to question a Prince of Oblivion I would do it via this intermediary rather than fall victim to any quagmires, curses and traps myself.

(Drenim looks intently at the scamp, who falls to its knees, voids its bowels and turns toward the Archbishop possessed. The scamp does not raise its eyes from the flagstones and is trembling with fear but with a curiously high-pitched voice asks the Daedra:)

- Oh great Lord who I am not worthy to adress, no, not worthy, I have come to you with a great doom set upon me by my master.
He bids you kindly and names you all your hidden names in praise, or rather has me do it, yes, and asks of the Great and Mighty before me if he can shed His terrible insight into the events as transpired at the Temple of the One when your Magnificent brother was so crudely banished.
My master seeks knowledge as to the apparition of that foul Drake, yes, and the final fate of the one called Martin Septim.
If it would please my Lord, He can adress my master and his council Himself directly, yes, trusting the proper adherance to protocol has pleased my Terrific Lord, oh yes, Lord I grovel for thee..

(With that the scamp dissolves back into Oblivion, fortunately taking its waste with it.)

"Perhaps wise," Allerleirauh said. "There are protocols which must be observed. In Hogithum Hall we did not bow when Azura came before us unclothed. But Vehk was with us, and he is not here now."

'Merari', on 14 Feb 2012 - 07:43 AM, said:

(Drenim raises an eyebrow and subtly shakes his head, once, twice. The meaning is clear, if the Daedra has ill intent, it may do considerable damage even though it forced his way into the Mundus via a vessel and was not summoned.
[...]

"I see." she again whispers.

--

Unsteady as she is, Theya looks upon Xarlys.

Oh my... she says to herself. She pities high priest of Dibella, you could tell that by the look on her face. As her eyes meet the eyes of Xarlys once more, she points with her left hand to the conjured sword she holds in the other, her lips seemingly shaping the words:

"Keep head..."

What relevance does the Prince of [censored] have in this whole ordeal with Mehrunezz and Akatosh? Are you here to reap whatever benefits while Dagon licks his wounds?

Interrupted the khajiit who had remained somewhat calm throughout the whole event.

The peon of Bal has yet to say anything of any worth. What is this ridiculous sycophancy suddenly conjured in the minds of this council!? This spirit is worthless! What would Bal know of The Ambition's intent and defeat? Or of the doings of the Dragon? Molag Bal knows neither ambition nor shame, his sphere is simply corruption.

The Telvanni draws his staff towards himself. "Speak soon, Daedroth, or the sacred vessel of yours could soon be ashen as I am."

The wild-looking woman with red hair tuts, looking more than a little disappointed with the gathered dignitaries.

"What everyone is trying to say, Bal Dearest, is what did that whole Mess-upon-Rumare look like from where you were sitting, hmm? I suppose you came here to tell us something along those lines? Get it over with so we can get to the interesting part, won't you darling?"

Edited by Vincent McCool, 14 February 2012 - 02:15 PM.

Glancing at the others, Loranna cleared her throat. "Gentlebeings, may I remind you, as has Allerleirauh, that there are protocols to observe here, and that 'tis better to err on the side of caution?"

The barmaid's brow furrowed as she added "May I also remind you all that, should anything happen here, the Daedra before us loses but a sack of flesh and bone, that it's already breaking to suit its own whims?While we are fully capable of hurting ourselves with our own power, and do not have the luxury of living without our flesh? With that in mind, I ask of you all - do not taunt the Daedra. We have more to lose than it does."

===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

Edited by Loranna, 14 February 2012 - 04:59 PM.

"Well spoken, my sweet strumpet, for har har! Scampery? Soul-stones? Locks of hair? These are no guarantees of your safety. That I have not broken you is no credit to you insects, but signifies the further, future use that you will serve for me. Pull at your collars as you like - refute thy yokes utterly onto hell even - it makes no difference. I will speak and you will dance in five predictable styles, as was planned:

NIR, as you know her, is Terrible Mother. Membrane. Upheld-from-caruncles by Eightfold-and-One dentata wards to holdfast the sithical yonis, akathodic garbhagriha of ineffable tiger-touch and howling adagamy. To wage flower-war, to steal within and pluck the chimiocosm of [NUMINIT] from its pedestal should surely yield a climax like the gasping death of stars. It is the very meaning of Bal.

But Brother-Razor is boorish. He would just uproot the teeth, burn all those flowers rather than letting them wilt their petals away, pregnant with the knowledge of loss and terrible gain.

A terrific waste. He had to be stopped."

I don't think that this... thing is of any use to us in this matter. The only Daedric Prince who could explain the manifestation would be Hermaeus Mora, and I don't think I have the patience to wait 'til 5th of First Seed or the skill to track down one of his shrines. The best we can hope for is to figure out what he wants with us, and if possible sabotage his plans.

(XARLYS lays her rapier upon the table.)
Caution above all things, and yet His Domination knows its futility.
These worn fingers can't hold a sword straight. Not anymore.
The lover's-vale. Or maybe node-sinatria. To be frank, I might as well pretend to cut-the-atomos.
My hands are ©old.
Do not smile like that. You know very well why!

So let us continue.
(She shuffles through her notes.)

I could have sworn, I thought I had something here. About the Red Mourning.
(Her glistening hands leave oily stains all atop the liqueurblotched papers.)
What a mess!

(mumbling)
You would think [...] Dibella [...] express herself. Not so at all, huh?
(XARLYS holds up one sheet. Seems to depict BAL, the Statue of Akatosh, and writhing tongues.)
See? Just hodgepodge of oil and dirt now
I need more paper

(to her left)
And do fill your inkwell again. We've run out

Is this why he's here? Preaching about his superiority, that's all?

"Bal is still calm. (We've done well so far.) We should pay some attention to his explanations for now."

Edited by War_Psyence, 15 February 2012 - 12:38 AM.

The Bal-Bishop purses his thin lips at Xarlys in mock affection. Then he turns his head around in a full circle to face Belharslav, jagged pieces of loose cervix grinding like a busy millstone underneath the twisted flesh.

"I know what the next question is, burning at the back of your mind. And I can answer it: Yes. I halted the Dagon in his career, with the four scions of my own flesh."

What an interesting twist of events

Said Taela with a smirk splashed upon her face.

'Haute Quêteure', on 15 Feb 2012 - 06:08 AM, said:

The Bal-Bishop purses his thin lips at Xarlys in mock affection. Then he turns his head around in a full circle to face Belharslav, jagged pieces of loose cervix grinding like a busy millstone underneath the twisted flesh.

"I know what the next question is, burning at the back of your mind. And I can answer it: Yes. I halted the Dagon in his career, with the four scions of my own flesh."

"That's funny," Allerleirauh said. "I didn't see you there."

"And how, dear spirit, did you do that?"

'Lord Hyamentar', on 15 Feb 2012 - 5:52 PM, said:

And how, dear spirit, did you do that?

"With four chattel-instruments of wondrous utility: Geldall, Enman, Ebel, and of course, Martin."

Edited by Haute Quêteure, 15 February 2012 - 08:55 PM.

Qorowen had remained silent until now, uncomfortable at the sudden appearance of Remanisthenes.

Bal of R*pe, your absence of trickery and drumming is pleasing in this room of Padomay. Your domination of the false prophet is rather ironic hmm?

I still however, will not stand your [NUMINIT] and glory stealing. This is the Aurbical blasphemy of Mundus, not the Hunting Grounds. You are pure refined aleatoricism, insane madness, Daedric impossibility. Leave this place to the Dragon, seed planter. No tree is born of absurdism.

Edited by Quentillius, 15 February 2012 - 09:09 PM.

'Quentillius', on 15 Feb 2012 - 6:07 PM, said:

Qorowen had remained silent until now, uncomfortable at the sudden appearance of Remanisthenes.

Bal of R*pe, your absence of trickery and drumming is pleasing in this room of Padomay. Your domination of the false prophet is rather ironic hmm?

I still however, will not stand your [NUMINIT] and glory stealing. This is the Aurbical blasphemy of Mundus, not the Hunting Grounds. You are pure refined aleatoricism, insane madness, Daedric impossibility. Leave this place to the Dragon, seed planter. No tree is born of absurdism.

Though she was still watching the possessed man warily, Loranna found a moment to turn and stare at the Thalmor.

"That would be the 'false prophet' that you had announced displaced into the Void to make room for your august presence, would it not, gentlemer?" she asked, her voice just a little too quiet, "If memory serves, that is."

Looking back to Remanisthenes, the barmaid continued, forming her words slowly and deliberately. "If it pleases you, Lord of Coldharbor, I'm sure we would all like to hear more. By your leave, please tell us how each of these four served as the instruments of your will - especially Martin."

===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

Edited by Loranna, 15 February 2012 - 09:47 PM.

'Quentillius', on 15 Feb 2012 - 6:07 PM, said:

Bal of R*pe, your absence of trickery and drumming is pleasing in this room of Padomay. Your domination of the false prophet is rather ironic hmm?

I still however, will not stand your [NUMINIT] and glory stealing. This is the Aurbical blasphemy of Mundus, not the Hunting Grounds. You are pure refined aleatoricism, insane madness, Daedric impossibility. Leave this place to the Dragon, seed planter. No tree is born of absurdism.

Bal twists Ottus' head now face to Qorowen with a sneer. "By chance, did you know that your assignment here is ancillary, trifling concern for you masters? That very reason they voided poor-poor Remanisthenes was to bargain with me?

Indeed. For epochs now, several of your Paleonumerists have been compulsory guests in my Harbor. A grievous casualty of the Septim's siege on your capitol. A bad deal perhaps, but I just couldn't resist an authentic Archbishop of Akatosh. And in near-mint condition."

'Loranna', on 15 Feb 2012 - 6:44 PM, said:

Though she was still watching the possessed man warily, Loranna found a moment to turn and stare at the Thalmor.
Looking back to Remanisthenes, the barmaid continued, forming her words slowly and deliberately. "If it pleases you, Lord of Coldharbor, I'm sure we would all like to hear more. By your leave, please tell us how each of these four served as the instruments of your will - especially Martin."

"How to put this delicately? I took a guise, 'Caula Voria' I called myself, taking the form of a Nibenese genteel harlot concealing a broad-spear in her loins. Then I [censored] Uriel. He bore me Geldall, a drooling idiot child. so I [censored] him again, and he bore Enman, a coward who would shirk away from flies. So I [censored] him again, but he gave Ebel, weak as tavern-wine. Then on the fourth penetration, he gave me Martin, perfect at every angle.

I had him tucked away safe before I gave Jagar permission to proceed."

You lie. Daedra are incapable of creating mortal life. Do not bring up what Vivec's lessons said. That was just a metaphor for his dealings with you and how he undid them.

The Bal-Bishop now twists his head head 'round to face Julius with a therianthropic snort and then dental chittering like the chorus of many insects "And you, Julius, are pile of irrelevant excretia. No. I and m'colleagues do not amongst ourselves produce such listeric progeny as is found infesting Nir.

We do however, make quite exceptional brood when we couple with your best kin. Geldall, Enman, and Ebel notwithstanding, I'll grant."

Feona Barrowhart leans forward and lays her chin on her hands, listening to the demon, apparently rapt and loving every moment.

"He is right there, you know" she says, flicking her eyes at the possessed bishop's interlocutor, "It does happen, but oh so rarely. I've seen brooding sister's wear themselves to the bone trying to reproduce the act, all to no avail. But it does happen, and oh is it the talk of town when it does. Which poses the question" she returns her gaze to the devil opposite, "Why haven't we heard of Geldall, Enman and Ebel? They sound a delightful company."

Edited by Vincent McCool, 15 February 2012 - 11:26 PM.

'Haute Quêteure', on 15 Feb 2012 - 8:11 PM, said:

The Bal-Bishop now twists his head head 'round to face Julius with a therianthropic snort and then dental chittering like the chorus of many insects "And you, Julius, are pile of irrelevant excretia. No. I and m'colleagues do not amongst ourselves produce such listeric progeny as is found infesting Nir.

We do however, make quite exceptional brood when we couple with your best kin. Geldall, Enman, and Ebel notwithstanding, I'll grant."

Why should I believe what you say? You are a schemer at heart, not as much as Boethiah or Mephala, but still! You constantly plot to dominate all of the Aurbis, and you think that without any evidence we will be tricked by your plans? You come here uninvited, speak lies and slander, and call me a pile of feces. Don't you have some courtesy?

'Vincent McCool', on 15 Feb 2012 - 8:21 PM, said:

Feona Barrowhart leans forward and lays her chin on her hands, listening to the demon, apparently rapt and loving every moment.

He is right there, you know" she says, flicking her eyes at the possessed bishop's interlocutor, "It does happen, but oh so rarely. I've seen brooding sister's wear themselves to the bone trying to reproduce the act, all to no avail. But it does happen, and oh is it the talk of town when it does. Which poses the question" she returns her gaze to the devil opposite, "Why haven't we heard of Geldall, Enman and Ebel? They sound a delightful company.

"They were... nonentities, in more ways than one," Allie said. "But the Emperor's sons don't deserve to be slandered in such a way. Nor did they share a mother with Martin."

'SithisLorkhan', on 15 Feb 2012 - 8:23 PM, said:

Don't you have some courtesy?

"How could you expect that of him? Bal is anything but courtesy. "

"He's not lying, or at least that's what I believe. What he's saying is still quite a claim though. Bal's in every rapist, it would be better to keep that in mind when he says he disguises himself. That does not make him a liar."

'SithisLorkhan', on 15 Feb 2012 - 8:23 PM, said:

Why should I believe what you say? You are a schemer at heart, not as much as Boethiah or Mephala, but still! You constantly plot to dominate all of the Aurbis, and you think that without any evidence we will be tricked by your plans? You come here uninvited, speak lies and slander, and call me a pile of feces. Don't you have some courtesy?

"More importantly, why shouldn't you? I've been listening in for some time, despite the pathetic wraithwall [this draws a sour expression from Olodiil] and so far this petty council has amounted to naught but bloated subjectia and quarrel. (Sigh) But if you must, I will provide evidence in torrents upon droves.

Now listen closely and follow my instructions to the serifs on the letters: Send your swiftest oathman to The City and -"

"KLOVSMOLIIN!" and the head of Bal-upon-Ottus explodes into fractalized bits of crimson errata, misting everyone within close proximity to the hourglass throne with a thin layer of red and bone. Yggrid stands taller than ever, fisted clenched around brilliant rage, her mouth still smoking.

'Haute Quêteure', on 15 Feb 2012 - 8:47 PM, said:

"More importantly, why shouldn't you? I've been listening in for some time, despite the pathetic wraithwall [this draws a sour expression from Olodiil] and so far this petty council has amounted to naught but bloated subjectia and quarrel. (Sigh) But if you must, I will provide evidence in torrents upon droves.

Now listen closely and follow my instructions to the serifs on the letters: Send your swiftest oathman to The City and -"

"KLOVSMOLIIN!" and the head of Bal-upon-Ottus explodes into fractalized bits of crimson errata, misting everyone within close proximity to the hourglass throne with a thin layer of red and bone. Yggrid stands taller than ever, fisted clenched around brilliant rage, her mouth still smoking.

Allerleirauh bows to the very tall Nord woman.

"Thank you, truly, sister. That was enough, and more than enough. Now, does anyone else here want to bandy words about summoning Daedra or sending people to the Void? You have seen what comes of such loose talk."

'Haute Quêteure', on 15 Feb 2012 - 8:47 PM, said:

"More importantly, why shouldn't you? I've been listening in for some time, despite the pathetic wraithwall [this draws a sour expression from Olodiil] and so far this petty council has amounted to naught but bloated subjectia and quarrel. (Sigh) But if you must, I will provide evidence in torrents upon droves.

Now listen closely and follow my instructions to the serifs on the letters: Send your swiftest oathman to The City and -"

"KLOVSMOLIIN!" and the head of Bal-upon-Ottus explodes into fractalized bits of crimson errata, misting everyone within close proximity to the hourglass throne with a thin layer of red and bone. Yggrid stands taller than ever, fisted clenched around brilliant rage, her mouth still smoking.

Loranna pulled out a rag and began sopping up the fractured errata, muttering "Thank heavens; I thought I was going to try [censored]** my own brains out to escape listening to that."

"Perhaps we should move on to discuss something else? I hear we still have prisoners to decide dooms for, aye?"

===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

Edited by Loranna, 16 February 2012 - 12:07 AM.

"AN OBVIOUS BREACH OF ESTABLISHED RULES OF CONDUCT! THE THU'UM AND OTHER CULTURAL POWERS WERE FORBIDDEN BY THE ARBITER OF THIS MEETING! NEED I REMIND YOU THE IMPORTANCE OF-" Sufjan bellows, before bursting into a ghostly flamecloak, incinerating his notes and catching fire to the table.  Suddenly, the flame vanishes, leaving only a mortified Redoran behind.

"well, that certainly leaves the shalk out in the ash storm. That was Grandserjo. In life, as in death, he was quite proud of my temper. I suppose I look like a mighty hypocrite now."

Sufjan recollects himself, attempting to sift through his ashen notes for something to bring discussion forward.

"I would like to at least be on the record saying that while I too felt Bal's presence to be offensive to both the Divines of the Empire and the Triune Way, such rash action when we stand on the verge of enlightenment was impulsive and dangerously counterproductive to the purpose of the meeting." Satisfied with his regaining of composure, Sufjan takes his seat, only to fall into the pile of ash it had become during his outburst.

An exhausted, panting Altmer man enters the chapel. "I am sorry," he pants "I'm so late," he manages to say before he has to finish catching his breath Can I have some water?. Collecting himself (and too focused on that to notice the Deadra), he introduces himself. "I am Ralinar, Archbishop of Stendarr, the God of Mercy." Looking around the room to see if anyone was upset by his entry, he finally notices the Bal-Bishop. "What is this?"

Kai sits back in his chair. "An elf. Of course. No wonder...he.. is so late."

Edited by SilentColossus, 16 February 2012 - 12:14 AM.

'SilentColossus', on 15 Feb 2012 - 9:12 PM, said:

An exhausted, panting Altmer man enters the chapel. "I am sorry," he pants "I'm so late," he manages to say before he has to finish catching his breath Can I have some water?. Collecting himself (and too focused on that to notice the Deadra), he introduces himself. "I am Ralinar, Archbishop of Stendarr, the God of Mercy." Looking around the room to see if anyone was upset by his entry, he finally notices the Bal-Bishop. "What is this?"

Kai sits back in his chair. "An elf. Of course. No wonder...he.. is so late."

"That was once the Archbishop of Akatosh, your grace," Loranna said, keeping her voice matter-of-fact as she handed Allerleirauh a clean cloth. For a second, she exchanged a look with the silver-haired Nord woman, then went back to cleanup.

===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

Edited by Loranna, 16 February 2012 - 12:18 AM.

Um..." Olodiil searches the air about for answers " Yes. Well, Your Bespoken Righteousness, Welcome. That was, I am afraid to say, His E'er-Holiness, Remanisthenes Ottus. In fact, uh...Shurz, please escort the Archbishop's body to... the city morgue. Dear me...well, if we all might bow our heads for a moment and sing Arkay's Ode, which for our brethren who are unfamiliar with Cyrod custom, has the lyrics of total silence.

"..."

Edited by Haute Quêteure, 16 February 2012 - 12:20 AM.

*Julius gets out of his chair and prods the corpse with his sword, doubting it is truly dead. After getting no response, he returns to his chair.*
"Let us sing for his loss. ................................."

'SithisLorkhan', on 15 Feb 2012 - 9:28 PM, said:

*Julius gets out of his chair and prods the corpse with his sword, doubting it is truly dead. After getting no response, he returns to his chair.*
Let us sing for his loss. .................................

(ooc: Julius leads an interesting life - Allie knows very few living people without heads!)

Allerleirauh wipes her face and decides that it is pointless to attempt to clean her gown or hair. She lowers her eyes a moment and tries to still her thoughts. Whatever Ottus was is lost to us now.

Edited by Allerleirauh, 16 February 2012 - 12:33 AM.

Oh, I see. Well, he must have had made dealings with the Daedra for it to take control of him in such a manner. Right now, we should take precautions with his corpse," Ralinar says coldly. "And next time, do not allow a Daedra in this Chapel.

"Now, what the letter said that we are to discuss what happened with Martin and Akatosh in the Imperial City?"

((Edit: Typos))

Edited by SilentColossus, 16 February 2012 - 12:46 AM.

'SilentColossus', on 15 Feb 2012 - 9:35 PM, said:

Oh, I see. Well, he must have had made dealings with the Daedra for it to take control of him in such a manner. Right now, we should not take any precautions with his corpse," Ralinar says coldly. "And next time, do not allow a Daedra in this Chapel.

Now, what the letter said that we are to discuss what happened with Martin and Akatosh in the Imperial City?

"Yes, of course, y'Righteousness. A thousand pardons. But yes, we have convened to determine the root of what transpired on the Rumare. As you no doubt have observed, the ambiguity of that whole episode has caused an uproarious tumult amongst the lay folk."

Edited by Haute Quêteure, 16 February 2012 - 12:41 AM.

'Haute Quêteure', on 15 Feb 2012 - 9:40 PM, said:

Yes, of course, y'Righteousness. A thousand pardons. But yes, we have convened to determine the root of what transpired on the Rumare. As you no doubt have observed, the ambiguity of that whole episode has caused an uproarious tumult amongst the lay folk.

Very well," Ralinar responds. "What have we discussed so far?

((OOC: Not expecting anyone to seriously answer that))

---

Kai whispers to himself. "What does he mean take "precautions" with the body? Surely they'll give him a proper burial?"

Edited by SilentColossus, 16 February 2012 - 01:14 AM.

"Talos guard you", she spoke in a murmur. Then, hesitating to speak, Theya remained silent. As the Altmeri Archibishop entered the chapel, fear spread through her body, but only for a brief moment.
She slowly comes to her senses.

"I'm willing to accompany Shurz to the morgue. May I?"

Welcome. A preist is not late. Nor is he early. He arrives at the right time. Now, onto what we all just witnessed. The body that is being escorted out of this chapel is...erm, was the Archbishop of Akatosh more specifically. Cruelly enthralled by Malog Bal. This one weeps for his soul as it travels to the Aetherius...or Coldharbor. Do we take Bal's words with a grain of sand?

Edited by The Tamriel Terror, 16 February 2012 - 02:00 AM.

'The Tamriel Terror', on 15 Feb 2012 - 10:53 PM, said:

Welcome. A preist is not late. Nor is he early. He arrives at the right time. Now, onto what we all just witnessed. The body that is being escorted out of this chapel is...erm, was the Archbishop of Akatosh more specifically. Cruelly enthralled by Malog Bal. This one weeps for his soul as it travels to the Aetherius...or Coldharbor. Do we take Bal's words with a grain of sand?

I say we take them with the entire Alikr Desert.

'The Tamriel Terror', on 15 Feb 2012 - 10:53 PM, said:

Welcome. A preist is not late. Nor is he early. He arrives at the right time. Now, onto what we all just witnessed. The body that is being escorted out of this chapel is...erm, was the Archbishop of Akatosh more specifically. Cruelly enthralled by Malog Bal. This one weeps for his soul as it travels to the Aetherius...or Coldharbor. Do we take Bal's words with a grain of sand?

'SithisLorkhan', on 15 Feb 2012 - 11:05 PM, said:

I say we take them with the entire Alikr Desert.

Bal cannot help ravishing and humiliating, even if only with words. It were better we did not take them at all.

Allerleirauh shook her head. "Forgive me, gentlefolk. I must get clean."

She left abruptly.

Edited by Allerleirauh, 16 February 2012 - 02:19 AM.

Loranna looked up from her cleaning. "... There; that's as good as it's going to get for now," she announced, to no one in particular.

With that, the Nordic lass took back up her tray of drinks and faded into a corner, pouring her attentions into a tankard of ale.


===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

Taela: "This one is merely trying to start a conversation from a most...awkward transition. Forgive Taela for trying."

The Khajiit opened up a small sack and partook in some moon sugar.

*A nordic madman bursts into the chapel. His poor clothing resembles the robes of a priest, more specifically a priest who had died for millenia and was buried in a tomb with a moth infestation. His large beard and hair nearly reach down to his knees.*
HARK! THE DOOM-DRUM BEATS! THE ARCHBISHOP OF SHEZZAR HAS COME!
*Julius stares incredulously at the beggar-bishop*
Well, this meeting seems to be a magnet for weirdness.

Taela: "Can we at least pretend to wait until this one has eaten this whole rock before these visions start? What brings you here Herald of Shezzar; Archbishop of sudden entrances?"

Edited by The Tamriel Terror, 16 February 2012 - 03:33 AM.

The Telvanni taps his fingers on the table, but says nothing. Again, he begins to smoke on a pipe, and gazes bemusedly at the now crimson throne that possess'd bishop once sat.

"Eh." He says,

Archbishop of Lorkhan. you are welcome. You arrive at the right time. Bless this chapel once more, as all of us priests shall do.

"Fellow Taela, there's nothing to forgive you for. Sooner or later, we must move on. It's the best we can do."

'The Tamriel Terror', on 16 Feb 2012 - 12:21 AM, said:

Taela: "Can we at least pretend to wait until this one has eaten this whole rock before these visions start? What brings you here Herald of Shezzar; Archbishop of sudden entrances?"

I HAVE COME TO BRING YOU A WARNING! THE WORLD SHALL CRUMBLE! THE SKY ITSELF SHALL FALL ON THE TOMB OF SHEZZAR'S REMAINS, AND THE NORTH AND EAST WILL BE BUT FIRE AND SMOKE! THE FOREST WILL TAKE IT'S VENGEANCE AGAINST THE THREEFOLD KINGS! AN INFERNAL CITY SHALL KILL WITH ITS SHADOW! THE HIGH FOLK SHALL CONQUER THEIR COUSINS! THE CORPSE OF GOD ITSELF WILL VANISH! ELVES AND MAN SHALL WAGE WAR ONCE AGAIN, CONTESTING THE CHILD OF THE DRAGON, MOON AND SUN! HJALTI-WULF-ZURIN SHALL BE HONOURED ONLY BY THE REBELS AGAINST THE WHITE GOLD PROMISES! NIRN'S THROAT SHALL COUGH UP THE END, AND THE LOST EMPIRE SHALL RETURN! A NEW CHILD OF AKA SHALL SAVE US, BUT UNTIL NINE BY NINE AND ONE GENERATIONS HAVE PASSED, THE WORLD SHALL KNOW ONLY DECAY! YOU HAVE SEEN THE SIGNS! THE TOWERS ARE FALLING!

*Julius covers his ears*
Okay, this may be prophecy or the ramblings of a madman, but either way, just be quiet! We already have one shouting Nord about!

Edited by SithisLorkhan, 16 February 2012 - 04:28 AM.

(When the Archbishop of Akatosh' head exploded, Drenim was showered in blood and small lumps of flesh and bone.
His hair a mess, his robes ruined, eyes a-blaze, for a moment it looks as if the Dunmer will himself explode in anger.
With a shiver he regains his composure and his hand only trembles slightly when it reaches into his robes and places a small, unadorned bone flask on the table. With his finger above the flask Drenim mutters under his breath. Now it seems as if he is shivering again, but on closer inspection it is the waste he is coated with that is moving. It rolls, crawls away from his face, beard, robes and onto his outstretched arm. From his fingernail now a fine trickle pours into the flask.
When the last of the matter has oozed into it, Drenim corks the flask and stores it in the recesses of his robes again.
The other council members pre-occupied with the sudden arrivals, Drenim does not expect them to pay much attention to him.
He desires some time alone so he can use the flask to interrogate the spirit of the late Archbishop.
Once again looking spotless and every bit the smiling, doting grandfather he reseats himself and listens to what the council has to say. )

Olodiil's whole face tweaks an a mild conniption at the arrival of Shezarr's priest. "Is ANYONE watching the doors? You there, Madman! There is no quarter for you here. Although Shezarr is indeed worthy of our highest respect, even admiration, Alessia herself forbade his worship. Such is the price of Pax Cyroda. I will give you the courtesy of leaving voluntarily before I have you smothered in moths."

Yggrid is, of course, displeased. "Belharzslav! she shouts You would savage your kinsman for speaking the word of man, when that Demon gave testimony that we lost our brother to Elven iniquity? If you should injunct any soul in silk, it should be that Goldgnome bastard who calls himself a holy-man!"

"Yes, well, I would have...inquired further into that...subject, but then you made his head explode!"

"That you permitted a King Demon to speak in our midst, laying blaspheme upon blaspheme- "

"HOW DO YOU THINK I FELT?! Hmh?! I was our Lord's Archimandrite-Palatine, I was his friend, his brother! The testimony that...thing gave was vile, disgusting. It brings every single minute particle of my being to retch in sick agony. I cannot even for a moment bring myself to believe it...and yet...it explains so very, very much..."

"The worship of Shezarr is meant for the dead, and now non-existent, cults of the Imperial City, not for a council such as this," Ralinar says. "Unlike the Altmer in Summerset, I have no hatred for Shezarr, but I still agree with Olodiil. He is not an active god like the Eight and One and as Olodiil said, is not to be worshiped. Even those heathen Nords merely see him as a hero god."

Edited by SilentColossus, 16 February 2012 - 12:10 PM.

You have a very funny sense of humor Shezzar's priest. The moons are not going anywhere. So would be the end of us Khajiits. Then again, the moons might just vanish. When Khajiit starts to contradict herself, she is telling the truth. Rumors travel swiftly along the wind currents, blowing sands of deception into the ears of those willing to listen. This one speaks of course about rumors to assassinate the Mane.

The north and east is already but fire and smoke, silly doomdrummer. What more ash could be made lest, what, Red mountain erupts? Bah!

'Muertos1130', on 16 Feb 2012 - 10:22 AM, said:

The north and east is already but fire and smoke, silly doomdrummer. What more ash could be made lest, what, Red mountain erupts? Bah!

That will be the day the Khajiit side with the Altimer. Not too likely.

(XARLYS is writing again, now on a fresh sheet of paper.)

(mumbling)
... then ... moths. Blindness?

My friends, these words terrify me. Can we easily deny them?
Granted, my students in Adaerotic Divination often claim prophecies of similar ... gravity. Half of them are in it for the consensual bodypainting. Ah, youth.

Dibella's oracles have agreed on this much; to prevent the future fulfills it. To complete the future changes it. Whatever we discover, our children will be the ones to suffer, and they'll blame us for our incompetence. Or inaction. ... For causing the disaster itself!

The wild-looking woman with red hair sits back and watches all these events keenly, and, when-no-one is looking, licks some of the gore off of her face. The newest entrant to the council seems to startle her, but, like most things, brings a wry smile to her grey lips. She raises a finger to point at the ragged, bearded man.

"That so-called Archbishop, is an imposter. Or mad, else...over two Eras old. Lorkhan only takes maidens as his high-pontiffs, such has been the way since cruel Perrif. An anachronism, or a blaspheme. Either way I say we throw him out, or explode his head like we did to the demon."

Edited by Vincent McCool, 16 February 2012 - 04:15 PM.

Are his words unsettling for your virgin ears barbarian? If he represents a deity, real or hoax, it does not matter because of semantics, then he can stay if deemed worthy by the Arbiter.

Sufjan, having dusted himself off and found another chair, sits down, offering a chuckle at Barrowheart's words.

"ah, I say let him stay. It's not as if we haven't heretics in abundance already, would you not say, representative of Kynareth?"

This one has tolerated your blasphemous misconceptions of Alkosh, Lorkhaj, and Mehrrunz. Only because Mara has taught Taela the concept of love. He should stay.

Edited by The Tamriel Terror, 16 February 2012 - 04:53 PM.

The Reachwoman gives Sufjan an unimpressed look.

"Sweet heresy is one matter, but unholy fraudulence? Better too many Gods than too few, no doubt, but that man..." Feona Barrowhart begins to squeeze on the table, increasingly aggravated "is not an Archbishop of Shezzar. That Church is ancient, defunct. Bishops do not...rise out from the past in such a manner. I can not allow it. If a madman wishes to sully the name of an aspect of the DOOM DRUM, he may do it outside. Or.." she pauses, pursing her lips, struggling to control herself, "I will not be held accountable."

"What this ..man says, is manifestly the ramblings of a ward of Sheo. You will not find the tiniest tincture of sense in his words."

"Oh for the love of bandits hiding in caves, can we get back to discussing Martin and the Dawn prisoners already?" Loranna groused, looking up finally from her tankard.

Slowly, she rose back to her feet, holding up her tray once more on one hand. "Who cares if he's an impostor or not, at this point?"


===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

Edited by Loranna, 16 February 2012 - 05:01 PM.

'qrsComplex', on 16 Feb 2012 - 12:31 PM, said:

[...]
Dibella's oracles have agreed on this much; to prevent the future fulfills it. To complete the future changes it. Whatever we discover, our children will be the ones to suffer,and they'll blame us for our incompetence. Or inaction. ... For causing the disaster itself!

If bad things are to happen, we cannot stop them, none of us. The best we can do is keep the faith that we'll be safe. The archbishop has some good points, even though he belongs less or more to.....other places. Speaking of Morrowind, it's always been a wasteland. Ah, at least Vvardenfell. I can see bad things happening there, but we've had enough of them. I was hoping for an era of peace. True, that was years ago, back then when Dagoth Ur was finally defeated. Then the battles started by Helseth....My hopes are slowly vanishing. The Empire's falling apart and Cyrodiil's weak , so an uprising wouldn't be all that surprising. I don't mean to blame The Elder Council, no, that's not the case. Neither do I blame The Emperor. Uriel Septim, I mean. His fate was sad enough. They all did the best they could do.

"Still...

There is danger floating upon Vivec's city and no one knows, no one can really know what will happen with the moon over there, what the future will bring. "

I'll leave for a while. I must go chance.

Her robes are dirty with blood and so are her arms. She exits the chapel.

Edited by War_Psyence, 16 February 2012 - 05:11 PM.

'Loranna', on 16 Feb 2012 - 1:58 PM, said:

"Oh for the love of bandits hiding in caves, can we get back to discussing Martin and the Dawn prisoners already?" Loranna groused, looking up finally from her tankard.

Slowly, she rose back to her feet, holding up her tray once more on one hand. "Who cares if he's an impostor or not, at this point?"
Loranna

Kai looks up. "I agree. They let me in here," Kai laughs. "And I haven't done much. But yes, let's go back to talking about the Dragonborn. And besides, there are plenty of non-Nine worshipers in here and they are allowed to stay."

Taela consumes another chunk of moon sugar. She is not addicted, nor is any Khajiit addicted to moon sugar. The purpose is to gain enlightenment. She begins to breathe heavily and closes her eyes.

Taela: "An ominous wind is set in motion. One that can not be slowed by resistance. Visions force themselves into Taela's mind and she finds herself in the eye of a cyclone. Smoke...ash. It fills her lungs."

The khajiit begins to choke a little and wheezes for a breath of air.

Taela: "Mara be with the people of the ash, who find it harder to love each day. Love which is to prevent disaster. But love can not be found. This one sees...a wheel. Turning clockwise. Each segment of the wheel is an event. It is hazy and hard to tell what each event is. "

Edited by The Tamriel Terror, 16 February 2012 - 05:21 PM.

Allerleirauh returns. Her silver hair is damp and freshly combed; her dress, which was blue with white trim, is now white with blue trim. She speaks quietly to the scribes, reads the minutes of what has passed, and resumes her seat. She leans forward, watching and listening intently as the Khajiit speaks her visions.

"I can guess what she sees," she said. "Vivec. He warned his people. That rock does not stay up by itself. I had hoped, I think, that their love would last a little longer. But love is in short supply these days."

Feona Barrowhart stared at the table in front of her, fuming, but held her tongue. Her survival up to this point had been miraculous enough, she would not press her luck now. There was still more to observe.

"All this is.. fascinating" she said carefully, "but the matter at hand. The prisoners, in particular, seem a ready topic."

Taela awoke from her unresponsive state

Taela: "They are all interconnected fair Feona. To talk about the prisoners is to also talk about these events. One will lead to the other."

'The Tamriel Terror', on 16 Feb 2012 - 2:37 PM, said:

Taela awoke from her unresponsive state

Taela: "They are all interconnected fair Feona. To talk about the prisoners is to also talk about these events. One will lead to the other."

"Good Taela, forgive me. I believe in my distress about the end of the archbishop, I was discourteous to you. Can you explain how the prisoners are connected to the fall of the Ministry of Truth? Is that what you saw?"

The khajiit closes her eyes and meditates again.

Taela: "It is merely a piece of the whole wheel. They are not connected physically to the Ministry of Truth. But they are an enabler of the cycle which leads to the rock over Vivec. Without the Mythic Dawn, you would not have the fall. Going back, if it had not been for the traitor Jagar Tharn, we would not have the mysterious Warp of the West. They have no direct ties, but one can not be fulfilled without the other. So is the nature of the dragon of time. Beyond the fall of the Ministry of Truth is a wall of sand. Concealing what lies beyond. No amount of moon sugar consumed will bring to light the mysteries behind the shadowy veil."

The khajiit looked around the room.

Taela: "We should let the Archbishop of Shezzar continue. His words, for however strange they may seem, bare fruit."

Edited by The Tamriel Terror, 16 February 2012 - 06:08 PM.

'The Tamriel Terror', on 16 Feb 2012 - 3:00 PM, said:

Taela: "We should let the Archbishop of Shezzar continue. His words, for however strange they may seem, bare fruit."

"Absolutely not!" Olodiil howls like hellfire in the pulpit "I will not answer blasphemes with blasphemes. This is not up for debate. That Shezarr is a...hrm, Missing Deity is not a fault in Cyrodiil's...memory, but delicate...mythitecture, yes, of the finest filigree. One loose, spindle? No...thread and we risk rupture of Status Quocoon, in toto. He may not remain."

'Haute Quêteure', on 16 Feb 2012 - 6:39 PM, said:

"Absolutely not!" Olodiil howls like hellfire in the pulpit "I will not answer blasphemes with blasphemes. This is not up for debate. That Shezarr is a...hrm, Missing Deity is not a fault in Cyrodiil's...memory, but delicate...mythitecture, yes, of the finest filigree. One loose, spindle? No...thread and we risk rupture of Status Quocoon, in toto. He may not remain."

Yggrid shows up, threatening to Shout curses left and right, and you cower. But now a single Shezarrite has you howling like a maddened giant?" Loranna asked, a dubious look on her face. "Status Quocoon can't stand up to starlight and there's enough in this room to set a world on fire. Let's get back to the topic at hand, please?

===

OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

Edited by Loranna, 16 February 2012 - 09:57 PM.

YES, THE STONE OF LIES SHALL FALL UPON THE CITY OF THE THIEF! BUT KNOW THIS! THE WHEEL IS THE TOWER IS EVERYTHING! SEE THE TOWER! SEE THE I! SEE ROYALTY! SEE YOURSELF IS EVERYTHING! ALL IS ZERO!
*The madman vanishes mysteriously. One moment he was there, the other he was not. Julius gazes in confusion*
Did... did that just happen?

Edited by SithisLorkhan, 16 February 2012 - 09:51 PM.

"Evidently so. Well, now reading back in the, um, silkscripts,I see that prior to the...intrusions, the suggestion arose for the calling of mundane witnesses. And I stress, mundane."

"Indeed," Yggrid accords "My swordpriests vere at Oneth Temple, proudly so. Might I beckon to them, Belharzslav, or would that be too bruising to your little cocoon?"

Olodiil seems to be in the throes of a particularly nasty migraine. "Please, y'Augustness, don't test me further..."

"I see the problem has resolved itself," Allerleirauh said. "And there have been loose spindles before - a single one doesn't break the whole works. There are menders, as you well know, as well as breakers. I would like to hear the testimony of the Blades, as well as that of the prisoners."

Khajiit supposes we'll have too get around to it eventually. This one motions to hear the testimonies.

Edited by The Tamriel Terror, 16 February 2012 - 11:36 PM.

Fine. It's decided then. Yggrid, you may send for your Blades; Deacon-Bumbailiff, bring prisoner no. 1" pause in brief reference of a trailing form Elbero Not-So-Tall, and bring him before me. But keep the gag on, for now."

Yggrid excuses herself to make the necessary shouts atop the Chapel's bell-tower. Meanwhile, Shurz, along with a pair of heavy-kitted Battlemages pull their man from the prisoner box and frog-march him across the dais to Olodiil's pulpit, his wrist and ankle chains clanking all the way.

Edited by Haute Quêteure, 17 February 2012 - 12:04 AM.

(XARLYS gasps.)

Palla's piercings ... ! Those eyes! Those hard, unbroken eyes ...! What travesties they must have seen! And relished!
A man could kill with such eyes!
Are these are the eyes of Tamriel's terror? The mythic dawn?

Sweet Dibella, hold me!

Like his name suggested, he didn't stand very tall. Even for a Bosmer, his shoulders barely passed the top of the pulpit. As he ascended the dias, a pallish hush descended upon the chamber broken only by the clanking of chains. Still gagged, Elbero could only glare at the assembled. Was it hatred and contempt or righteous pity that shone in them?

When no one moved or spoke, Elbero placed his hands on the pulpit where everyone could see and began pulling his arms as far apart as the restraints allowed him, cutting into his wrists until blood was drawn, all the while smiling.

The bosmer approached the pulpit unshaken. Taela leaned in next to the Archbishop of Debella and whispered.

Taela: "Indeed, Xarxys. The willing participants of the wheel of convention. S'rendarr have mercy on their souls.

Edited by The Tamriel Terror, 17 February 2012 - 05:25 PM.

"Gah!" Olodiil cries. Elbero's blood was making a dreadful mess of his meticulously arranged silk- and paperwork. He frantically busies himself with blotting up what he can from the woodwork with a saliva-moistened end of his epitrachil (the satiny warp and weft of which traces nearly 4000 years of Olodiil ancestor boughs and branches). Meanwhile, Shurz puts his prodigious boot-heel to the back of Elbero's knees while the Battlemages yank back tight on his chains without physically gracing them.

The blood finally ebbed, Olodiil beckons and the Battlemages - A Kothrinibener and a Breton - bring the prisoner to his feet , again with only gestures, and hold him there in the grip of their eldritch fetters. The Arbiter clears his throat "Please confirm for this council your name, place of birth, trade, father's name and trade, and credo..."then with his scissor gesture he has Shurz removing his gag with a curved knife.

Edited by Haute Quêteure, 17 February 2012 - 06:43 PM.

Thralls speak as they are taught.

Once more, if I could advise the learned council, a simple arrest of the heart would release the spirit, which I can then bind to the body and bind to speak the truth. It is the most simplest of alterations at heart. Hah.
No?
I did not think so.

I would advise the learned council to recall that this is a crux or spindle of events. That many of those that can follow the flow in the dust-breath-that-binds will find their way here, by faith, by doom, by machinations or even by choice.
I would advise the learned council to heed the whisper from neglected corners, to embrace all that can shed light on the events at agenda.

I would remind the learned council that not all here are present by express invitation and not all follow the Nine.

(A small thunderclap underscores Drenim's words at this point and he wiggles his eyebrows as to let people know he's aware of the dramatic effect, thereby rather spoiling it all.)

This learned council is present to gleam the truth, yes, the truth from the events that ended the Oblivion crisis.
I have told you my doctrine, we have heard others, we have even heard what I cannot think of as other than a Daedric Prince, honour where it is due, the Fire-Stone Himself.

However.
Consider the nature of the Fire-Stone, to take by conquest and to take by defilement.
What would be more fitting for that Lord, honour where it is due, to claim that which is not His.
I would postulate that everything that was said was not a trick, but an embodiment of the very sphere of this Lord, honour where it is due.

I would state that for the purposes of this meeting, one being to determine the nature of events as described, etc, etc.. I would state to classify that of the Lord Bal, honour where it is due, under apocrypha.
His is a claim, to be sure, but I do not see it being legitimate.

While I do have the floor, learned colleagues, do recall that this is not by definition a truth-seeking device of those of the Nine, but rather one of all those that walk the Tam-Ri-El.
It concerns all of us, and therefore all of us have a place at this table.
Be it for completeness sake only.

We will focus on the Drake at hand! The Martin! Whatever he became.

Edited by Merari, 17 February 2012 - 10:05 PM.

Indeed. Let us speak of the One Minute King! What a befitting end to the dynasty of a decaying Empire that had grown fat off the teat of Sanguine. A bastard and suspected Daedra worshiper (oh, for he knew where his Freedom lay) takes Tradition and his Compact with the Nine Enslavers and smashes it on their altar. What a way for the last recognized Septim to sacrifice himself!

And before you ask me to restrain myself, I am Elbero-Not-So-Tall, commonly Elbero. I was born sometime during the Siege of Haven in 3E399. I was a war-orphan and didn't know my parents. I suppose the closest you can call a trade was my embedded cover as an Apothecary, unless Revolutionary counts as a trade. I was first a worshiper of Stendarr after the mission that raised me, whose Hammer I notice is not among this crowd of Collaborators. That should tell me how fairly I'm going to be judged. However, almost ever since reaching maturity, I have been a proud member of the Mythic Dawn sect of Dagon worshipers lead by the stalwart Mankar Cameron. Would you also like a history of my crimes against your tyrannical Empire?

[Edit: fixed a date.]

Edited by Mehrunes-Dagon, 18 February 2012 - 02:39 AM.

'Mehrunes-Dagon', on 17 Feb 2012 - 8:23 PM, said:

Indeed. Let us speak of the One Minute King! What a befitting end to the dynasty of a decaying Empire that had grown fat off the teat of Sanguine. A bastard and suspected Daedra worshiper (oh, for he knew where his Freedom lay) takes Tradition and his Compact with the Nine Enslavers and smashes it on their altar. What a way for the last recognized Septim to sacrifice himself!

And before you ask me to restrain myself, I am Elbero-Not-So-Tall, commonly Elbero. I was born sometime during the Siege of Haven in 3E199. I was a war-orphan and didn't know my parents. I suppose the closest you can call a trade was my embedded cover as an Apothecary, unless Revolutionary counts as a trade. I was first a worshiper of Stendarr after the mission that raised me, whose Hammer I notice is not among this crowd of Collaborators. That should tell me how fairly I'm going to be judged. However, almost ever since reaching maturity, I have been a proud member of the Mythic Dawn sect of Dagon worshipers lead by the stalwart Mankar Cameron. Would you also like a history of my crimes against your tyrannical Empire?

This isn't a court of law. Mercy you must seek elsewhere. I, for one, am more interested in your reasoning than your deeds.

'Allerleirauh', on 17 Feb 2012 - 9:07 PM, said:

This isn't a court of law. Mercy you must seek elsewhere. I, for one, am more interested in your reasoning than your deeds.

As am I," Loranna added. "You spoke of having worshiped Stendarr once. What, pray tell, led you to change your faith?


===

OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

'Allerleirauh', on 17 Feb 2012 - 9:07 PM, said:

This isn't a court of law. Mercy you must seek elsewhere. I, for one, am more interested in your reasoning than your deeds.

The Fire-Stone though is banished by my word and my ward.
I do not believe it anything more than foolery, but do you?

We all claim so much for ourselves these days, its hard to remember what really happened. Or is it the other way around?
There are some things we all hold on to as truth, nonetheless, lest the temples in our minds shatter.

We can all agree there was a man, and we can all agree he was named Martin.
We also agree he was the last Septim.

Edited by Merari, 18 February 2012 - 12:49 AM.

'Merari', on 17 Feb 2012 - 9:21 PM, said:

The Fire-Stone though is banished by my word and my ward.
I do not believe it anything more than foolery, but do you?

We all claim so much for ourselves these days, its hard to remember what really happened. Or is it the other way around?
There are some things we all hold on to as truth, nonetheless, lest the temples in our minds shatter.

We can all agree there was a man, and we can all agree he was named Martin.
We also agree he was the last Septim.

Serjo, I knew already that Bal was a violator. From his speech I garnered no new insights.

Whether Martin was the last Septim I leave to others to say, but he was the last Septim who will wear the Amulet of Kings.

You'll have to forgive me. My jailors rarely tell me anything about who is questioning me and this... place seemed official enough to look like a court.

I worshiped Stendarr out of necessity, as the Imperial Mission where I was raised was dedicated to him. Mercy, it seems, is a poor substitute for compassion though. When I reached my majority, I was unceremoniously evicted. I spent some time wandering around Tamriel. I ended up seeing the so-called Miracle of Peace in Satakalaam City, which burned for two months from some unknown siege that had been washed away in the re-writing of Time. Meanwhile the Legion, not 2 leagues away, did nothing.

That was when I realized that the Empire was a dead forest. It still had a physical existence, but the corpse was poisoning the land around it and doing nothing but spreading disease to healthy plants. What do you do with a dead forest? You burn it. The Dead Empire is old news though. To the truly observant, it died on the shores of Akavir. We only put it out of its misery to allow for new things to grow in its stead. A friend in Satakalaam referred me to the nearest cult of Dagon, but they were weak sows merely idolizing the idea of Change and Destruction. Through them, though, I met Ruma Camoran, The Immortal Leader's daughter. These people wanted to act.

I'm certain many of you by now are at least aware of the gist of The Immortal Leader's Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes, our core tenants. I'll get to that in a minute if you'll allow me. All of that was high-minded philosophy though. Don't get me wrong, we believe it all, however most of us simply wanted to see the Empire burn. Most of our lives had been ruined by some crisis that had rocked the Empire. I realize that this might be shocking to those of you who gain money and power from preying on and corrupting the Empire, but 30 years of chasing chaotic moment to chaotic moment is not a way to rule an Empire. One of my closest friends within the Dawn had her Mother and Father killed by representatives of the Empire under Jagarn Tharn, then 17 years later she wakes up to find her business, fortune, and children suddenly no longer exist and the Empire is there hailing the moment as a boon. So what does she do? She moves to Almalexia, the other side of the Empire, only to have her husband murdered by Automatons commanded by a Mad God... wait for it... who was threatened by growing Imperial Influence. Those sorts of events tend to leave somebody with the feeling that their rulers aren't serving their people.

Edited by Mehrunes-Dagon, 18 February 2012 - 02:42 AM.

Well of course the rulers do not serve their people, wise rulers never do.
Wise rulers do not even serve their empire, they make their empire serve them.
Did I say wise?
I suppose I meant surviving.

My boy if you think an empire is there for the people, you have a very poor grasp of history.
If you think an empire should be there for the people, you have an excellent grasp of wishful thinking.

Of course that is not the point and has never been that of an empire. Is an empire not a way to say 'I am', but in a way greater than one mortal man can accomplish, namely in the blood of others?

Forgive an old man.
I am tired and it has been quite some time since I saw a comfortable bedroll.

Can we not just behead this nuisance?
Any loose threads can be woven shut after death, when lying is no longer an option.

Edited by Merari, 18 February 2012 - 03:11 AM.

You do realize that Mehrunes Dagon would not just destroy the Empire, but painfully kill everyone you have ever loved and knew and millions of innocents? Nothing excuses the unmaking of Nirn, NOTHING. I say all who believe that is a good idea should be imprisoned, and those who actually acted to fulfill that goal, well, I would want them executed in a way so painful that it is banned even in Black Marsh.

Edited by SithisLorkhan, 18 February 2012 - 03:19 AM.

"He does rather have a point" said the Reachwoman, smiling sweetly, "A fallen empire is one thing, oh but the orgy of destruction and ruin your Dagon had in mind. Have you ever peeked into the Deadlands, little one? Did they let you? Did you see the seas on fire, the forests of prisoners, strung up and eaten alive? Babies squealing for mothers, already devoured? Avalanches of molten rock, swallowing whole nations, forever, and ever? That takes a special kind of appetite, darling."

Edited by Vincent McCool, 18 February 2012 - 03:29 AM.

(XARLYS observes ELBERO and frowns. She sees at inordinate amounts of blood soaking the prisoner's garb, puddling around him. The grip on her quill tightens, and there is uneasiness on her face. She pales.)

(mumbling)
... meditation, thirteen utterances, playwright's blade habita-el-foro ...

(The priestess does not seem any calmer.)

I would hear his next response, lest we waste a third ... character-witness. And yet--ambition? Change? These terms seem so polite, if not friendly. ... But to bring them about in such fashion! For what? To recreate the Deadlands on Nirn? I am afraid to guess; can more than a handful enjoy the result?

I know not the contents of these Commentaries. Has not the Empire maintained a tight grip on ... exotic literature?

How predictable. Those who dominate defend their right to dominate. Of course, what makes the Mythic Dawn unique, aside from our near success, was that we saw the tyranny not just from the Empire and those who might desire to rule its successor, but also from all those who bind us. This includes history, and mortality, and even the Gods. These shackles and these bindings are nothing compared to the shackles of Mortality or Responsibility or any of a number of limiting features. The Nine rule nothing but the material. They keep us limited because they seized power and like all tyrants before them, they want nothing more than to hold onto their power. The Dragon only appeared because he sensed his grip on Time would be wrested from him if he did not intervene. Not even Death or even Undeath could liberate you too. It is the Sixteen that rule our hearts and minds. Mehrunes Dagon is the Gateway, the Revolution in your mind to remember your manacles and remember how to throw them off. Our Immortal Leader fashioned Paradise as a stopgap to prevent the Free from becoming enslaved again, but he also used it as a training ground, a lesson that true and full freedom is obtained and maintained by Violence.

Yes Mehrunes Dagon would not have stopped at the Empire. Nu-Mantia is not a government. The Mythic Dawn isn't stupid enough to trade one tyrant for another who might treat us more fairly. Nor is Nu-Mantia even a simple existence. Nu-Mantia is liberty. Nu-Mantia is Ambition incarnate with all recognition that true Ambition will always involve the shedding and spilling of blood. Even knowing that death merely brings more enslavement, I am willing to not merely kill for my cause, for liberation from these Mortal shackles, I am willing to die and erase my existence for it. Not even your beloved Talos would be willing to sacrifice himself to conquer.

You might say that all your Legionaries are willing to die and to kill. But they do it for someone, for the Enslaved's concepts of Honor and Glory. I kill and die for myself and my god will honor me for that. Can your Talos say the same?