Padishah Mehmet II

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. Narsis) "Let me give you some unasked-for advice, my outlander friend," Mathyn said, smiling. "First off, I have to congratulate you for picking a country to flee to just right. Our Thieves Guild is weak, the Dark Brotherhood is unwanted, and as for priests of Akatosh, you'll find that it's difficult to find any who still live. But your outlandishness will shine for some time yet. If you want that... highly specific skillset, as you put it, to come to use, you'll need to find a way to blend in. Get a job. A place to live. Get chummy with one of the Great Houses. The Morag Tong... they're a long path to walk, and even despite their legality and the honourable nature of their work it's not a convenient way to get started in this country, being tagged from the first moment as a threat to another's life. You need a cover." (Elianne. Castle Kitchens, Firewatch) Mentally, she sighed at what she was about to do. Physically, she grinned, and tossed aside a strand of her red hair. "I know some people, though, if you know what I mean. Assuming you still... want some."

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis) "Sounds like you sure ticked someone off back home." IC: (Elianne. Castle Kitchens, Firewatch) Ain't gonna lie, she thought to herself, this guy seems too young and undisfigured to be one of Valerius's indeed. Something about this story seems off, though. But... maybe he can be of use. She sighed and, chopping the rat she had just skinned into geometrically equal parts, gave Dorian a surprising smile. "Understandable. Can't think of a single Legionnaire who ever seemed even remotely... fun, yeah. That would be the word. Or went to the castle kitchens looking for hash."

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis) "The concept is truly flawless," Mathyn lied.

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis) Mathyn crossed his arms on his chest. This girl had pretty unequivocally just admitted to having been an assassin. Probably Dark Brotherhood, too, regardless of her apparent disagreements with them now. "The Morag Tong," he spoke, softly, "isn't prone to putting out advertisements for job vacancies. There are guildhalls throughout all the cities and some smaller towns of Morrowind, but you'll find that recruitment isn't as simple as knocking on the door and asking if they'll accept you. Back in the not-so-recent past, you could ask around in Mournhold - rumour had it that was where the Tong based themselves after the destruction of their central base in Vivec. But then Mournhold got sacked by the Argonians. You would have to talk with a member of the Tong to know where to find them."

IC: (Elianne. Castle Kitchens, Firewatch) Dorian Doruani cannot possibly be a real name. "That was a surprisingly quick career," Elianne replied, stretching out her hand to shake his. "Elianne. Pleased. Is there a story behind that record-short discharge?"

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis) "Not many non-Dunmer would choose this moment, of all possible moments, to move to this country, I should say. Fascinating choice. Is it related to your seemingly not entirely amicable past with the Dark Brotherhood?" (Elianne. Castle Kitchens, Firewatch) Elianne looked at him sideways, mentally reading the Morag Tong's training booklet on useful idiots. "Who are you? I haven't seen you around the castle much. And you look too... uniform-less to be a legionnaire."

IC: (Elianne. Castle Kitchens, Firewatch) Elianne, who was at that precise moment skinning a rat (rats were gradually becoming a luxury among the soldiers, as rats generally don't take up residence in places that have a distinct lack of any other food to pillage) looked up at the Imperial before her with an annoyed expression. "This is a military fortress, sir," she emphasized the word, trying not to let her irritation at being forced to defer to someone in this way show. "Not a drug den." (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis) The Dunmeri nobleman sighed. Peculiarly, while wearing a smile. "So be it. How long have you been in Morrowind, Breton?"

IC: (Elianne. Firewatch) On some particular days, Elianne hated her job, truly more than anything. Oh, she didn't mind the description of the job itself. It was quite like hunting, really. Very exhilarating. You had to identify your prey, track it, learn its habits and its habitat, eliminate it. That she enjoyed. Killing in the Webspinner's name... she enjoyed, as disturbing as it was to admit that. Well, "enjoyed" might not have been the right word - it was more like she felt enjoyment right until the last minute, when she saw her soon-to-be-victim's face, when it was replaced with a calm, cold serenity. It was not Elianne, and definitely not Manirai, who would take a man's life, not the personality she embodied - it was the blade, the blade of the Morag Tong, the tooth of Mephala, the promise of their ancient tradition, that would eliminate yet another soul from the world. Usually ones that deserved it. But she did hate some places her job took her, and some roles she had to play. Above all else, she hated the fortress-city of Firewatch, its grey Cyrodiilic stone, which reminded her of the forts the Imperial occupiers of days long past would build in her beloved Vvardenfell those many years ago; and she really, really really hated having to pose as a servant girl. Dressed in a simple gown, hair kept tied within a shawl, carrying an armful of chopped firewood, Elianne scurried through the city's mostly empty streets, the eerie quiet interrupted only occasionally, when she would go past a group of Hlaalu soldiers, who would be usually drinking, or a couple of aging legionnaires here and there practicing their swordfighting skills. Then and now some cry would also be heard from atop the city walls, probably some of the Imperial archers patrolling the crenelations letting each other know how things were going up on their side of the wall. Of course, serving girls were now in huge demand in Firewatch, seeing as how the city had essentially been abandoned by its civilian population and relied on difficult-to-provide Hlaalu support and the occasional tax raid into the surrounding Dunmer villages. You'd think that servants would thus be valued more than ever, especially the few still willing to remain in this increasingly infeasible experiment of Valerius's. In a sense, they were, mind you. But not because of the "serving" part. Serving girls were in especially high demand because the number of women was, with every passing day, growing rapidly lower. And it showed. Even the most decent legionnaires gradually, day by day, turned into lecherous perverts who would leer at Elianne's body more and more irritatingly as a deep, deep forced dry spell settled over the city's population. The Hlaalu generally kept their cool in this regard, but that was only because all they seemed to care about was drink. Simpler assassins might have thought to use this to their advantage. Mephala, after all, was among other things the goddess of sex - if that did not make it a potent tool in the Webspinner's arsenal, Elianne knew not what did. But the issue was that Elianne could not lower herself to the level of these scum; it was a certain Ashlander pride, burned into her bones, that objected to such a proposition with her very being. No, perhaps she would have to work harder because of this pride, which her teachers in Mournhold called both her worst and best quality, but she would not settle for such a moral suicide to achieve her goal. She walked up the steps to the castle, a circular Imperial building atop a hill in the very heart of the colonial city. The guards nodded as she passed them, heading towards the kitchens, where she had employed herself as a cover. (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis) "That's not an especially healthy attitude, there," Mathyn said to Eponine, shaking his head. "Generally you'll find that people are much more receptive to a much more nuanced approach than one which they would describe as 'having a stick up your arse'."

Galos approved. -Dovydas

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis) The Dunmer nobleman grinned. "Not per-se. I know him slightly. He's a retainer to one of Great House Redoran's higher-ups. We're a close-knit family, this House of ours."

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. Narsis) Mathyn cracked a slight smile. "Good day to you too, House-brother." Moments later, he, Eponine and Kelh found themselves in the Lucky Guar once more, ordering another serving of Dunmeri drinks; this time, local shein. "This, my outlander friends, is a Dunmeri wine made from comberries. Just the thing on this sort of day. And some netch jelly and Cyrodiilic cheese to go with it," he ordered from the bartender, clearly intending to spend a fair bit today. "How interesting. So few minutes spent in Narsis, and already so many fascinating things have occured. It's truly... something, this Hlaalu city."

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. Barracks, Narsis) "Lads, lasses, that's quite enough," the Lord of Cormaris spoke, calmly. "I, for one, feel that we have bothered the good mer of the Narsis city guard for long enough," he said, giving the commander a nod. "Let's move - we'll have a time and place to argue outside."

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. Barracks, Narsis) The guard commander gave another exasperated sigh. Mathyn could see that he wanted this over with. "This tells me nothing. Lance-Corporal Llaros!" he addressed the guard that had brought them in, provoking an almost reflexive salute. "What's this outlander accused of to begin with, that you saw so fit to bother my wonderful day with?" "Thievery, sir!" "Ain't good a thing, that!" the commander mumbled, pacing back and forth. "What did she steal? Priceless jewels? Dwemer artifacts? Raw ebony? The relics of St. Rilms?" "No, sir." "Military secrets, then? Spying for the Redoran, maybe?" he gave Mathyn a nasty glare. "No, sir. She, uh, stole some fruit off a vendor." The quiet that fell upon the room stayed unviolated for a good minute, until finally the captain chuckled. And then the dam burst: the chuckle turned to a laugh, and the laugh turned into a wild guffaw, and then suddenly it was cut short: the commander, almost unnaturally, froze in the middle of his laugh, and gave the lance-corporal a murderous glare. "You got in here, causing a commotion as if society itself had collapsed, over some fruit? Don't you have even the slightest amount of initiative and social responsibility, soldier?" Mathyn couldn't help but feel amused by this whole spectacle. "You," the guard commander pointed at Eponine, "I'm giving you a minute to think. Either you pay a fine - not much, just twice the value of what you stole - or I toss you into our dungeon. And then you're going to do community work. Because that's how the law works. And," he interrupted both her and Mathyn as they were about to open their mouths, "don't you give me tales about how you're innocent. If you're innocent, I'm sure we can bring the vendor you stole from in and ask him to say if it's you. I'm sure you won't mind, eh?"

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. Barracks, Narsis) Mathyn was about to open his mouth, but the guard commander shook his head. "No, this isn't how we do things in Morrowind, Breton. I'm the one asking for testimonies here, not you. And judging by how you're peculiarly insistent on this Redoran sod testifying for you, you've got a weighted interest in him doing just that. Which is precisely why I'm not going to ask him. At least just yet." The guard scanned the room, his glance eventually landing on Kelh. "You! Bosmer. What's your relation to these two?"

And also heretical. -Dovydas

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. Barracks, Narsis) What awaited the small group inside was a small enough chamber, with a couple of guards in the corner playing cards and a handful of clerks by the far wall dealing with what seemed like a veritable mountain of paperwork. The guards leading them indicated a wooden door to their left; behind that, in what seemed like his personal office, a tall dark-haired Dunmer in bonemold armor was pacing back and forth. They shuffled inside, all quiet, as his red eyes pierced them. Mathyn was by no means ashamed of being here, as he had done nothing, but he had to say that was one uncomfortable glare they were greeted with. "Well? What is it?" the presumable commander of the guard asked, glancing across them and giving Mathyn a suspicious look as he noticed the House Redoran crest on his cloak. "This outlander," one of the guards pushed Eponine forward, "is suspected of thievery. And she also assaulted one of ours." "Well, I can't speak for the thievery, but 'assaulted' is not how I'd put it, personally---" The commander's little beady red eyes, like two insects, peered at Mathyn. "And who in the name of Oblivion are you, Redoran?" "I am Mathyn Llethri, Lord of Cormaris," he said, his voice sounding just a little bit sterner. He had experience of dealing with those who had developed false senses of authority, like highranking city guards, and there was little they feared or secretly hated more than a title. "And I have been brought here to testify." The guard commander gave an exasperated sigh. This group was clearly not the first (or last) annoyance he had to deal with today. "Well then, go ahead, you lot. Start over from the beginning. What happened?"

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis) "'Fraid not," Mathyn shook his head with a smile. "Don't remember having ever left Morrowind, even for a short while. The Bosmeri lad next to me, by the way, is Aspen of Valenwood."

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis) Mathyn stretched out his hand for Eponine to shake. "Mathyn. Mathyn Llethri, of Cormaris and of Great House Redoran."

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis) Mathyn took a glance at Bites-His-Tail, trying to read what the Argonian was thinking. "If you have any suspicions, brother, I'm sure you can present them to the local guard commander, as well. But I will point out that there is no solid evidence to believe our friend here has any ties to the Brotherhood."

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar) Mathyn took a serious look at the Breton. "I will try to retell the situation as accurately as possible. But you are in dangerous water here, asking the Hlaalu to listen to the testimony of a Redoran. Might I suggest we also take my outlander friend here? He is truly a neutral party that they will be unable to accuse of political machination," he indicated Kelh with a slight smile. OOC: do go ahead and roleplay the guards, Ben, you brought them in after all; I'm curious to see where you'll take this

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis) "In that case," Mathyn saw fit to intercede at this particular time, standing up and resting his hand at the hilt of his sword more out of laziness than an intention to draw it, "I'm sure you won't mind explaining this situation to the city guard, no? If you're truly innocent, surely the Commander of the Guard will believe you once he sees evidence proving your innocence. There's no lie to say that the guard was rude and disrespectful. It is also true, however, that you just resisted the orders of an officer of the law. And gave him a nasty shock. Lad seems unlikely to ever have children now."

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis) Although at first shocked by this development, Mathyn had enough sense in him to rush towards the guard that Eponine kicked in the groin, trying to help him up. Just as he did this, he noticed Bites-His-Tail and gave the Argonian, who he knew for a Redoran retainer, a welcoming nod, trying not to distract him from the problem at hand as he moved the guard, still reeling from the hit, to a chair. "Sithis, eh?" he muttered, throwing a glance to see what would happen. He didn't have much a motivation to step in, unless Bites-His-Tail got into a fight, in which case he would have to assist his housebrother.

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis) "He's not Redoran, no," Mathyn indicated the Bosmer to their new conversation partner. "I belong to Great House Redoran myself, however, and serve honourably. Is there something I can do for you, sera?"

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. The Lucky Guar, Narsis) Opening the door to an establishment that balanced precariously on that fine line between being seedy and quaint, Mathyn found himself hit with the sweet smell of comberries. The main chamber of the cornerclub was a circular room with an equally circular bar in the very centre, overseen by an Altmeri barmaid Mathyn couldn't help but throw a few glances at despite her rather passive reaction to the new arrivals. Her neatly cut right below her ears, pitch-black hair contrasted sharply with her golden skin, which seemed to glimmer in the cornerclub's dim candle-lit twilight, especially as she wore a rather alluring red dress cut low enough to leave little to the imagination. "Some mazte for my outlander friend here, love," Mathyn shot her a grin as he approached, although she seemed unimpressed, especially at the House Redoran crest on his cloak. Mathyn could only guess that a few of the retainers might have partied a slight bit too much last night. "The best one you have." The Altmer filled out the order rather absentmindedly and without saying a thing. Mathyn couldn't help but feel a pang of rejection as he pushed her a couple of septims and she just turned to the next customer in line. "Eh, you win and you lose some," he muttered under his nose as he indicated to Aspen a seat by the corner of the room, where they took their drinks. "There you go, my friend - this is mazte. Local beer, made from fermented saltrice. You'll find it's the cheapest drink this side of Oblivion; but it's also one of the strongest beers this side of Aldmeris. Cheers."

IC: (Mathyn Llethri. Narsis) The Dunmer simply laughed at the question, seemingly quite warmly - yet this reaction was not what the Bosmer might have been expecting. "You're in Morrowind, outlander - we don't serve mead. In fact, as long as you're here, you might not want to order mead ever again. Some Dunmer have been known to take offense to people neglecting our highly specific drinking culture. Allow me to show what you've been missing." Turning just ever so slightly, Mathyn scanned the street, identifying at least three cornerclubs - the most interesting one of which, apparently called the Lucky Guar, appeared to be located in what used to be an ancient Velothi tower. With a certain amount of confidence, Mathyn strode down the street to its entrance, where a single solitary bald Dunmer with a silvery-grey goatee appeared to be smoking a pipe. A few words in Dunmeris later, the bald mer turned to Aspen, who he addressed in strongly-accented Cyrodiilic. "There is place for your horse in the closed yard behind cornerclub, yes? That will be fine, yes?"