Private Tower Of Tyranny [18+]

[Delusional]

Ri'Visah swiftly jerked the dagger from the Legate's body, which was followed by a sharp yelp of pain from the officer. He grabbed the officer and shoved him down onto the bloodstained floor. He was clutching his wound, crimson red liquid overflowing his hand and dripping steadily onto the ground.

Ri'Visah crouched down in front of the man and looked at his dagger, splattered with the Legate's blood. He slowly and gently rotated the blade, examining it calmly, while the officer watched in anguish. The pain in his side grew every second, but the Khajiit ignored it. He was used to pain; this wasn't his first broken rib.

"Well, I see this is a much different predicament, Legate." Ri'Visah's eyes remained trained on his dagger as he slowly turned it over and over. He spoke coolly and collected.

"THE LEGION WILL..." The officer tried to belt out, but not as quick as Ri'Visah could drive the hilt of the bloody iron dagger into the man's gaping wound, producing another sharp cry of pain.

"I suggest you stay quiet, fool." Ri'Visah gazed straight into the officer's pain stricken eyes as he lie on the floor, blood continuously dripping down his tunic onto the cobblestone.

"Tell you what." The Khajiit brought his knife back up between his face and the Legate's, and shifted his gaze to it, and began twirling it again.

"I will let you live. But you will send no more men after me, or my companions. If you choose to be arrogant and do as I have said not to, I will find you, I will subdue you, and I will hand your pathetic life over to Maquiavel." He lowered his arms and stared into the officer's fearful eyes.

"I'm sure he would have fun with you."

With that, the Khajiit wiped the bloody knife on the Legate's blood soaked tunic, and stood up. He took one last look at the officer, smirked, and turned to face the door. He wrenched the heavy oak door open, and slipped through the small opening into the dungeons, to face his three companions, save Maquiavel, exiting their cells.

Perfect.

 

[ZPfor3]

Estrid leaned against his cell wall as he watched Cyn work her own type of "magic". He was amazed at how easily the guard was seduced into freeing a traitor of Skyrim, just for a chance to get lucky. Although, Cyn did make it pretty hard to say no with her "undershirt" (if you could call it that), her perfectly toned body, and her beautiful hai.... Estrid thought as Cyn unlocked his cell. He cursed himself for thinking about her like that. She deserves more respect than that. he thought.

"Okay," Cyn said, "Estrid, you go get Maquiavel. Svengal, go get Ri'Visah. I'll go scout ahead for more guards, then we get the hell out of this place."

"Got it." said Estrid and Svengal.

Estrid grabbed the keys from Cyn and ran out the door to the balcony to see Maquiavel literally inches away from plummeting down to the far-away ground. He had this look about him, one of embarrassment and shock. Estrid looked at him for a second, puzzled. Why would he look as if I was interrupting something when I've come to save him? he thought.

"Nice of you to show up. Want to help me get out of this damn thing before the crows eat my pupils out?" stated Maquiavel, clearly annoyed by Estrid just standing there.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Estrid said, undoing the iron banding on the wooden stockade. He lifted the wooden headpiece off Maquiavel's neck, watching as the Breton stretched his back and popped his neck. "We need to go, now." Estrid said.

They ran back into the room to see Cyn back from scouting ahead, just in time to see Ri'Visah walking into the room with Svengal proclaiming, "Found him!" The group gathered up and started planning the rest of their escape plan.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

To much of his dislike, Estrid helped him, and Maquiavel owed him his life, or simply his eyes. The group was together once again. "How did you all escape?" His spine cracked no matter what he did. Gods, damn it Brutus! His eyes moved frenetically across the row. Anything from a knapsack to a chest could have their gear. All it took was finding it in a scavenge hunt across an imperial stronghold full of men who wanted them to rot in stocks. After walking around the dirty floor, he laid eyes on a small wooden door. "Anyone here thinks that room might have our belongings?" He put his hand over the doorknob, awaiting everyone's approval.

 

[Artemis Shadows]

Throughout everything Cyn remained silent.
Her arms crossed as usual. But something unusual was the conflicted look in her eyes and the frown on her face.
This chance for revenge was slipping through her grasp, and she desperately wanted to save it. At the moment she didn't care about her weapons, her companions, or even herself. Cyn stared at the floor until Maquiavel asked the stupidest question Cyn had ever heard, "Anyone here think that room might have our belongings?" Unable to resist the built up rage, she snapped, "Just open the door dammit!". The bosmer stared angrily at Maquiavel, before clenching her jaw and exhaling deeply. "My apologies" she bowed her head in shame before muttering, "I'll continue scouting ahead. If anyone happens to find my bow, I'd be delighted if it was returned" and with that Cyn set off to venture the fortress alone.
It was foolish to do so alone, but that wasn't what occupied Cyn's thoughts.
Not now. Not here. Why now? WHY HERE?! This was supposed to be put behind me! I promised myself! URGH!
Cyn hauled her fist back and punched the stone wall which resulted in a solid thud. Ignoring the pain in her hand, she explored the halls.
Searching for something, anything really.

 

[Delusional]

Ri'Visah joined his companions, who escaped somehow and freed the breton maniac. He slipped the iron dagger into his belt in place of his midnight blades, just in case danger arose again, which it likely would. The Legate was wounded, but he would crawl out of that torture room and alert the guards, blood seeping out of his side the entire time.

Ah, I must focus now. My belongings. That is the priority, Ri'Visah thought, as pain shot through his muscles as he crossed his arms. Suddenly, Maquiavel broke the silence and blurted out, "Anyone here thinks that room might have our belongings?"

He was standing in front of a wooden door, clearly the only wooden door in the hallway, save the doorway Ri'Visah just exited, leaving a bleeding Legate crumpled on the floor. Cyn, who appeared agitated, shouted at Maquiavel, yelling at him to open the door.

Something has her bothered. I must not let it distract me... Ri'Visah stayed quiet, and observed from the back as Cyn softly apologized and ran ahead, 'scouting'.

Ri'Visah stepped up to the other group members, and said, "Well, shall we locate our gear?" And with that, he turned to face the wide open door Cyn had just stormed though and walked into the adjacent hallway.

The light here was dim as well, only a few dwindling torches provided the hallway with light. The floor was uneven and mossy, as was the common theme so far in the underbelly of this fort. His Khajiit eyes darted around, quickly taking note of his surroundings.

There was a door at the end of the hallway, with a luminescent glow emanating from the crack underneath. Two additional doors existed in the hallway, one of which was ajar, clearly the path Cyn took.

Ri'Visah strode to the closed door, opposite the hallway of the door Cyn passed through, and gently opened it. He peeked inside, and when he did not see anyone occupying it, only a table with a few vacant chairs in his immediate view, he gestured to Maquiavel, Svengal and Estrid before entering the room.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Cyn literally lost control. What was the problem in asking about opening a door?! They were in a fortress full of dangerous men who wanted to kill them, the wrong door would lead to death in a matter of seconds. "Geez, Cyn... For all we know it can mean the end of our lives!" Maquiavel didn't even bother thinking about what could have made the bosmer lose her calm. Ri'Visah, by whoever knows the reason, decided to follow Cyn to... well nobody knew, which meant Maquiavel had the risk of opening the wooden door and have them arrested again. He rushed back at the khajiit and the bosmer, still unsure of what he'd done to provoke such a tnantrum by the part of the girl. "Chairs and a table?" He looked around the room, still hoping one of them could have actually had the right instinct and led them to the right room. A barrel caught his attention upon realizing he hadn't had anything to eat since the camp they had set up the day before. Opening the wooden round structure, Maquiavel exclaimed, before rubbing a living red apple from the keg in his rags. "Shiny apples! Best moment to eat in my whole life!" The fruit was bitten afterwards, making the juice seep from the breton's mouth to the floor. He ate one, two, three, throwing to the table the pinnacles and the seeds that remained. How gentleman-like... Then he remembered the fact that he most often forgot, often to his own doom: Other people also had feelings. He inspected the group, turned to the barrel and picked up four apples. "Anyone hungry too?" Bah, he didn't actually want to bother knowing the answer, so before any of them could utter a single reply or gesture a simple move, he cried. "If you are, heads up!" And, still in his polite mode, he hurled at his companions the apples as if they were ninja stars, one by one. Surely whoever was hungry would catch, and who wasn't would not touch the fruit. Picking one of the few apples that were still in the barrel, this time, a green one, Maquiavel sat down at a wooden chair and balanced himself in its two legs of the back. Taking the first tougher bites, he looked to the walls, seeing mounted bear and wolf trophies, probably good stories about hunting, and then swapped to the corners of the room, trying to find anything of interest.

 

[Artemis Shadows]

Cyn sighed as the faint voices grew softer and softer until she heard them no more.
The woman had absolutely no idea where she was going, and frankly did not care. As long as she could be by herself she was fine.
Cyn walked for awhile, eventually taking a stairway leading downstairs, the smell of something horrible made the elf cover her nose. A door stood slightly open, faint light flickered at Cyn's feet.
Curious, she entered the room and looked around, she had found the kitchen, if you could even call it that. It was probably the worst place to prepare food Cyn had ever seen. The smell was revolting, like diseased flesh, and there was odd stains on the floor. The elf shook her head in disgust and looked around before investigating cabinets and baskets. There was nothing of interest.
The door squeaked and Cyn whirled around, coming face to face with who she assumed to be the cook. He was a large man, a bulbous nose, and a odd wart under his left eye. He was no dashing prince charming, that was for sure.
He eyed Cyn, as if she were to be served in the next meal, "Aye lassie...found yourself in me kitchens did ye?" he grabbed her by the throat, nearly crushing Cyn in the process, "You look healthy. Might feed the hounds good, eh lassie?". The man laughed as Cyn choked and clawed at the man's hand as he lifted her off the ground. Her feet began kicking frantically and the man only laughed harder.
The elven woman reached behind her, hoping to grab anything of use...she felt something cool, like metal, and grabbed it. Without even knowing what she had grabbed, she plunged it into the chef's eye. The man squealed like a pig and threw Cyn into a nearby table, which collapsed under the weight and force of the throw. Cyn coughed and scrambled to get up. Her eyes were wide and frantic...she felt almost like a child.
The man held his bleeding, now useless, eye and stumbled/ran to Cyn who rolled out of the way. She grabbed a nearby cauldron and used that to bash the chef's head. There was several clanging noises before a soft thud as the man fell...dead, his skull crushed.
The Bosmer let the cauldron fall to the stone floor and she plopped down on her rear. Her small hands rubbed her neck, which was bruising quickly. "Foolish...." it hurt to whisper, and to swallow.
She continued to sit on the stone floor, beside the dead body of the man, with a blank mind and startled look.
Cyn was out of it, and was clueless as to why.

((OOC: Very random happening....but I was honestly bored and had nothing else planned for Cyn))

 

[Delusional]

Maquiavel waltzed into the room and instantly located a barrel, filled with apples. He bit into one, and soon after began sharing the tasty snack with the others. He was grabbing apples and tossing them around the room.

Ri'Visah caught one with his left paw, and brought it down to examine it. His stomach growled as he observed the fruit, and he finally realized how famished he was. I haven't eaten in days... but I cannot let my guard down. Ri'Visah continued to look over the apple, ensuring that it was safe.

After a delicate examination, he brought it down to his mouth and he bit down into it. It was incredibly juicy, surprising for fruit in the corner of a vacant, dimly lit room. The apple juice ran down his face and dripped onto the floor, creating a pool at the Khajiit's feet.

Suddenly, Ri'Visah heard a faint 'bang'. A clunky noise, like a metal pot falling on stone... He glanced at his companions, none of which heard the noise. Clearly my cat ears... Ugh. Ri'Visah turned to face the source of the distant noise, and found himself gazing down the hallway Cyn had escaped down.

He glanced back at the group, who was busy chowing down on apples, and said in a soft voice, "I'll be right back."

He left the room that held his companions, and started through the door on the opposite side of the original hallway. It was darker here, but that was no matter. His Khajiit eyes could slice through any darkness. He walked down the passageway cautiously, scanning the area for any danger. That bang could have meant anything. I need to stay alert.

Soon, Ri'Visah approached a stairwell, leading straight down into a slightly brighter light. The stench was almost unbearable, though. He slowly descended the staircase, and neared the ajar entryway. He noticed toppled kitchen utensils and pots and pans. Clear signs of a scuffle... He stepped through the doorway, and saw a dead man, a bloody kitchen knife protruding from his eye. A rusty cauldron was discarded next to him, and Cyn sat, propped up against a wall, hands gently rubbing her neck.

"Are you alright?" Ri'Visah asked, and knelt down beside the clearly distressed bosmer.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Ri'Visah followed Cyn again downstairs to do what Maquiavel would think of as a thing nobody likes to interrupt or be interrupted while doing it. The thought gave him a smile, more like mocking than of being happy for them. As IF anything actually meant something. Love? Fairy tale. Soon the breton was fed up with apples and wastefully had thrown the remains of his out of the window. He didn't want to go downstairs and disturb his two companions, and he couldn't find any theme to discuss with the mage or the Bold. A lose tile woke him from wandering around the room souless. He dragged it out and, to his delight, he found a nice small pit, with any sort of licit and non-licit drink one could think of, as well as a big raw leg of a goat, seasoned with salsa and garlic. He dreweled just from looking at it. Grappling the piece of meat and three different bottles labbeled as Sleeping Tree Sap, Honningbrew Mead and Argonian Bloodwine, respectively, he put them on the wooden worn out table and uncorked the Honningbrew Mead firstly. After burying his teeth deeply in the flesh and swallowing a good chunk of goat meat, Maquiavel skulked the bottle in a matter of seconds. Another few bites and the Bloodwine shared the same fate, and when there was little more than the mere bone of the leg, the Sap went down his throat as well. The breton could know he was in the state between buzzed and completely drunk. He stood up from the chair seconds before he lost complete balance and had to drag his body across the floor to reach the hole with the drinks. Getting his hand on another Sleeping Tree Sap, he gave out a drunk smile and poured the drug through his esophagus. Maquiavel got up and swinged his way to the stair row where the two of his formerly thought to be undisturbable companions went and yelled. "Is Cyn and Ri'V... Vi... Ri'Visa... Is you there? Hics! Brutus is payin' us drinks!" His shaking hand dropped the half filled bottle of Sap down the stairs, making drops fall through each step until the liquid reached whatever room they were at. He still tried to recover it, but the steps were dancing so lively it was impossible for Maquiavel to set his foot on any of them. In a careful move, he tried to sit down on the top of the stairs and elegantly slide his way to Cyn and Ri'Visah, but the evil step dodged his bum and made his fall down through every single hard rock-made corner of each step a painful one. "Sleeping Sap?" He proposed sheepishly, looking at both of them from the ground. Alcohol was truly wonderful, it even made Maquiavel forget about his evil nature and offer people who he could call friends without lying, more in an innocent way, drinks! Anything better?