Moans Of Nirn

Moans Of Nirn

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War ravages the lands of Tamriel. A thousand little conflicts for a thousand different reasons, but chief among them is the unspoken truth that the Daedric Princes have come back to Nirn and are calling on their followers to convert souls and claim as much of the land as possible.
The reasons as to why the Lords of Oblivion have once more taken such an active role in mortal affairs varies from Prince to Prince. However. One thing is constant... The Darkest Night of last winter has shown them that their claim on the mortal realm is not as secure as they thought it once was. The Lau'ada invasion from beyond the void belied a vulnerability rarely seen of the Daedric Princes. And it terrifies them... Going hand-in-hand with the Daedra's unusual uncertainty and desire for power comes the spiritual crisis that has recently found a grip in the hearts of mortals. A similar consequence of the Darkest Night has led many to lose their faith in the nine divines and are turning elsewhere. Be they ancient forgotten gods, Daedra or something much more sinister...
Together these developments have created a concoction of uncertainty, violence and unrest that has swept across Tamriel like wildfire. As Daedric Princes battle one another for souls, the empire weakens and nations use the disunity not just to fight religious conflicts but territorial ones. These "Daedra Wars" have raged in pockets all across Tamriel for almost eight months now and things seem to only be getting worse...
Yet. There are those who will not stand idly by as Tamriel rips itself apart. A moth priest, studier of the fabled Elder Scrolls, has sent a young aspirant on her way in search of those destined to put an end to the Daedric madness and restore the peace. For he has uncovered a way to solve the problem of the Daedra, perhaps forever...
1: Feel free to create as many characters as you want or need, but try not to go overboard with it; only create as many as you can handle.
2: Please take this seriously. Should you find yourself bored, don't start messing around. Instead, find a character to talk to, or write a flashback or dream sequence. Do not go around annoying others because you have nothing to do.
3: Killing or permanently injuring other people's characters is strictly forbidden, unless you have the consent of either their player or the GM.
4: You are not to play as any characters established in official TES canon. You are not the Last Dragonborn, the Hero of Kvatch, or Nazeem.
5: You cannot play as Divines, Daedric Princes, or other incredibly powerful entities.
6: Don't be overpowered. That means:
No avoiding damage or ignoring it: You take hits, just like you dish them out. You may block or dodge attacks but one in three must hit you. No ridiculously over powered super-spells: anything that allows you to destroy powerful enemies in one hit or gives you a majorly unfair advantage over other players and NPCs will be considered overpowered. You cannot destroy a building or a settlement in one post; depending on the building’s size, you must destroy it over the course of several posts. The only exception is during flashbacks, dream sequences or during written plot pieces (over the course of a paragraph or two).
‘Fridge Magic’ is also considered a form of overpoweredness. Fridge Magic is spontaneous luck, which allows the player to avoid damage or consequence for their actions, where the stars align to always make sure that one character stands tall and is completely invulnerable to whatever is thrown at them. It can be done accidentally, so it’s not treated as harshly, but please undo it if multiple people call you out on it or if the GM calls you out on it.
7: The starting date was the 1st of Last Seed, 5E 8.
8: You can be from anywhere in Tamriel and play as any of the ten races. Halfbreeds are accepted as well, and other races may be accepted if their presence is logical and fitting.
9: If you write a flashback, you can only interact with other characters if you have agreed upon it with their players, or if they are NPCs. In dream sequences, most rules can be disregarded, but only because they do not impact the real world.
10: No excessive gore and shock factor stuff. Dark subject matter is okay, but the graphic murder of children and the like is way off limits.
11: Tamriel will be massive in this interpretation. Trekking across the provinces and nations of this magnificent world will take weeks if not months. Assume that your characters will age a few years over the course of this journey.
No new members will be accepted from this point on.
“Abductions in the night?” Rosalia said, trying to come up with an answer, although based on her interaction with Javier the other night, she thought it best to leave all that sort of talk for now…
Kashya blinked. "Maybe some new Daedric Prince mischief?" she proposed.
"More's the reason to return to the others," Lysilde pointed out. Making clear she wished to depart.
"Shaltaire, take us, whenever you are ready."
"Right", Shaltaire said, not waiting around any longer.
She knew that she would pay severely for spending so much magicka at once, so best to just get it over with. As soon as her magic was attuned the Covenant were transported back to their wintry abode in the mountains as the world shifted and distorted around them, covered by a blinding white light.
Just as the Alfiq had predicted, she collapsed from exhaustion, falling into a snowbank and leaving a cat-shaped hole where her tiny body had fallen through.
Rosalia dashed and gently rescued the little feline from the snow.
Clodagh blinked and stretched. That was something she'd never get used to.
Shaltaire just murmured weakly in response to the rescue. She was tired now. She wanted a long nap.
"Oh, we are here", Kashya said, having barely taken notice of the sudden shift from one place to another.
The first thing they noticed was how cold it was up here in the mountains compared to Riften and especially compared to the Fields of Regret.
Helian made sure to pull his own jacket tighter as well.
"I think I see horses," Mozu said as she pointed up the slope. It seemed they had been placed not far from the cave's entrance from what she remember. Last time they were in this exact spot they could barely see beyond a few feet due to the storm.
Right now it was a bright afternoon under a blue sky among the white snow covered peaks.
Pickaxe up. Pickaxe back down. Watch the stone break beneath. Pickaxe up. Pickaxe back down. Stone breaks. Up. Down. Break.
The wall trembled, stress fractures spreading, and leapt backwards as it collapsed into heaping chunks of stones. Intermixed in it were geodes of emerald crystal, hunks the size of his fist. He scattered them aside with a kick. A boy harnessed to a wheelbarrow trudged up behind him and, laboriously, began to load up the shattered stone. His naked arms were red, peeling, and lined with scars.
Lethaldiran faced the wall again, raising his pickaxe, but paused.
“You’re too close,” Lethaldiran told the boy over his shoulder. The boy jumped, staring at Lethaldiran with frightened eyes--talking was forbidden.
He still didn’t move however. Lethaldiran snarled and raised his axe over the boy, who scrambled out of the way, skinning his knees on the rough ground. It was covered by the remnants of stone that had been ground to grains by the collective feet of the quarry’s thousands of workers.
The boy scurried off, backing out of Lethaldiran’s tunnel, leaving most of the emerald behind in his wake. The geodes were small enough not to get in Lethaldiran’s way, and the workers pulling the carts had to divide their time between all the miners. Lethaldiran was one of the few Altmer. Most had been too proud. It was quickly becoming an expensive quality, priced at one’s life.
He crouched to pick up an emerald so large it took both his hands. A wealth worth lordships. Kingdoms .
Could he escape with this? It wasn’t too heavy for him. His time spent in chains, eating scraps, had weakened his body, but he was still fit, and his battlemage training remained. How could that hope to stop him if he threw down his pickaxe and rose from the quarry floor, smiting each of his Redguard captors like a vengeful god. Stowaway on a ship to Herne or Betony with his emerald fortune. He indulged in the fantasy for several precious moments. Then, he set the geode aside, took back up the pickaxe, and returned to work.
Pickaxe up. Pickaxe down. Each swing knocked away chunks of stone. Tears bled from his irritated eyes, cut paths through the dust that covered his face. Pickaxe up. Pickaxe down. Don’t stop. The wounds on his back still stung from the first time he’d taken a break. The task masters saw, came down with those black barbed whips of theirs.
He’d seen, once, what happened to those that tried to escape. A Breton soldier, a man-at-arms judging by the remains of his uniform, had done as Lethaldiran did. Set his axe aside and rested his tired body on the hot quarry floor. Only, when the taskmaster had come to whip him, he’d resisted. Struck the Redguard and tried to run. That had only drawn the ire of the others, who had quickly surrounded him, whips flyin
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