NationStates Jolt Archive

For many generations the people of Vvanderfel had journeyed to the Black Marsh, with the dark goal of trapping its people for slavery. While dangerous, it was also profitable. Telvanni & Hlaalu lords paid top dollar for Argonian slaves to work their fields. In the early years, the slavers targeted only exiled warriors & small hunting parties, ambushing them with fatiguing magic, enchanted arrows, and with nets & snare traps. In some more brutal & vicious cases, wooden clubs & slings where used.

In recent years, with the acquisition of newer technology like tranquilizer guns & semi & fully automatic firearms, the slavers have become so bold as to attack entire settlements, killing more than they enslaved.

Ket Keltin, a Quickclaw-clan warrior stationed at a small outpost within the village of Grayrock, surveyed the treeline. An obsidian-tipped spear rested in his scaly grip, balanced for throwing as well as thrusting. Next to him stood Leltish Hard-Head, a seasoned veteran of many battles. Ket was new to the village, having been born, raised, and trained in the central village of Thornkeep, in the Quickclaw compound near the central temple. Leltish's fin-ears pricked up, moments before a small-caliber bullet struck him in the throat. Ket reacted swiftly, catching the dying veteran before he hit the packed-dirt floor of the watch-tower. Hard-Head's longbow clattered out of the tower as its wielder's grip slackened.

Other watchtowers sprung into action, firing volleys of arrows into the treeline. In response, seven Dark Elven, or 'Dunmer' slavers charged out of the surrounding forests, firing sub-machineguns at the towers. Archers toppled out of towers, while spearmen charged the attackers. Most where cut down, some managed to sling spears into their foes, killing two. Ket slid out of his tower, leaving his dead companion. Fifteen more raiders burst from the treeline & Ket joined the few remaining spearmen in the fierce melee at the village gates. Gunfire competed with the death-screams of dying raiders & defending warriors. Ket impaled his first opponent, withdrawing his spear to face another. The elf fumbled with another magazine for his weapon, which Ket slapped out of his hands with the point of his spear. The warrior swung the butt of his spear into the raider's knee, then spun the weapon around to drive the buisness end into the elf's chest.

As the seven spearmen defeated the slavers, more burst from the trees. A warrior next to Ket was hit with a small, red-tufted dart. The warrior yanked the projectile out & brought it to eye level, then collapsed. Ket & the others broke formation as two more where hit with the mysterious items. The slavers followed, firing at the backs of the retreating warriors. Villagers ran from there homes, while the village hunters grabbed spears & shortbows from their walls. These where weapons of hunting, but they worked well enough for killing animals of the two-legged kind. Ket & a few warriors managed to ambush a pair of slavers, brutally stabbing them to death. They, in turn, where ambushed, by three slavers. A warrior fell with a gunshot wound to his chest, while another was hit by one of the red-feathered darts. More slavers had entered the village, wielding riot clubs. Electricity stunned the fleeing females & hatchlings as the slavers fought their way past the hunters.

Ket watched as a hunter tore into a raider with his bare hands, then was shot by two of the raider's comrades. The hunter fell defending his family, Ket avenged his death by slinging his spear into one of the hunter's murderers. The other aimed his weapon, but it clicked when he pulled the trigger. Ket charged the elf, grabbing the rifle & manhandling the butt into the owner's face. The elf fell to one knee, then Ket took him to the ground. The Quickclaw warrior nearly tore the raider apart, his claws opening deep cuts in the elf's grey skin. In a blind rage, Ket bit the man's neck, tearing it open. A gunshot struck the warrior in the chest, blowing him backwards... He lay very still...

The raid ended in victory for the slavers. Of the hundred & fifty Argonians in the village, one hundred & two where captured. The rest, mostly warriors & hunters, where killed... Amongst the bloodied bodies of his comrades, Ket's right hand twitched...

OOC: A thread started more out of boredom than anything, concerning the relationship between the Argonian people & the Dark Elves, from the island of Vvanderfel (Morrowind players may be familiar with the races & circumstances, but similarities to the game end there.) Join however you like, as a slaver, wandering individual who happens upon the burning village (unlikely, but possible), or any other way you can legitimately roleplay yourself into the story. I would also ask, for the purpose of my own personal sanity, that only decently skilled RP'ers with basic grammer skills & sentence understanding enter. I'd also like there to only be a pair of characters per roleplaying nation at the very most.

-WA

Tachikawa Nishimura sat on a high branch just outside the now smoldering village. The Gray-Haired Ninja had watched the devestation with disqust with his Sharingan eye, he had decided only to take minimal action; Just a slaver here and there with a Shuriken or Kunai. He dared not use a Jitsu in danger of revealing himself. Nishimura Had followed the slavers for two days, not sure what they were after, but keeping an eye on them nonetheless.

Nishimura, a Lighting Ninja with a firm control of the element, jumped down from the branch to search for survivors. Almost all in the village were dead, save but a few who were wounded beyond repair. He hefted his Kubikiri sword, a huge weapon, to end the suffering of just under a half dozen Argonians. Then, he came to one who was not fatally wounded.

Nishimura had seen this one in the battle viciously attacking his opponents, even ripping a slaver's neck out. He sat down next to the Argonian, took out his medical kit from one of his many pockets of his Konoha uniform, and started treating him. He soon had the Argonian's wounds sealed and bandaged; he would still be weak, but at least he would live.

((OCC:Note about the Sharingan Eye; If you have read Naruto you will know what I'm talking about. If not, then here's an explanation: The Sharingan Eye is a special eye with the power to predict an enemy's movements almost exactly, and even before that enemy makes his move. It's pretty freaky looking, too.))

"Uh... I was sure this was the way..." the slave-guide mumbled, looking around in confusion. The small Marsh elf was covered in bruises from various beatings he had suffered for previous misdirections.

"Worthless little maggot!" growled the slaver, Murram Cyrdle, who was exceptionally large and mean for a Marsh elf, a race that was on the whole usually only small and mean, "You don't know the way at all! We're in completely the wrong place!". He drew back a meaty fist, and dealt an angry blow to the wretched slave, causing an unexpected cracking sound. Cyrdle looked at his fist; he didn't know his own strength sometimes. The slave had crumpled to the ground, head at a peculiar angle, and was frothing at the mouth, eyes staring vacantly. From extensive experience of dealing them out, Cyrdle had come to recognise the symptoms of a broken neck. He shrugged; it wasn't as if the useless guide was getting him anywhere anyway. Now that Cyrdle thought about it, the pathetic creature had probably only claimed to be a guide to stop him from killing it earlier.

Murram Cyrdle was 5'4". To a man, such a height would be unimpressive, but considering the average Marsh elf stands barely over four feet in height, and it becomes apparent what a brute he was. His other features were more consistent with Marsh elf anatomy; pale blue-grey skin and yellow eyes, and black hair that grew thickly not only on the head, but also the back of the neck and shoulders, like a mane. His ears were large and pointed, but swept back rather than perched upright as in other races of elf, and like all Marsh elves, he emanated a strong unpleasant odour something akin to a cross between rancid compost and musk. His barrel-shaped torso was covered by a fithy tunic adorned with tattered pieces of fur and oddments of chainmail. On his belt he wore an ugly, curved scimitar.

In one hand, Cyrdle carried a rusty, barely functioning automatic pistol, an Ingram Mac-10, which he had stolen from some human slave months previously. Marsh elves didn't manufacture any real technology, and he had only a basic idea how to operate it; its poor condition seemed to suggest that he didn't have much of an idea how to look after it. In his other hand, he held a rope tied to the neck of a second slave, another small Marsh elf, who struggled under the weight of Cyrdle's luggage.

"I smell burning!" Cyrdle declared, sniffing the air, "We will go this way, and see what lies there." he tugged on the rope to start the slave moving, and stomped off towards the burning argonian village.


OOC: I'd be surprised if nobody smells him coming ;)

Ket's right hand slowly felt around for something he could bash the newcomer across the head with... Slowly, his clawed fingers closed around a broken spear. Without warning, he swung the weapon with barbaric harshness at the ninja's head, swiftly rolling across an elf corpse to get out of striking range...

"Stay back!"

In little more than a moment after the words had left the warrior's lipless mouth, he fainted. Much blood had been lost from his wound, but little else...
Delusional & still pumping with adrenaline, Ket continued to attempt to get to his feet to fight. He was unsuccessful, trying until he lay panting on the bloody earth... His honor would not permit him to touch one of the slaver's weapons, with which it would be much easier to defend himself...

Nishimura dodged the spear point with ease as the Argonian tried to strike him. The Argonian stumbled backwards, thrashing around and trying to get on his feet. Nishimura thought that it might of been a mistake to save the Argonians life in the first place.

"Fool! Stop struggling, you'll lose even more blood. I was the one who was trying to bandage you up before you attacked me. I can heal you furthur if you wish."

Nishimura stood up, his Freaky Eye staring unblinkingly at the Argonian.

"I mean you no harm. Now tell me, What is your name?"

Murram Cyrdle stalked into the ransacked village, glancing over at the fallen elves and argonians. Looks like somebody beat him to it. He looked around at some of the dropped weapons; the sticks and clubs used by the argonians weren't likely to be of much use to him, although pieces of obsidian might have some trading value. He was more interested in something to replace his MAC-10; he was down to his last magazine, and didn't know how to get any more.

He kicked the slave carrying his bags, "Stop here." The small, scrawny elf cowered slightly, but said nothing. Cyrdle tied the slave's rope to a post, kicked him again, and decided to set about looting what was left of the place. About then he heard a commotion from across the village, and saw a man of some sort confronting a wounded Argonian. He decided to treat the situation with his typical belligerence and aggression. He approached the ninja from behind.

"Drop all your weapons and stuff, and put your hands up, human." he yelled, pointing the automatic pistol at Nishimura. Hopefully there was enough rope in his bags for this one and the argonian, although if not, he could always butcher the argonian and have him for dinner later...


OOC: Cyrdle is expendable. I'll have the slave as my character, after he's got himself killed :D

Titian Armelo de Rouloc was nothing more than a mercenary, an assassin for hire who went to the highest buyer. A brilliant fighter, skilled with both a sword and gun, Titian could be considered as a jack-of-all-trades. Titian's sensitive nose twitched as he smelled the acrid smell of the burned Argonian village as well as the slowly rotting smell of the bodies of the dead. With a disgusted shake of his head, Titian swiftly unshouldered his rifle, a Heckler-Koch HK G36 assault rifle. With cautious steps, Titian slowly moved through the village, walking serenely and gracefully on the balls of his feet. Glancing about furtively, Titian's eyes narrowed as he walked through the destruction. Shaking his head in disgust, Titian's keen eyes caught the presence of a gathered group at the outskirts of the village. With quick light movements, Titian approached them circumspectly, his assault rifle raised. Titian's eyes picked out what seemed to be from his dress, a slaver. His eyes narrowing in anger, Titian moved closer, approaching the slaver from behind, his assault rifle raised, as he moved through the brush, his lithe form near the ground. Swiftly, Titian took up a position behind the slaver. Rising up out of the ground, Titian raised his gun and pointed it at the slaver. "Now there, you fiend... Put down your weapon or you will face the wrath of Titian Armelo de Rouloc."

Nishimura turned to face Cyrdle. His Sharingan Eye moved lazily over the Marsh Elf. Even without the help of the newcoming brandishing his rifle, this would be an easy fight.

"Bunshin no Jutsu!"

A cloud of smoke rushed over Nishimura, engulfing him and the Argonian next to him. When the could cleared, there were half a dozen Nishimuras facing Cyrdle. They laughed at the shocked expression on the Marsh Elf's face.

"This is the "Shadow Clone Jitsu," Said the Original Nishimura as he pulled his massive blade from his back. "Each of these clones had just under a tenth of my streanth. I would say that you are outmatched; drop your weapon, free your slaves, and run home, lest me or the de Rouloc fellow behind you take your life."

The Shadow Clones circled Cyrdle, withdrawing Kunai and Shurikens from thier jackets. These weapons, unlike the Clones themselves, were no illusion.

(OOC: *twitches* Um... Ravea... Read post above yours...)

OOC: Since Tir-Kedron is located in the Black Marsh, it makes sense that they might find out about this... I think I'm at least reasonably skilled.
IC:
"Smoke! Smoke!"
A Rosho child ran into the village (A nearby Tir-Kedron town), shouting as loudly as she could. Other Rosho gathered on that side of the town, pointing into the distance; the sound of muddled conversation filled the village.
"What could it be?" "There's too much for a campfire..." "It looks very far away." "I think there's an Argonian village in that direction!" "Should we send someone to investigate?"

"I will go." This voice cut firmly through the babble of the crowd.
"I shall go, and find out what happened."
The speaker was Tervon Garivesh, a young Versiil and the Guardian of the village. The crowd parted to let him pass as he strode toward the edge of the village, but not all of the Rosho liked this plan.
"You can't leave! What if the village is attacked while you're gone? We might need a Guardian!" one shouted.
Tervon replied, "It's been months since I've had real work to do here. The odds are very low that you'll have any need of me, but this could be important. Send off for another Guardian of you're worried."
"He's right." Everyone turned to look at the speaker when this voice was heard; Ryssan had a certain amount of fame in the village as one of the best hunters and fighters in the area, but he generally kept to himself. "This could be very important indeed. If I had to guess, I'd say that a slave raid might be responsible. We haven't had any trouble with slavers yet, but they're certain to notice us eventually. Whatever caused that smoke, we need to find out what happened; it's far more likely to be dangerous than some random attack coming out of nowhere. I, also, will go."
"I can take care of myself, Ryssan. I don't need your help."
"I have skills you lack, Guardian. If you won't accept me as a companion, I will track you from an hour's behind your location."
Tervon sighed. "Very well, then. Let's get moving before they think of any other complaints."

Tervon buckled a sword belt on over his knee-length black robe, Ryssan slung his hunting gear over his shoulder, and the two set off for the distant column of smoke. For several minutes, stunned silence held sway in the village behind them. Finally, someone spoke: "Well, I suppose we'd best send someone to fetch a Guardian..."
OOC: Background that you'll probably want to know:
The Rosho are a race of marsh and swamp dwelling lizard people. Slightly smaller than humans, they are not as strong, but can move very quickly. They are good swimmers, and can hold their breath for a very long time when not moving.
The Versiil (pronounced Vehrseel) are a group of very powerful reptilian beings. They can change the color of their scales and the shape of their claws and teeth at will, they are physically very tough, and they have a natural ability to use a type of magic known as the ne-veir. They are also very rare, less than 0.01% of the Tir-Kedron population.
Tervon is young for his people, about at the same stage of his life as a 20 year old human. He is a reasonably skilled swordfighter, and quite effective with the ne-veir, but has little actual combat experience. He is also over-confident, and often acts without thinking things through thoroughly. Ryssan is older and more cautious, an experienced fighter. He can move very quietly, and is very skilled with the set of knives and spears he uses in hunting, but he is used to working alone, and has even less experience at interacting with people than Tervon. Are these characters OK? Is my introduction sufficiently well written?

Murram Cyrdle snarled in frustration, looking around at the Nishimura clones. He wasn't used to being outmatched, but then again, he usually only picked on people (usually much smaller Marsh elves) he thought would offer no challenge. He hesitated for a moment, tightening his grip on his MAC-10, before thinking better of it, and breaking into a flat out run, bolting away from the scene without another word.

The Marsh elf slave, who was still tied by the neck to a post, watched Cyrdle run away. This probably meant he was free, but he still had his hands tied behind his back, and was stooped under the weight of a number of huge backpacks with assorted junk attached. He peered at Nishimura and de Rouloc.

"Hey!" he called out, after a while, "Um... could someone maybe untie me?"

Nishimura snorted as Cyrdle ran for his life. What a coward; but then again, at least he still had his life. Nishimura Snapped his fingers, and chis clones dissolved like mist.

"That move is good for intimadation; I'm glad it worked this time. I would rather not kil anyone today."

Nishimura searched his surrounding. In addition to Himself and the Argonian, there was the newcomer brandishing his rifle, and another small figure in the distance. Nishimura's Sharingan Eye locked onto it, and revealed it to be a small elf tied to a pole. A well-placed Kunai severed the rope.

"You are now free, Elf. You can go do as you please," Nishimura called.

The sudden severing of the rope caused the small elf to overbalance under the weight of Cyrdle's bags, and topple over with a thud. After much thrashing around, he managed to extricate himself from the remains of the rope, and clamber to his feet. He looked at the rope, and the kunai stuck in the post, "Oh... neat!"

The former slave peered around at the burning village, appearing to notice the carnage for the first time. He scampered over towards Nishimura, de Rouloc, and the wounded Argonian, "It looks a bit dangerous around here, and I don't know the way home..." he grinned broadly, revealing lots of pointy little teeth like a cookie-cutter, "Can I hang around with you guys for a bit?"

The small elf gave them a hopeful look. Insofar as one can judge the age of a Marsh elf, due to their tendency to look the same from about the age of sixteen onwards, this one appeared to be an adolescent or young adult. Marsh elves rarely live longer than about fifty or sixty years without dying of something or other. Various diseases are endemic to their populations, and dropping dead unexpectedly isn't exactly unheard of, but stabbing, strangling and poisoning might as well be considered natural causes for a Marsh elf. It's a wonder they're classified as elves at all.

This particular specimen was somewhat scrawny, and covered in assorted bruises and caked on dirt and grime. Like pretty much all Marsh elves, he also exuded a rather noxious smell.

Nishimura crossed his arms and looked at the dirty marsh elf with his Freaky Eye.

"I suppose you can, if you have no where else to go. Tell me, what is your name, elf?"

"I'm Brac!" beamed the Marsh elf, thrusting out a grubby hand, presumably expecting Nishimura to shake it, "Who are you?"

"Tachikawa Nishimura," He said, bending down to shake Brac's hand, somewhat tenetive. "It is nice to meet you."

Nishimura turned to de Rouloc and the Argonian, who was still struggling.

"Alhough it was not needed, thank you for your help, de Rouloc." Nishimura looked at the Argonian. "Someone needs to heal this fellow here, before he becomes too weak to move."

Titian Armelo de Rouloc snorted as he shook his head in disgust. Shouldering his Heckler-Koch HK G36 assault rifle and gazed down upon the badly wounded Argonian. With a heavy sigh, Titian gingerly walked over, stooping to examine the Argonian's wounds. In quietly soothing words, Titian began to comfort the Argonian as his keen eyes glanced over the lizardman's battered and burned body. "Now there, old sport. Hold tight, while I examine your hurts and injuries... You are in the ready and capable hands of Titian Armelo de Rouloc."

With a slight shake of his head, Titian rose. Glancing at the ninja, Titian spoke. "This is beyond my meager abilities to heal... He needs medical attention soon or he may die from his extensive injuries. I may be able to prolong his life for some time, but he will die eventually without true medical assistance." Without another word, Titian signaled for the ninja to help him as he tore off his backup, searching for some healing salves to apply onto the Argonian's body.

Nishimura sighed. He did not want to have to do this, but the Argonian had to be saved. He walked over to the Argonian, motioning for de Rouloc to step back.

"Chiyute no Jitsu!"

A ball of white energy gathered at the tips of Nishimura's fingertips and spread down the Argonian's body, healing whatever it touched. He directed the energy at the biggest wounds, and managed to seal most of the major ones. 30 Seconds later, however, he stopped, panting. A few of the major wounds were now sealed, but there were still a large amount of burns and smaller cuts that needed binding immedietly.

"That is the most i can do for him; I can't heal what's on the inside, but sealing the skin will quicken the healing process. These other wounds need to be bound, however."

He gave a long sigh. "I wont be using any more Jitsus for a while, at least until i gain some of my streanth back." He went into his coat and pulled out a box of crackers. "Mmm, Tasty!"

Nishimura took another look at the Argonian.

"I never have mastered the art of healing, but he should live, so long as we find a proper healer. I hope."

"Nice to meet you too, Mr Tashikashiwara... er... Tashimashi... er..." Brac shrugged, and gave up trying to pronounce the name. There was a reason why Marsh elf names were rarely longer than two syllables.

He scurried round behind de Rouloc to peer in his bag while he rummaged through it, sniffing at the contents, and generally exuding an aura of filthiness.

"What's a jitsu, anyway?"

Nishimura was more than happy to explain to the Marsh Elf about Jitsus.

"A jitsu, my small friend, is a technique that pretains to the Ninjitsu fighting style, which a Ninja lives by. You see, every living creature, including you, has an unruly amount of energy inside them, usally called Chakra. It's kinf of live a mental energy. Ninjitsu helps focus this Chakra so that it can be manipulated. The amount of Stamina and the expertise of Chakra controlling are key in the life of a ninja."

Nishimura took a deep breath.

"Ninjas can convert stamina, or the amount of physical energy inside them, into Chakra and use special techniques, such as that Shadow Clone technique i used just a while ago or the healing technique i just used on the Argonian. These are referred to as Jitsus. The more stamina a Ninja has, or uses in a jitsu, the more powerful his jitsu can become. However, even the strongest Ninja runs out of Stamina rather quickly, as all people do. So i must keep my Stamina up before heading into battle!"

"Oh," said Brac, who had got lost after 'Ninjitsu', "Maybe that's like what High Shaman Wadu does; he eats the special green mushrooms, and then he can talk to the spirits."

Ket managed to get to his feet, casting aside the broken spear...

"Rather not kill... HA! You have slain several of my kind as I lay dying... Do you have no concept of honor?"

The Argonian warrior, although weary from blood-loss & battle, was prepared to fight on. In his eyes there had been a clear violation of the Argonian "Warriors' Code"... He would not let such a matter go without apology... Ket assumed the fighting stance associated with the 'Infinite Mystical Claw' art, the unarmed fighting art of the Quickclaw clan. Ket himself was quite capable & expeirenced with his bare hands, each finger tipped with a short claw...

"You will explain yourself! Why?!"

It was clear that Ket's mind was somewhat overloaded with the happenings of the day. Long-time residents of the area had been slaughtered, several of his countrymen had been hauled away to serve as slaves on a far-off plantation, and he himself had been shot... The mind of any warrior can only bear so much carnage...

Nishimura quickly drew his massive Kubikiri sword and brought it up just in case he needed to defend himself. He was slightly alarmed that the Argonian was even standing anymore.

"I had to end thier suffering. Each Argonian I killed was too far gone for any healing art to save them; I am sorry if they were friends or relatives, but there would have been nothing you could have done for them. It had to be done!"

Nishimura paused, then continued.

"I would of done the same to you, but you were the only one in the village who was not fatally wounded. I have every intention to go free your friends that were taken by the slavers, but if you do not want me to help, then I will not go."

OOC: There's not much I can do until a reasonable amount of time has passed for my characters to travel...
Though I can correct a spelling error. I looked up some of my old posts, and ne-veir should have been n'veir. Sorry.

IC: Tervon and Ryssan continued onwards, gradually approaching the ruined village.

Nishimura quickly drew his massive Kubikiri sword and brought it up just in case he needed to defend himself. He was slightly alarmed that the Argonian was even standing anymore.

"I had to end thier suffering. Each Argonian I killed was too far gone for any healing art to save them; I am sorry if they were friends or relatives, but there would have been nothing you could have done for them. It had to be done!"

Nishimura paused, then continued.

"I would of done the same to you, but you were the only one in the village who was not fatally wounded. I have every intention to go free your friends that were taken by the slavers, but if you do not want me to help, then I will not go."

Ket shakes his head in a combination of despair & frustration...

"It is my peoples' way to die honorably, though the pain of mortal wounds... You have violated our code..."

Ket seems to calm down a bit, his adrenaline rush beginning to leave his system...

"You where unaware, and for that I will forgive you... Your medicine has healed me, and for that I am grateful."

He pauses, catching his breath...

"If you wish to aid me in my lost cause, I have no right to stop you..."

The warrior picks up a bloody assault rifle from the bloody mess scattered around him. Although he violated his own honor by picking it up, he would need the firepower... It was an M16A2, oddly with a full magazine...

"Do you have any information as to how I operate this weapon?"

"I myself only know the basics to operating a gun. Just ready the weapon Like this," Said Nishimura, cocking the gun, "and fire it by simply pulling the trigger. It has only limited ammunition and a kick, so be careful."

He paused a moment.

"If you really want to know how to use this weapon, i would talk to de Rouloc," He said, pointing at him. "He undoubtedly knows more about firearms that I do."

"I know how ya use one!" Brac claimed enthusiastically, picking up a discarded M16 rifle that was almost as long as he was tall. "I watched that slaver guy do it. You hold it like this," Brac struck a heroic pose of the sort that might be seen on an action movie poster, "An' then you point the end with the hole in at the other guy and pull the trigger!"

He thought for a moment, and added, "Oh, and when it doesn't work, you hold it like this," he took the gun by the barrel, and held it like a club, "And then you hit it on a tree, and go 'Stupid damn human-made piece of junk!'"

He swung the butt of the rifle at the corner of a nearby hut by way of demonstration, causing it to go off. Brac yelped in surprise, and dropped the weapon. The bullet ricocheted off the ground, before lodging in a wall somewhere with a crack. Picking the rifle up again, Brac beamed happily, "Always works!"

The grubby little elf looked from face to face, "Say, can I come too?"

Ket didn't hear him, he was busy rummaging through the former owner's belongings... Nothing more than a simple knife & a trio of magazines for the assault rifle. The second corpse he searched yielded something more interesting... A .44 caliber Desert Eagle plated in chrome, accompanied by a pair of magazines. Ket's understanding of weapons ended with the assault rifle he had in his hands... He tucked the large pistol in his racer-hide belt, next to the magazines for both weapons...

"I am ready... Do you understand where they went?"

Ket could see few traces of the slaver exodus, save a trail of crimson Argonian blood...

[[OOC: If it's not too late to join with a character totally unrelated to Isam, a starting post for Norin:]]

Norin Cystanna jump-ran from patch to patch of firm ground, his bladestaff held lightly in one hand. Pale blue eyes glanced around and caught on the fading smoke of the village, a slight shift in direction and he was heading towards the plume of smoke.

To watch him, his elfin heritage would be apparent and those who knew of his kind would know him by clan tattooing on his face - a Savage Elf, a Facetaker and Manflayer. Indeed, this thought would only be confirmed by the skinning knife at his belt and the manhide scrolls he carried. A knee-length back robe open at the front hides both his pistols and stolen assault-rifle, just as his clan's reputation hides whatever kindless lurks within their hearts.

Brac tried to sling the rifle over his shoulder, which was a bit awkward considering his diminutive stature. He squinted, waved a hand around, and pointed in an arbitrary direction.

"I reckon they went... that way!"

He glanced down and saw some specks of blood leading off in a different direction, "No, wait, that way!"

He turned around on the spot, and shrugged, "My brother would know, if he was here; he knows loads of cool stuff! Like... how to cook pig guts! But he got away ages ago..."

Ket scanned the earth around him, paying close attention to footprints & broken fauna... They had to have gone east, to the ocean... They would have to hurry...

"The only logical place they could have gone would have been east, to the great ocean. We must make haste..."

The injured warrior staggered off into the jungles east of the village, not caring if any of the others followed...

Brac scampered after the Argonian warrior, swaying slightly due to the overbalancing effect of the rifle slung over his back.

"To the ocean?" he asked, struggling to keep up with the taller Ket, despite the argonian's staggering, "Neat! I had an uncle, once, who got et by this big ol' Slaughterfish. Then, he said to me, 'Brac, ya gotta watch out, cos they come up in the shallows, and pretend to be, like, floating wood or something'." Brac frowned, as his monologue seemed to be contradicting itself, "No, wait, that can't have been him what said that, 'cos he got et... Um... Hey, wait up!"

He picked his pace up to a run, until he caught up with Ket again, "Are we going to fight the slavers all by ourselves?" he asked, "Only, marsh elves aren't much good at fighting. We do it lots anyway, 'cos sometimes Moeras or the Ghoul King or some other guy comes up and says, 'I need an army to fight humans with! Get yer spears, or I'll have ya all whipped!', and then we go out and do it, but mostly we get beat..."

There was a thud, as Brac tripped over a tree root, and fell flat on his face. He picked himself up pretty quickly, and hurried after Ket, "Where was I? Oh yeah, and then the humans come and burn all our huts down, and Moeras says 'Stupid little vermin!' and he has us all whipped anyway... Um... Oh yeah, and sometimes he turns us into skeletons, 'cos they fight better, but that never happened to me."

There was another thud as Brac tripped over again.

Ket turns to reguard the clumsy elf...

"Your kind are somewhat unco-ordinated, are they not? Continue, but watch out for the roots in the future. I do not want to have to carry your weight as well as my own."

"Not all of us!" said Brac, picking himself up again, "My brother can do all loads of stuff! He caught an owl once, with his bare hands! I ate some of it, but it tasted all stringy."

He hurried along after Ket, peering suspiciously at the surrounding vegetation, lest any more roots attempt to ambush him. He continued his inane blathering.

"High Shaman Wadu says my brother has a... a finity spirit. What does that mean? I asked him, but he was smoking his pipe, and talking to the other spirits that only he can see." Brac glanced around conspiratorially, "I smoked High Shaman Wadu's pipe once, when he was asleep up a tree. But I didn't get to see any spirits; I just got a nosebleed."

The diminutive elf sniffed, "I can smell blood. Is that coming off you, or is it someone else's?" How he managed to smell anything over his own noxious scent is anyone's guess.

Nishimura nodded.

"Yes, the Ocean is the most sensible direction for the slavers to travel. We will have to pursue at a quick speed, but seeing as how they are laden down with slaves, we have a sligh speed advantage."

He glanced at Ket, who was still quite wounded.

"How far do you think you can travel with those wounds?" He asked concernedly. He did not have the energy for another quick healing if Ket lost too much blood.

The proud warrior shakes his head in a negative gesture...

"I will be fine. Better to die in pursuit of my kinsmen than to leave them to their fate..."

They continue on, finding a trail of elven & Argonian footprints, among a few fallen Argonians who had mercifully bled to death, avoiding a future of labor & bondage...

Brac peered at the corpses as they passed, sniffing at them, "Eeeew! Yeah, I definitely thought I smelled something! Maybe we're almost caught up to them!"

They walked on for a bit more, Brac peering around excitedly, gripping the oversize rifle in his hands, looking for foes hidden in the undergrowth. Suddenly, there was a rustle in the tree above, and Brac thought he saw something.

"Yaaah! In the trees!!" he yelled, jumping back. There was a loud stutter of gunfire, as he jerked the trigger of his rifle back as a reflex action, sending seven or eight rounds shredding through the upper branches of the tree, the recoil sending him tumbling over backwards.

There was a moment of silence, as the smoke cleared. Then a dead sloth, riddled with bulletholes, plopped out of the tree, and landed with a wet thump. Brac picked himself up again, and gave the others a sheepish look, "Whoops. My bad."

Ket reguarded the bumbling elf with something between contempt & frustation...

"Remove your finger from the trigger-guard... You will certainly alert the slavers to our presence..."

As if on que, gunfire rattled aross the underbrush in front of them. Ket took cover behind a boulder, blindfiring in the general direction of the attack...

"It seems we have found them..."

He stated, displaying his considerable powers at understatement. They had blundered into a well-armed clean-up force, heading back to the village to recover the advanced weapons dropped by the fallen slavers. They feared that other villages might stockpile them for use against the former owners. Such an act would put the slavers out of buisness...

Nishimura leapt up into a tree to avoid the gunfire. He was far too tired to use any advanced Jitsus at the moment, so he decided to rely on good old hand-to-hand combat. There were quite a few slavers down there, more than enough to put a few permanant holes in Nishimura. He would just have to take out a few at at time.

Nishimura Unsheathed his large sword and dove down, swinging the weapon like a giant paddle. A few slavers were catapulted away into trees and rocks as the rest of his enemies ducked. He sheathed the blade and dissapeared again. The slavers turned thier remaining attention back on Brak and Ket.

Meanwhile, about 15 feet away, a trio of slavers groaned and got to thier feet, recovering from the smashing sword blofw. The three looked around at thier comrades as they nervously tried to get back into the fray. They would have no such luck as to die by a bullet, however.

Nishimura appeared again from behind a tree and cut one slaver in half with his blade; the other two dove and fired thier weapons, But the Ninja was already gone.

"Where'd he go?" Panted one of the slavers.

"I dont kno-Gak!" The second slaver couldn't responsd, as he had a pair of shuriken lodged into his throat. The first slaver spotted Nishimura a half-dozen feet away, sword in hand. He raised his weapon and started emptied his clip; Nishimura turned the sword blade to the side and used it as a shield, its steel deflecting the slavers bullets. The man screamed in frustration as the gun clicked. He dropped it and unsheathed a long, twelve inch hunting knife from his waist and came charging forward. Nishimura grinned and dropped his own weapon. The Slaver leapt forward to impale the Ninja on his blade. Nishimura dodged the blow with ease, caught the poor man's arm, and broke it at the elbow with a powerful chop. He turned the arm around and forced the knife upon its owner's throat, killing him.

Nishimura turned to see how the others were doing as he picked his sword back up and sheathed it. He was almost out of energy; He would have to fight the rest of this battle from above. He leapt again into the treetops and started to pick off Slavers with Kunai and Shuriken, aiming carefully for thier throats.

Nishimura leapt up into a tree to avoid the gunfire. He was far too tired to use any advanced Jitsus at the moment, so he decided to rely on good old hand-to-hand combat. There were quite a few slavers down there, more than enough to put a few permanant holes in Nishimura. He would just have to take out a few at at time.

Nishimura Unsheathed his large sword and dove down, swinging the weapon like a giant paddle. A few slavers were catapulted away into trees and rocks as the rest of his enemies ducked. He sheathed the blade and dissapeared again. The slavers turned thier remaining attention back on Brak and Ket.

Meanwhile, about 15 feet away, a trio of slavers groaned and got to thier feet, recovering from the smashing sword blofw. The three looked around at thier comrades as they nervously tried to get back into the fray. They would have no such luck as to die by a bullet, however.

Nishimura appeared again from behind a tree and cut one slaver in half with his blade; the other two dove and fired thier weapons, But the Ninja was already gone.

"Where'd he go?" Panted one of the slavers.

"I dont kno-Gak!" The second slaver couldn't responsd, as he had a pair of shuriken lodged into his throat. The first slaver spotted Nishimura a half-dozen feet away, sword in hand. He raised his weapon and started emptied his clip; Nishimura turned the sword blade to the side and used it as a shield, its steel deflecting the slavers bullets. The man screamed in frustration as the gun clicked. He dropped it and unsheathed a long, twelve inch hunting knife from his waist and came charging forward. Nishimura grinned and dropped his own weapon. The Slaver leapt forward to impale the Ninja on his blade. Nishimura dodged the blow with ease, caught the poor man's arm, and broke it at the elbow with a powerful chop. He turned the arm around and forced the knife upon its owner's throat, killing him.

Nishimura turned to see how the others were doing as he picked his sword back up and sheathed it. He was almost out of energy; He would have to fight the rest of this battle from above. He leapt again into the treetops and started to pick off Slavers with Kunai and Shuriken, aiming carefully for thier throats.

OOC: This is beginning to get out of hand. Tone your ninja down a bit. The whole point of this is to struggle against the odds. Case & point: Ket is wounded & totally out of his element in reguards to weaponry. Your ninja seems to be making this far too easy for the rest of them.

OOC: This is beginning to get out of hand. Tone your ninja down a bit. The whole point of this is to struggle against the odds. Case & point: Ket is wounded & totally out of his element in reguards to weaponry. Your ninja seems to be making this far too easy for the rest of them.

OCC: All right. No more Ninja Crazyness for a while; Sorry bout that. I'll have him get wounded soon.

OCC: All right. No more Ninja Crazyness for a while; Sorry bout that. I'll have him get wounded soon.

OOC: I would appreciate it. Wounds are not nessecary, but the simple fact that he can wipe out a battalion-sized group of men armed with automatic weapons while he himself is armed only with an oversized sword seems somewhat unrealistic. Guerilla tactics would be more appropriate.

"Aaaaiiii!!!" Brac yelped, as he scurried behind a tree, to avoid the hail of gunfire. He sat with his back against the trunk, and his arms over his head, as bullets chipped chunks off the bark and ripped up clods of earth around him.

After a few moments, the attention of those shooting was drawn by something else, and Brac remembered he was supposed to be a daring adventurer now, not a cowering slave. He peered out from behind the tree, squinting along the rifle barrel and trying to hold it steady.

"Yaaar!!" he yelled, as he pulled the trigger, firing off a burst in the general direction of the slavers, before the recoil bowled him over again.

He yelped, and cringed behind his tree again, as another hail of bullets came his way.