Welcome to Gaia! ::

1.) Be at least semi-literate. I have a certain malice toward stupidity, and no regard toward the idea of opportunity. If you can't type out complete sentences with most of yors words spelled correctly, don't bother joining. Typos are fine. I make typos. Everyone I know makes typos. I'm not asking you to run your posts through a word processor (though I might if they're not up-to-par). Just try to write your posts well.

2.) No cybering. I regard stupidity with malice, and I regard cyberers with outright contempt. Romance is allowed, but nothing over PG-13. No going to PM's to do it, because, as I said, even though it wouldn't really comprimise the roleplay, I just don't like people who cyber.

3.) Follow the Gaia Terms of Service and Rules & Guidelines. There are some things that I will let slide that other people won't. Break the rules of either of those and you risk getting reported.

4.) In order to prove that you have read the rules, please use the word "Torrent" as the subject line of your roleplay application.

5.) All Profile Applications should be PMed to me. If this seems to you an unecessary waste of your time, feel free to PM all complaints to me.

6.) All posts should be at least three sentences long. Writer's Block does not keep you from writing three sentences. Describe things. It tends to help other people react to your character.

7.) No god-moding. While I do not ask that you take a near-lethal hit in each little skirmish, I do ask that you don't escape any major battle without a scratch. No character in this roleplay is invincible, including the NPC's. This also includes auto-hitting any other Player-character. You must give them a chance to dodge, but when dodging is impossible, they will get hit. You'll just have to wait until their post for it to happen.

8.) No power-playing. This also includes auto-hitting any enemy, because power-playing involves controlling another person's character. Under no circumstances should this happen without permission from the person who owns the character.

22 Sun's Dusk, E3 433,

This is hardly the Third Era anymore, but I feel that referring to it as the the Fourth Era would only bolster the idea that the damage of Mehrune's heinous crimes are unrepairable, that all of Tamriel has been permanently scarred by this war against Oblivion.

My brother trusts only in the words of the Daedra, mainly Boethia, and they have not failed to give steadfast advice. Three successful raids where most could not emerge alive from one. The group that I command used to be a party of ragged farmers and hunters, forty-nine members of what the Generals deemed to be an "appropriate force" for me. It took me one month and a single raid to turn them into a match for groups of twice as many Imperial Legion soldiers. Norid, no matter how vile and malicious he may be, has been an invaluable resource to my Command. The men might not trust him with their lives, but his ruthless efficiency when dealing with the Daedric menace has raised morale exponentially.

On our last raid, we lost Rupert Forthendri, an Imperial Swordsman who could rival masters of the art. His killer was met with a swift death undeserving of such a wretched creature. That brings our death-rate to two soldiers so far, which is certainly an unacceptable mortality rate. I intend to consult Norid, the Divines, and the Daedric Princes on this.

I'm gaining prestige in the Imperial Army, too. I've been offered a platoon of drilled, highly-trained Imperial Warriors to replace the soldiers I have, but I refuse. Imperial Soldiers only serve as meat-shields. They listen to orders with little regard for their own lives, and so they make no effort to think independently. I have no need for mindless drones under my command, and so I will keep my platoon.

I asked for permission to replace the one member lost (Norid acted as a replacement for the first killed) with one individual of my own choice. My request was granted, and I gave Norid the option, considering all the infamous criminals and mercenaries that he knows. Offering him amnesty, I hired into my troop a Khajiit with an odd name, "Grejori Vefim," the only surviving member of the Skingrad Dark Brotherhood sanctuary, and an ex-Speaker for the Black Hand.

The military was not pleased with my choice, obviously, since I offered him amnesty without their consent. Nevertheless, they respect my decision to some degree, and said that the verdict would stand so long as Grejori did not desert.

We move out on a raid to close a gate near the ruins of Cheydinhal tomorrow morning, and I must consult the appropriate people before I rest.

--- Drac'rad Flat-foot.

Drac'rad set down his journal on the small bedside-table that was decorated only with an inkwell, a small half-melted candle, and a shimmering glass helmet. He closed the inkwell and set his quill pen across the top of his journal. He stood up from his bed in the Soldier Barracks, which he shared with his troop and four others, officers and soldiers housed in the same area for lack of space.

Each bed was rather plain -- a simple, thick wool blanket, one feather pillow, and a table to the left. They were lined up, each bed exactly two foot away from the one on either side. Dusk was settling across the landscape, seen through arrow-slits built in-between the beds on either side, the dim light casting eerie shadows across the barracks, which was full of hundreds of sleeping soldiers.

He snuffed out the candle with a single puff of air, and only managed to take two steps toward the foot of his bed and the exit of the barracks when a tall, sinister shape blocked his path. It was merely a sihlouette against the poorly-lit background, but its height, just over six feet tall, and shape, a muscled, lanky appearance clothed in a robe so dark that it made its surroundings look bright.

"Norid," Drac'rad greeted him curtly, having been expecting the Argonian's prompt appearance.

"Brother," Norid returned in a sly whisper, "your helmet is not on. While there are some who would be better off knowing your nature, most would live much longer if they remained under the misconception that you are just another Argonian with exceptional tactical talent."

Drac'rad hadn't intended to leave his helmet lying on the bedside-table, and he acknowledged that his brother, Norid Der'ec, was correct. He had made an amateur mistake and would have crumbled the morale of the entire Imperial Army if any soldier had seen his face. Calmly, he walked back to the table, picked up his enchanted glass helmet, and donned it.

He saw Norid nod approvingly before he was flanked by another figure, taller by several inches, with illuminated yellow eyes and a stealthy physique.

"Grejori," Drac'rad greeted the Khajiit just as calmly, then moved past Norid toward the exit, the two others flanking him.

"Drac'rad," Grejori started in a raspy, high-pitched whisper which, as with Drac'rad's and Norid's, held no sign of a native accent, "We are going to speak with the Daedra Lords, correct?"

"And the Aedra," Drac'rad added quickly, speaking of Talos, Stendaar, and Kynareth. "We are going to ask them about tomorrow's raid."

They exitted the barracks, and moved along their way toward a small and unremarkable tent, much like many of the others that held individual soldiers, that they knew to hold the six magnificent beings that had appeared on the Mortal Plane only a few weeks ago to combat Mehrunes Dagon: Talos, Stendaar, Kynareth, Mephala, Azura, and Boethia.

Even in the illumination of the full moon, only Drac'rad was visible, the other two stalking easily while keeping their entire bodies hidden. Drac'rad stood as tall as his brother, and wore a full set of Glass Armor, minus pauldrons. He had gauntlets, enchanted to increase the speed at which he wielded two adamantium short-swords sheathed on either side of his belt, one with a weakness-to-fire enchantment and the other with a devastating fiery strike; a helmet enchanted to increase his accuracy with a bow and arrow, which he had strung across his back, the small Elven Composite Bow strapped to a quiver full of sturdy Daedric arrows; boots to increase his speed across the ground, and a cuirass that drained his own blood and converted it into magicka for spellcasting.

The glass was green, but due to the enchantments placed on them they appeared blue in the moonlight and bright orange when cast in the afternoon Sun, since they reflected most of the light off of them.

They arrived at the tent, and Drac'rad stepped in cautiously, followed by Norid and then Grejori. The interior of the tent was just as unassuming as the outside: six simple makeshift beds lined up around the tent in a circular fasion, with a round table, about ten feet in diameter, surrounded by nine seats. The metallic table was completely bare, with several splinters lining its wooden edge.

However, the six people sitting around the table were all but inconspicuous. A ghostly Azura, covered in a transluscent blue robe, Boethia with an axe clasped to his belt and a terrific red cape, and Mephala, with a strangely disfigured face and four arms, several spiderlings skittering around her feet under the table.

Talos assumed the appearance of a normal Imperial, but his full-body plate-mail armor was tinged gold and he had a magnificent adamantium sword sheathed across his back. Stendaar was clothed in a robe similar to Azura's, except that it was completely solid. Kynareth didn't seem to have a primary shape, and her entire body was almost completely transparent, constantly swirling around like liquid glass. Drac'rad had always assumed that it was supposed to represent the Wind, but Kynareth hadn't told anyone yet.

"Take your seats," Talos' voice was heard first, and the tone was in no way divine; he sounded just like any other Imperial.

Drac'rad stepped forward and sat direction between Boethia and Kynareth, but just as he did, Boethia rose from his seet, standing at a full eight feet tall. His eyes narrowed as he sighted Norid and Grejori, and when the Argonian and Khajiit bowed to him, Boethia bowed back before taking his seat again.

Drac'rad knew that Norid worshipped Boethia devoutly, but he hadn't expected the Daedra Lord to show any humility in the face of a mortal being. Norid and Grejori took seats next to each other, between Talos and Azura.

Azura waved one of her hands calmly and the plain metal surface of the table was replaced by a three-dimensional tactical map of Cyrodiil. Mountains rose above the rest of the ground, and water seemed to actually flow through rivers, though where it went when it reached the raised edges of the table was anyone's guess. The formerly-great cities were only smoking ruins now, and the bodies of water were all choked black with ash. White Gold Tower had been demolished, and, in its place, thousands of Daedric slaves were constructing a colossal Obelisk. Mehrunes Dagon's palace, already finished, surrounded the tower, taking up the entire breadth of the island where the Imperial City had once stood.

Swarms of Dremora, Clannfear, Scamps, Atronachs, and Xivilai were scattered across Tamriel, destroying everything that would be considered beautiful by the Nine Races of Tamriel. Massive Oblivion Gates were open all across Tamriel, and one in particular, just East of the ruins of Cheydinhal, dwarfed all the others.

"That is your target," Azura's strange, echoing voice spoke, pointing at the Gate near Cheydinhal. "You are to enter that gate, take the Sigil Stone, and get back here. Unfortunately, we have no map of the Gate, but you can rest assured that it will not be an easy fight. Mehrunes was a fool not to fortify his defenses after the first raid, and even moreso after the second one. However, after the third raid, even Mehrunes will have been forced to increase the Dremora guarding the Gates, and the one at Cheydinhal is crucial to his effort to destroy Tamriel. Be wary of traps. I believe Boethia and Mephala have some good news, however."

Mephala spoke for the two of them, her voice barely a whisper, "We, that is excluding Azura, have gained entrance to Mehrune's realm. I can flood the Oblivion Island in the Cheydinhal gate with Spider Daedra, and Boethia has agreed to supply a score of Hungers. They are not tame beasts, and while they will likely go after Dagon's troops first, you will become their targets if they succeed. Be wary of them."

"I believe we already know how we're going to advance on the Gate," Drac'rad spoke, "So there's no need to speak of that. If that is all, I believe we all need to get some sleep."

The six Deities all nodded their consent, and Norid and Grejori quickly rose from their seats and left without waiting for Drac'rad. Drac'rad looked at all six of the others still sitting at the table, finishing with Azura, who was the only one to look back at him. She nodded slightly, as though answering an unspoken question, and then Drac'rad rose and walked back to the Barracks to get some sleep before morning.

A dark crimson pool covered the ground as it slowly straighten out as veins through the rock hard mud that could no longer bear fruits of life anymore. The dark crimson did not stop just on the ground, what once was a tree now burned to a black coal with stained with Crimson, and what seemed to be pieces of flesh and organs that seemed to belong to something.
Something was the only way one could explain what covered an area of ten feet or maybe even more of a dark crimson blood and tiny pieces of flesh, organs and what used to be bones not are now burned to a black ash.
The only thing that could explain what covered the area was a row of heads and part of what used to be a head. The only thing left was the top right hand side of the head still holding part of its forehead and its right.
These pieces of what once was a whole head showed that they where once Scamps and Clannfear killed by other monster who was far more ruthless then they everwhere.

The silence that once was, was now broken by the sound of laughter a insane, evil and pleasure filled laughter, as the shine of a metal that showed no dim of use but a continuing shine of new steel freshly forge.
And a glow of magic that had neither one glow of an enchantment but of them all, and a edge that seemed so sharp and the slight glow made it appear alive hungry for the flesh of anything that stood in its masters way.

This swords master stood about six feet tall with shoes that stopped just two inches after his ankles with a dark dim green colour for the front layer of the shoe where the soul and trim was a golden orange. His trousers where a dim grey green that covered the top half of his shoes, at the bottom of his trousers was pattern of gold in a vine like wave. Above that on each leg where two dim crimson bands about three inches away of the other.
His waist has a strange type of corset and belt around it the sides holding leather and cloth where as the back and through the middle of each of those leather and cloth pads was a dim crimson belt. That stopped at the front held by two gold grips and below was a golden eagle symbol.
Above that was a dim brown leather pad that was shaped like his muscles under his clothes but with an added fantasy design on the abdomen in a way of sharp curves and point down like an arrow and was apiece only for show.
Around this was a slightly dimmed emerald green jacket that covered the upper half of the chest pad that had a gold trim to it, along with a long collar, double shoulder pads that really weren't for defence and a cape.
With the inside a dark crimson and the outer side the same colour as the jacket it was connected to.
On his hands where clawed gauntlets the top half a dim golden brass and the lower half a dim crimson red. The gauntlets where not weapons but only for show.
His face was pale but still some how keep a little colour, his mouth was but a evil smile of pleasure, his eyes a crimson red that seemed to glow and would leave a mark on the weak minded that those eyes would always be watching them.
His hair oiled back to half of his neck but locks of hairs hang over the right side of his face oiled and just to the side of his right eye so they where out of the way.

This person soon brought his reaper in front of him the blade in-between his eyes and his eyes staring at the blood that covered the blade. With a quick twist of the wrist and a flick to the side the blood was sent to the floor leaving the blade clean as the next moved was a quick withdraw of the blade into the belt between the cloth pad and the belt its self.
Then came a hand that ran over his hair but it never touched it as the man flicked his head back as it came to the top of his bed as he turned around bring his back to his side and smiling at his own handy work of what was left of Scamps and Clannfear.

"Now then this Camp should be some way ahead.... I’m glad that I now longer have to fear that god forsaken sun.... but alas my weakness for fire has tripled because of it...but we all must march ahead dismembering the enemy that steps before". The man Spoke to himself his voice full insanity and a evil pleasure as he soon walked ahead leaving his handy work he calls a master piece behind him for any one who would came up the same path be it man or be it a deadra.

Norid was not the kind of person who slept before a fight. He had been an assassin all his life, born under the sign of the Shadow in the Black Marsh and having become a member of the Dark Brotherhood before he could even walk. He understood more about discipline than Drac'rad, who was obsessive about it, and knew more patience than most esoteric Monks. He could go without sleep for over two days with ease, and he always prepared himself before a raid.

So while every other soldier in the camp slept, Norid was outside getting ready for the raid by honing his reflexes to perfection. He had a Dawrven Crossbow set up nearby, taken from the carcass of the first member of Drac'rad's group killed, a Dunmer who had taken it from Red Mountain's interior. One of the guards who was on Sentry Duty, watching out for Daedra throughout the night, was loading bolts into the weapon aimed at Norid, who was standing ready only ten yards away.

The trigger was pulled, and the bolt was launched at Norid, who summoned a fireball and put it into the path of the wooden projectile, which burned completely before it could reach him.

"That's fifty bolts caught," Norid said, almost to himself, "I'm going hunting. I'll be back before dawn."

Without speaking another word to the exhausted Guard, armed with nothing more than three daggers sheathed around his belt, Norid exitted the camp to the South, into the Jerall Mountains.

Norid stood at the base of the Jerall Mountains, having completed the treacherous hike with very little difficulty. He looked upon a scene of complete devastation; the ground was literally buried in the ash of all the plant life the Daedra had burned, and he could easily see to Lake Rumare and the monolith that was being built on the island.

Platoons of Daedra were scouring the land, each one usually at least fifty soldiers strong, though they consisted mostly of scamps and had few Dremora and Clannfear. There were, however, some small scouting parties roaming about, sent out by the platoons, with only a set of five Dremora each, mostly the lowly Churls with only a few Caitiffs in a select few parties.

There were no regular animals in-sight; no deer, wolves, lions, no birds, insects, or even powerful bears roaming the previously dazzling scene. Even Norid had his breaking points, and while he wouldn't have hesitated to kill one animal to protect himself or burn a grove of trees to stop the flow of enemies chasing him, this atrocity committed by Mehrunes Dagon was beyond words. It was unlike Norid to feel remorse for any creature, sentient or not, but when so much death occurred for no other reason than the sake of destruction, Norid considered it an insult.

It was not unlike Norid, however, to feel pity for individuals. And right now all that pity was directed at Mehrunes Dagon, for the Daedric Prince of Destruction would soon have to deal with Norid's retribution and the revenge of all the others caught in this hell.

Norid saw no opportunity to kill enemies here, since he was incapable of killing platoons on his own and killing a small patrol would alert Dagon to the impending raid by Drac'rad. So he decided to move back to the Camp before Drac'rad awoke at dawn to prepare the raiding party.

On the way back, Norid was watching carefully for monsters, knowing that the Jerall and Valus Mountains were two of the few places Dagon's army had not yet annihilated. What he saw instead was a figure clothed in a dark black robe and hood, which Norid recognized as Necromancer garb, enter a small cave.

Norid's immediate impulse was to kill the man and steal any potions that he might be carrying, since he was clearly a Mage of some type, but as he drew closer to the cave, he saw the man begin to exit before he was felled by a bright light that struck him cleanly in the back. Norid knew it had to have been a shock spell, which meant that another Mage must have been lurking inside the cave.

He hid just to the side of the cave entrance, expecting the spellcaster to exit very soon or go to sleep, either of which would likely result in a quick death. Norid drew a serrated dagger, and just as Kinas left the cave, the Argonian pressed the chilled metallic blade against Kinas' throat.

"Who are you, and who was the dead man?" Norid's question was one that was not easily misinterpreted, and the Argonian didn't like games. He expected either a straight answer or another frozen carcass buried in the snow.

Norid had abandoned stealth when he revealed himself. He wore a hooded ebony-colored robe very similar to that of the Necromancer, except that the hem was cut a half-inch shorter to keep it from dragging on the ground, and that the hood was cut to a point and hung down much lower over Norid's face.

Lucifer had trekked through the Colovian Highlands, taking out as many Daedra he could come across. He had rested at a place called Cloud Top, and began moving east, seeking perhaps a band of wanderers like himself, seeking to destroy Mehrunes Dagon. Lucifer was hiding out in the destroyed city of Bruma, hiding in a destroyed building called Olav's Tap and Tack. Lucifer had just escaped an attack of Daedra involving several Valkynaz and practically an army of Churls. Lucifer had killed most of them, but he was badly injured himself. Lucifer decided to rest in this place, seeing how he had made all the Daedra believe he had began to go up the Jerall Mountains.