Overplayer rolls for Overtone: Glum - 4, Jovial - 2
Overplayer chooses a Rogue Phase.
The light of the torches flicker and cast shadows along the wall, leaving the corners dark. The tunnel left turns back to the right as it slopes further beneath the earth. Azaril can surmise the other tunnel mirrors this one, a fork cut into the stone. This dimly lit passage leads to another set of heavy wooden doors banded with rusted iron. Another heave of breath echoes through the corridor, an exerted one, followed by more creaking of thin ice.
Overplayer picks up the dice and hands them to Azaril.
Show us how you sneak into the heart of the tomb.
Azaril rolls for Tone: Glum - 2, Jovial - 2
Azaril is Stymied by a Mystery, and the Tone becomes Jovial.
Azaril opens the door with a gentle creak, slipping between the opening and pulling it shut behind him. The torch light gathers intensity, leaving few shadows for the thief to use. He draws magicka from the world around him and cloaks himself, rendering Azaril almost entirely invisible. The dark elf sneaks through the passage, hearing voices echoing down the hall.
The corridor wraps around itself, showing a passage ahead that mirrors this one. A pair of doors are on either side of each tunnel, then the corridors expand into a large room. The voices come from this chamber. Azaril creeps along the bright hallway as quiet as possible, pressing an ear against the door on the left. More voices mutter conversationally behind the tanned mahogany.
There would be no easy way through this for a thief.
“What’s wrong?” a woman’s voice asks.
Azaril pauses, listening to the voices from the chamber ahead.
“I sense...,” comes a man’s reply. A starlight blue glows from the chamber ahead. “Go. Investigate.”
The heavy steps of armored boots come toward the tunnels, an orb of starlight following behind. A dark haired human in gleaming armor comes into view; a pair of swords pried free of their scabbards. Azaril wills himself into complete stillness. The orb hovers above the woman’s shoulder then sweeps into the hall. The burning orange of the torchlight mingles with the blue, illuminating Azaril in an aura of orchid purple.
“Thief!” she cries, striding confidently forward with her blades set in a fighting stance.
Two doors open as more armed cultists step into the hall. Azaril pulls his daggers and throws one while they process the situation. The blade strikes a man in the temple, felling him instantly. As he pries another dagger from his bandolier, the woman swings narrowly missing Azaril’s neck and scratching a furrow into the wall.
The thief backed further into the hall to control the number of enemies he had to fight at once. A second dagger flies from his hands and strikes another cultist over the warrior’s shoulder. The cultist clutches at his chest, blade protruding at the base of his neck. The woman presses further, swinging both of her blades in a dizzying display of prowess. Small cuts and tears open beneath her whirling swords, Azaril pushed further back into the hallway as tiny cuts begin to appear and trickle blood.
His back strikes the wall, offering him only two choices: to flee and head back from where he came, into the cold and snow, or to fight like a cornered beast. Azaril pulls his final dagger free from its bandolier with a determined sneer. If this was the will of the Night Mistress, so be it.
Azaril dove forward and shouldered the warrior to one side. He came to his feet between the remaining two cultists in front of him and the warrior behind. A dervish of whirling daggers, his blades snaked out and scratched into the two unarmored men in front of him. The woman parried some of the light blows and allowed others to strike ineffectively against her armor. The cultists, taken aback, gave a little ground, fighting and retreating beneath the quick thrusts and slashes.
Azaril was spurred on by more cuts opening on his back and shoulders. The warrior almost matched his speed with her swords. He stabbed into the foot of one cultist, driving the other dagger up through his chin as he screamed in agony. The thief spun and hurled one of his two remaining daggers into the final cultist’s eye; he spun and fell to the floor. The woman smiled. She had the advantage of reach and felt confident that Azaril only had the one knife left.
He met her smile with grim determination, ducking and weaving beneath her swings. He waited patiently, like a hunter waiting for opportunity. She had grown too confident. And, presently, the opportunity presented itself. The woman performed a perfect paired double flourish with her swords; Azaril watched as the blades completed their circles and opened her side. He struck, one hand pushing against her shoulder, the dagger coming up and beneath her shoulder.
She gasped, her rhythm interrupted. Azaril pulled the dagger free, using a foot to kick her free, then dove on her again, stabbing into her neck. He pulled the dagger free again and stabbed once more. Blood pooled beneath her as blood leaked from her neck and shoulder wounds. Her pained eyes locked with his accusingly.
Azaril adds a Mystery: “Who could sense an invisible intruder?”
1st Motif Card
- A tapestry with black field and ice blue sigil.
- A crack in a prison.
- A quick staccato of three stabs.
2nd Motif Card
- A dervish of whirling daggers.
- The will of the Night Mistress.
Azaril picks up the dice and passes them to the Overplayer.
Show us what Daedric artifact the cult has discovered.
Within the heart of the tomb a pillar of moonlight strikes a silver blade. It floats and spins gently upon etheric wind. Four cultists stand at the cardinal directions, muttering incantations. Daedric script glow along the blade as pulsing red energy cascades through them.
The chanting intensifies, and one name is heard above the words, “Mehrunes Dagon.”
Overplayer passes the dice to Azaril.
Show us what Mehrunes Razor means to you.
Azaril rolls for Tone: Glum - 4, Jovial - 5
Mehrunes Dagon. The Daedric Prince of Destruction. The Daedric Prince that brought Oblivion to Tamriel.
Azaril clenches his fingers tightly into a fist. If the Septim line hadn’t been exterminated, the gates of Oblivion would have been sealed. The exodus would never have happened. They would be home in Cyrodiil, not in some land where every species hunted them. The Tsaesci had destroyed the last of the settlements back in the Third Era.
Mehrunes’ Razor. A dagger that could slay any creature, sometimes with just a scratch of its Daedric blade. If the Night Mistress blessed you with good fortune, any manner of creature could be killed with a single strike. As well, any creature slain by the Razor had its soul sent to Oblivion.
When the Dragonborn Emperor rises and rekindles the Dragonfires, the barrier between Oblivion and Mundus would return. Anything the Razor killed would be trapped on the other side. In Oblivion. Mehrunes Dagon could be banished.
Azaril passes the dice to Overplayer.
Show us the nature of the cracking ice and heaving breaths.
Within the Razor’s chamber, a titan stands. He resembled a Nord but three times the height of a human, heavily muscled with spines of glacial ice erupting from his back and a long beard in multiple braids. Thin sheets of ice cover his cold blue skin.
The titan takes a breath, ice creaking against his muscular form, seeking to keep him trapped. As he exhales, the muscles flex and press against his icy prison and more shards of crystal fall away from his body. Again, he breathes, mist billowing from his nostrils as he grows warmer, and more ice crumbles to the floor.
Each year, the Snow Demons thaw and raid, sometimes reaching as far west as Tamriel...
2nd Motif Card
- A dervish of whirling daggers.
- The will of the Night Mistress.
- The Daedric Prince of Destruction
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