Private Morituri Te Salutamas

[death raider]

Morituri Te Salutamus - Translation = "We who are about to die, salute you."

Skyrim has fallen to the Thalmor and thus began the fifth era. The Aldmeri Dominion has taken over the Empire and the Kingdom of Skyrim. The nations of Hammerfell and High Rock are withering from the Dominion's aggression. The Argonian's of Blackmarsh have closed its borders to refugees and no hope is left for human subjects of the Dominion. Every ten years groups of young people are offered to the great dominion as a form of population control and penance. This has lead to the men and woman of their provinces to fear for loosing their children to the Aldmeri beast, or some training their children to win and bring honor to their family. This decennial sacrifice has been deemed The Games, and each iteration of the Games the spectacle of the show grew as the sacrifice became the most popular form of entertainment for citizens of the Dominion. Who watch horrified for what they children will have to face or gleefully at the blood sport before them.
This year of 5E 430, the forty-third Games has shown the most promise. Each province grooming as much as they can. Though the advantage is for the Summerset Isles team the poor lands that were once Skyrim have always produced strong warriors. And Cyrodil's population remembers their former glory. The arena is set, the sacrifices are selected, the beasts prepared, and the populous ready to watch their champions through their scrying pools. Let the heroes rise from the muck and the weak fall. These! Are! The! GAMES!

The Aldmeri will be watching closely on the tributes using Dwemer Technology, to look into the Arena, and watch every detail, the suffering, the betrayal, the insantity! The poor and the less unfortunate are not allowed to watch, but every detail is fed to them by the Domination as a way of torture and pure brutality, the Domination enjoying the extra entertainment in watching the parents of the lost, stread their tears and moarn for their loved ones.

Careers:

Nalia Doomblade - High Elf - 18 - Female

Jehsgon - High Elf - 17 - Male

Lycan Hydro - Wood elf - 17 - Male

Silenya Darkwood - Wood elf - 15 - Female

J'Oran - Khajiit - 14 - Male

J'Askro - Khajiit - 14 - Male

Lim Jado - Redguard - 13 - Male

Nagisus - Argonian - 18 - Male ( Captain Nagisus ) [op and dm]

Artemis Talisen - Bosmer - 16 - Female ( Artemis Shadows )

Less Fortunate:

Syro Guljo - Dark Elf - 14 - Male

Julian Sidero - Imperial - 17 - Female- dead

Harriet Nil - Imperial - 12 - Female

Warien Foorka - Breton - 13 - Female

Yincon - Imperial - 15 - Male

Finro Carlio - Argonian - 16 - Male

Rjoc - Orc - 16 - Male ( leepdroon )

Garrick Neverwin - Imperial - 18 - Male ( Ovalteenies )

Azog gro-Kazzar - Orc - 17 - Male ( Chicagowind69 )

Valar Malus - Dark Elf - 25 - Male ( LongestSkies ) [op]


The Poor:

Ungar Battle-Born - Nord - 16 - Male

Xero Ningug - Nord - 13 - Female

Lenfia Abjorn - Nord - 18 - Female

Buljino - Orc - 17 - Male

Borgo Kongo - Orc - 15 - Male

Terano Hertio - Dark Elf - 12 - Male

J'Olama - Khajiit - 17 - Female ( Death Raider ) [admin]

Arielle Tillisch - Nord - 14 - Female ( Imperial_Pain )

Nathaniel Crowley - Nord/wolf - 18 - Male ( Boudica )

Urth - Nord - 18 - Male ( Lucas76020 )

This is the Private thread so only post if you are in the rp.

Careers post in Red
Less Fortunate post in Blue
The poor post in Green

The story will commence on the third day of training, and you can start in the training room.

 

[death raider]

Training day three


J'Olama looked across at the Redguard man Lim Jado, who was four years younger than herself, and he was stronger. He glared at J'Olama through hate filled eyes, like he was some kind of angry bull, menacing and dangerous. The redguard was wielding a scimitar in his right hand and it was like his age didn't matter any more and he was scary enough to be a trained soldier.

J'Olama was useless at fighting and the sword in her hand was like a whole new world to her. She got into some kind of weird possition, thinking it would be good enough to protect herself from the Redguard, who was trained in the arts of swords. The other careers were watching J'Olama and Lim like hawks, wide grins spread across their faces, like they knew J'Olama was a goner.

This had all started when J'Olama accidently dropped a bit of food on him and then they started to argue and then J'Olama said that his skills wee aweful and then Lim decided that she should prove it through a swords fighting match and very stupidly J'Olama accepted. They were now standing in the middle of the training room, both holding swords, ready to cross blades in a fight.

J'Olama knew there was no chance that she would be victorious, but she had to at least try. The Aldmeri guards weren't doing anything to stop the fight, in fact they were watching, as eagerly as the careers. The guards would only intervene if it got serious, but knowing the careers, for the psychotic behaviour, J'Olama could be dead before the guards even had time to say stop.

Lim Jado gave an evilly crooked smile and he then lunge towards J'Olama, and before she had time to defend herself the blade was at her throat.
"Submit or pay the price," Lim said pushing the scimitar harder into her throat, but still not enough to draw blood. J'Olama was about to speak when Lim took away the blade and then pushed her onto the marble floor, with a large crash. Suddenly there was a roar of laughter from the careers and the guards.

Lim took a boastful bow and then walked over to the careers, who began to clap and praise him, lim not even aware that once they were in the arena the other careers would turn on him and slit his throat before he even had time to run. J'Olama felt humilitated and none of the others did anything and she was left on the floor. She pulled herself up and looked towards the other poor people and less forunate and they all looked away from her gaze and down to the floor.


J'Olama was not going to give up so easy though so she held the blade over her head and ran at Lim while he and the other careers wern't looking, but when she was a metre away, lim turned round and pushed J'Olama back onto the floor. There was another howl of laughter and then Lim went down to J'Olama's ear.
"You have just signed your life away," Lim said walking away and then back to the careers for another shower of applause and praise.

J'Olama picked herself up again and walked towards the dinner table with apart of her breakfast still left in her bowl. She sat herself down, but with no intention to eat, so she sat there motionless, just wanting to return to her family so badly.

 

[Osiris]

The sky was gloomy as Azog charged at a Dwarven Sphere, Warhammer coming crashing down on the Hostile Machinery. The Orc gave out a tiresome sigh as a bead of sweat ran down his forehead, dodging the sharp horns protruding from the Orc's skull. He wasn't alone, many other young warriors his age or younger trained around him, fighters of every social class training as one group. Thalmor stood above the tributes on a tall column, watching and making bets on who would survive, and who would die... The Orc had been training all morning, and needed to rest, just for five minutes. He couldn't though, he was taught to never show weakness, and threw a heavy fist at a training dummy, leaving a big hole in the center of the dummy. He gave off a small smirk, impressed with his ability, though a moving target would be harder to destroy than a lifeless one...Azog leaned against a wall and took a small drink of water and a guard gave the Orc permission to have a meal. As the Orc took off his helmet and walked to the dining room, he thought back to the day the Elder Orcs told him he would be a tribute, saying that it was an Honor to fight for the Orc City. He kneeled on one knee and lowered his head as the High Orcish Priest bestowed Malacath's blessing on him, The Chief giving his approval. As Azog put on his armor and head for the boat to the isles, he looked back at his father, who simply looked at his son and nodded, saying only this, "Azog, my son, come back victorious, or not at all, our race has no place for weaklings."The young Orc looked distraught, but continued to the ship, looking at the ground the entire time. As the ship left for the Isles, Azog's father fell to his knees, and let out a roar of sorrow, his mind shattered at the thought of his son's body coming back in a box.

 

[Lady Imp]

The steel felt cold and foreign in Arielle's hands, the sword unbearably heavy. She knew she had to lift it, swing it, master it and strike to kill. The thought turned her stomach, but not as much as the thought that someone would be striking to kill her. She looked at the stuffed dummy and tried to imagine it attempting a death blow. The thought made her want to drop the sword and run, back to Skyrim, back to her mother's kitchen with the smell of fresh-baked bread and apple pie. Instead, she was surrounded by the smell of multinational perspiration, the sound of steel clashing with steel, a cacophonous melody that despite hearing it continuously for three days she could not find herself getting used to.

Arielle took a deep breath, straight down to the diaphragm, and with both hands lifted the sword over her head, looking like she was going to take a power swing straight down. Instead, her hands slipped, and the sword arced to the right as she swung, finishing with a clean gash in the dummy's left cheek. Arielle smiled at her accomplishment, a glimmer of hope shining faintly in the green eyes of a girl sent to die too young. Papa will be proud, she thought. I will make Papa proud. Or die trying.

 

[Star Gazer]

What am I doing here? I don't belong in the arena. Someone like me should be serving the jarl! Urth thought to himself. All of the drafted youth trained in the room, many looked like they actually knew what they were doing. Urth strolled around, pretending to be doing something so he doesn't look absolutely useless in front of the thalmor and the other "contestants". There was training for sword-fighting, wrestling, knife-throwing, and fist-fighting.


Urth had finally found something he knew how to do, brew potions and mix poisons. He knew of no lethal poisons, but knew many healing potions and paralysis poisons. He approached the alchemy lab, taking a handful of wheat and blue butterfly wings, mixing them easily into a healing potion. He added some sugar for flavor, for he was never able to get past the horrid taste of the foul-smelling and tasting potions.

He knew that invisibility potions would be nearly impossible to acquire during the actual fight, because there was a large chance there would be no chaurus or ice-wraith in the arena. Even if there were, there was no way he would go near a beast as frightening as they. There would be a great possibility of dartwing and namira's rot if it was in a forest setting, so fear poisons would be of abundance in his small, unlethal arsenal of brews. He finished with the alchemy lab, impressing a high-elf with his advanced knowledge of the alchemical world, returning to the training grounds and watching the physically able contestants train with blades.

Urth wouldn't last a moment with a blade, so he watched a redguard who seemed to know what he was doing. He got into a fight with a girl who was about his age, pinning her to the ground. Urth would have attempted to do something, but knew not to make enemies to soon, so he waited for the fight to end, watching the girl sit at the dinner table. He walked casually over to her, sitting across from her at the finely made table. "Hi, I'm Urth."

 

[death raider]

J'Olama continued to sit there, anger surging through her body. She was desperate to teach the little Redguard bastard what she was made of, but then she began to question herself, what was she made of? She couldn't fight, brew potions, the only thing she could do was heal, and that was useful, but against, mad headed raving, death filled tributes? The answer was it wasn't and she was quite useless. J'Olama then heard a voice across from her and when she looked up there was a nord who said "Hi, I'm Urth." and J'Olama was happy that someone was being at least a tad decent.
" Hi I'm J'Olama. So er... did you see what happened over there?" J'Olama asked nervously hoping he hadn't because if everyone had seen it then well she was defiantly not going to get much respect from the other tributes.

 

[Star Gazer]

Urth waited for the girl's response, he figured she was still thinking about the fight. Finally she answered, " Hi I'm J'Olama. So er... did you see what happened over there?" Urth nodded, responding "Yes, seems I'm not the only one who is physically inadequate." but quickly scolded himself for being so rude. "Forgive me, I don't know my limits." He said, only then noticing that she was a cut above the average girl. She was pretty, but not his style. He extended a warm hand, expecting a handshake.

 

[death raider]

J'Olama felt so embarrassed that so many had seen her being pushed around by someone four years younger than her. She then heard him make a remark about being physically inadequate which was a true statement for what looked like the both of them. he then said something about not knowing his limits and this caused J'Olama to give a chuckle of laughter before shaking his hand in return.
" So did you volunteer or chosen? I volunteered as i heard about the money involved and well my family are so poor I was willing to do anything to help them," J'Olama said choking up at the end, remembering her family and the way they were so devastated by her departure.

 

[Star Gazer]

Urth thanked his lucky stars that J'Olama wasn't offended by his remark, and actually gave a friendly laugh. She took his hand, and Urth noticed she wasn't shaking as badly as he was. He was shaking uncontrollably as he was torn back to the reality that he was probably going to die over the span of the next few days. He drifted off, not paying attention. " So did you volunteer or chosen? I volunteered as i heard about the money involved and well my family are so poor I was willing to do anything to help them," She said, bringing Urth back to full consciousness. "Chosen... I don't need the money. It seems my privileged life has defeated me. I have not had to work for much in my life, rendering me helpless when it comes to fighting or anything requiring strength. The only thing I can use to my aid is my knowledge of brewing potions. You good at anything?" He asked her.

 

[Osiris]

Azog saw two of the Poor Tributes conversing, and got up to go back to training, he wanted to go home, he had no desire to harm the other tributes, they had done him no harm. "Damn the Dominion, they take too much pleasure in destroying lives.," He thought to himself. He re-entered the training grounds, spotting another Tribute, a Dark Elf, his name being Valar if he remembered right, he meet him on the ship to the Isles. "Hey Dark Elf, would you like to spar?" the Orc asked, setting his weapon down, he wanted to vent his anger at the Thalmor, but this Dunmer would have to do. Besides, Dark Elves were stronger than most races, and it would be an excellent challenge to engage in hand to hand combat with the purple elf. Azog wasn't unusually big, but he was a little more resilient than alot of his kin. "No weapons, I want to test the famous Dark Elf strength for myself," He smirked, confident that his Brute Orc strength would win him in his fisticuffs duel.

 

[Lady Imp]

Arielle was suddenly exhausted. She wandered away from the dummy, sword trailing behind her as she found an empty spot at the end of a table. She sat and watched the others chat, listening in on their conversation, hoping to find a place where she could interject a thought or two. Instead, she overanalysed everything that she thought she could say, and frequently found herself two topics behind the raconteurs. She looked around the room nervously, hoping to find someone as frightened as her, but her fear narrowed her view and she found no one. She continued to sit at the bench in silence, hoping for someone to approach her, stirring her porridge in her bowl and making eye contact with no one.

 

[death raider]

J'Olama looked at Urth as he told her that he had, had a privileged life and it angered her that she thought he was the same as her. Urth then asked if she was good at anything and J'Olama was unsure of what to say. I f she told him then he would know what she was good at and she didn't know much, but to tell the people who were going to kill you your strengths and weaknesses seemed pretty stupid so J'Olama just replied with a simple shake of her head. J'Olama then looked up the table to see a girl sitting on her own, and the girl looked even more scared than herself and it pained her to see someone like this.
"Hey you girl, come over here," J'Olama said as friendly as possible.

 

[Osiris]

The elf remained silent, to which the Orc shrugged off and continued training on his own. After a few hours, the exhausted warrior returned to the dining hall and saw familiar faces, though he had yet to formally meet them. He wasn't usually extremely sociable, not that many Orcs were, it was just the way it was..Orcs were seen as Brutal Fighters, but also as evil beings and pillagers, not the most desirable. The Thalmor used this as an excuse to taunt the Orc, their arrogance blinding them to the fact that the Orcs were once Aldmer themselves, but that was another story.

 

[Lady Imp]

"Hey you girl, come over here." Arielle looked down the table to make sure that she was in fact the one that the Khajiit was talking to. Upon realising that she was sitting at the end of the table and there was no one else for the cat to be talking to, she picked up her bowl and joined the feline and her Nordic companion. "Hi," she said shyly, eyes cast upon the table, "I'm Arielle. I'm from Skyrim. Well, Windhelm, to be exact. My Papa is a warrior. He thinks these games will be good to build my character. He says I'm of a weepy disposition, whatever that means..." Arielle allowed herself to trail off, realising she was babbling and not allowing her companions a chance to get a word in edgewise. In an attempt to allow them to contribute to the conversation, she asked "what's your names?"

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Rjok woke up in his cell when a bright light got inside by the door being opened by a high elf. "Your rest is over orc, go outside and practice to the games!" He got up dizzy and tried to remember what happened before he was taken there. He remembered being in his stronghold Argabur (may I create a fifth stronghold? if not I will put him in an existant one) practicing to kill his father and take his place, when a siege took place and the thalmor took it over and captured him. he had been there for two days only eating in the dark. When he was being carried in the wagon, the thalmor explained his destiny in the games. He knew exactly what was going to happen. "Either I die, or someone else does... Time to make my kind glorious!"
He missed having his heavy armor with him. Only rags and a practice wooden hammer so far. Nothing compared to his fierce former weaponry.

 

[death raider]

J'Olama looked at the girl and gave her a wide grin, for the girl didn't seem to be as nervous as it once seemed, as the girl was babbling on about her papa, which caused J'Olama to choke a bit more, as she remembered her own father. J'Olama then watched as the girl stopped and asked what their names were.
"My name is J'Olama, and this is Urth, now Arielle how old are you?" J'Olama asked wanting to know how old her potential ally was. J'Olama saw both Urth and Arielle to be potential allies as they were all probably useless at fighting and probably all going to die first.

 

[Captain Nagisus]

Nagisus picked up another training spear, throwing the one he had just snapped after too much training, and continued hitting the straw training dummies. He practiced every possible way of killing them - smashing them over the head, stabbing, slashing, bashing. He continued this until his spear snapped in two. Not wrapping his hands in any bandages or protective wear, he then proceeded to punch the dummies until he was completely out of breath. Eventually, he managed to splinter the wood to the point where one dummy was decapitated. He then merely grunted and started lifting some heavy objects.

Still lifting a hefty weight, he walked over to Artemis.
"Hello there young woman. You seem to be the nicest of this massive cluster of kids and pompous bastards, so I thought I would greet you and let you know that you'll be the last person in this horrible mess that I murder brutally. Take that as a compliment."

 

[Osiris]

Azog was throwing punches at a training dummy when he spotted another Orc walking into the training room. "Gods be praised, I knew I wasn't the only one!" He remained calm, though on the inside he was very excited to find a member of his kin. He walked over to Rjok, sizing up the Orc to himself. "Its good to see a familiar face, so far from home." He introduced himself,"I am called Azog gro-Kazaar, what is your title?" He awaited a response, eager to hear what his Orcish kin called himself, If he was somewhat friendly, he would make an excellent sparring partner.

 

[Boudica]

Nathan had tired himself sometime the previous night. He had stood and looked through the tiny opening that served as a window in his dingy little cell, through the iron bars, and he had stared forlornly at the moon and the whispering trees outside.

They were denied to him and he had tried to recover them...by jumping to the window and pulling on the crude metal that felt foreign and alien in his hands. The bars had given a little but his grip failed and he plummeted back down onto the damp floor; his back battered and the strewn hay scratching his skin. He had moved himself into a seated position in the farthest corner and rested his aching frame against the cold walls; eyes remaining open and his hands resting on the knees of his crossed legs. Casting a picture of such patience intimidated the guards that patrolled outside...they caught a glimpse of those unnaturally light eyes, seemingly unblinking, staring at them through the darkness, and they skittered like yellow skinned spiders.

The next day had dawned and he was still in his corner, dirt ridden, eyes open and still as a couple of guards entered the cell; hands on the hilts of their weapons as they gingerly stepped over the threshold. Nathan appeared unresponsive and so they hit on the metal bars and his jerked awake.
He had slept with his eyes fully open.
Moving to his feet in a dignified manner, as he stepped forward he could smell the perspiration on the skin of his watchmen.
Pathetic.
But he knew the rules, knew the stakes so having a little fun by giving a little half snarl to the Altmer on the left gave him a little morning satisfaction.

Cracking his bones and stretching his muscles, he ate first. Ignoring the fruit and the bits of vegetation, he went straight for the meat (purposefully left uncooked so as to taunt hungry competitors). The rawness did not deter the wolf man and he managed to get a few large bites of the bloody haunch before he was escorted from the food room; blood dripping down his chin and staining his teeth.
He was planning on becoming more trouble than he was worth.

Being pushed out into the training yard was startling. The brightness of the lights blinded him and he staggered a little; shielding his eyes to protect them from the sudden shock of overpowering light. He concluded he had been in that small room for far too long for his keen eyes to be this unadjusted. In fact, he had to sit a little and duck his head between his knees; allowing him to rub his eyes to rid them of the bleary film that had covered them during the long period of darkness in which he had lurked.
He hoped for clouds, big, fat, stormy clouds, and rain, cleansing, cold drops...he wanted something familiar in amidst this court of aliens...
But that would be showing weakness...and when he saw a few Altmer 'masters' observing from their boxes, he gritted his teeth in defiance and walked into range of a wooden dummy. Nathan shunned the weaponry on offer and launched straight at the poor wood and cloth dummy with speed and ferocity.

He brought his hands down at the weak joints which kept the arms on the main torso, and snapped them clean off. Then, he jumped onto the poor wooden contraption and, bracing his bare feet on the 'shoulders', used that as leverage and tore the head clean off.

Then he hopped off (holding the head still) and retreated from the wobbling training doll; only to throw the wooden ball at the body and sent it whirling and shaking with gusto as the head hit with force.
Okay...he'll admit, that was fun....he could do that all day...decapitate dummies, maybe even beat them into splinters with the severed stumps that passed for arms.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

"Nice to meet a decent soul around this damned Thalmor! I am Rjok! I couldn't spell or write my last name so it remained like this. Rjok. So, Azog, how long have you been in this awful place? And how many do you intend to take down before the elves slaughter you ruthlessly just like they did to my stronghold?" Rjok smiled. The lonelyness had been extreme the last days. His father was killed, along with all his family, by some despicable magic-practicing elves! Finally someone of his kind showed up. "Do you... know where they keep our gear? They can' expect us to fight with wood, can they?"