Skingrad Syndicate

[Psy]

The Syndicate is a slowly emerging criminal organization throughout Cyrodil. This is just the Skingrad branch.

[Lan]

When Trever stepped into the bare alley way, Lan knew he couldn't sneak behind him.
So he grabbed on to a window ledge and hauled himself on top of a building and followed him from above. He was surprised at how rarely people ever looked up.

[Psy]

Trevor

The redguard scanned the alley closely. Finally, satisfied that nobody was following him, he lifted the sewer grate and stepped down. Inside, it was pitch black. There was no illumination. Trevor sighed. He had found such security measures excessive, but nonetheless, it couldn't hurt too much. Producing a small potion, he popped open the cork and took a sip, before placing the cork back in. His eyes experienced a strange sensation, and after a few seconds, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and located the door. He entered without bothering to check behind him, confident that he had no followers.

"Name & rank," a grating voice spoke from one of the walls," Now."
"Trevor, confidant," he said, and then without waiting for an answer, he continued to walk down the hallway.

Raj'hent

The kajiht had already downed his first mug of ale. He hissed. Trevor knew he disliked waiting well. Just as he was about to leave, the door creaked open, and Trevor entered, seemingly somewhat dishevelled, entered. Raj'hent's look of impatience turned to annoyance as he approaches Trevor.

"Well, your money's here," Trevor said, popping a pouch into Raj'hent's paws," Sorry for the wait. I had some business to attend to."

[Lan]

Lan hopped off of the roof and onto the ground. He walked up to the city guard tower and smartly rapped on the door. After a few moments he heard footsteps comeing up to the door and someone fumbling with keys. The door swung open abrubtly and in it stood a somewhat pudgy man in armor with a longsword at his hip. He had a moustache and was balding slightly.
"Can I help you, traveller?" The man huffed as if he had important business to attend to. The guard did a double take when he saw Lan's cloth under the deep cowl of his robe.

"Yes, I'd like to report a criminal, I last saw him climb into a sewer grate at the end of that alley. He pointed to where he had just been. The guard was more alert now that crime was involved. "Criminal , you say?"
Lan nodded. "Alright," Then, shouting back into the room he said, "Card game is over fellahs, we got ourselves some criminals to catch!" The clanking of armor came from the room and four scruffy looking men stumbled out, squinting at the sun, annoyed that their card game had been interrupted. Two had bows and the others had longswords like the captain.(or, at least, Lan assumed he was the captain.)
Grumbling, they filed in and awaited orders. Lan knew that the criminals would probably get away, but the guards might catch one. It's not like he could storm the hideout himself.
((and yes, you may kill them as they make their way down the hall.))

[Psy]

Most of guards themselves were no better than common street thugs who've gotten themselves a job, and the only one who looked passably honest was the captain. The little fellow in the corner didn't exist for all anyone cared. However, all the sames, the men agreed grudgingly to the orders, and the party of half-a-dozen soldiers headed towards the alley. Eric, the only one in-uniform, and gripping his spear tentatively, used the best of his efforts to keep up with the rest of the party.
"So, this is the grate, hn,?" The captain snorted, taking a glance towards Lan," Well, I don't really see anythin' wrong with this here alley. We'll take a glance down, although I doubt your words, stranger."
I feel like we're being watched, Eric tensed as the others in the party relaxed, And here... It seems like someone's taking care to keep this place relatively clean.

-

"Hm?" The lookout spied the party of seven, including Lan, from miles away," They know of our location...? I didn't think that they'd be onto us so quickly."

Taking a glance at the other sentry, making sure he was staying at his post, he rushed downstairs to tell Trevor about the party of people. Trevor was in charge of recruiting, but as Kalec was out, Trevor was the third-highest ranked man in Skingrad. The lookout sighed. The intruders probably wouldn't get any further than the sewers, though, or at worst, they'll reach the hallway before dying quick, bloody deaths.

-

"It's pitch black down 'ere," the guard captain muttered a string of curses," 'Ey, stranger. You got anyway to see?"

[Lan]

((i didn't go with them.))

[Psy]

When the captain looked, he found nobody, and nobody replied. The darned stranger had run off to who-knows-where, and the captain wasn't happy about it at all. Down in the dark, with no source of light, he was considering calling the expedition party back. Heck, they didn't even know if this 'syndicate' existed - all they were doing was basing their beliefs on a rugged looking adventurer who happened to be passing by. And nobody said that adventurers were particularly honest in any way.

"Ungh," he groaned," oh fiddlesticks it all!"
"Uh, sir," Eric began tentatively,"if I may..."
"Go ahead," the captain growled,"If there isn't this criminal organization down here..."
"Well, sir," Eric still talked in a nervous tone,"I had the foresight to bring a few torches with me."

Eric hesitated, waiting for a reaction.

"Well, why didn't you say so earlier, boy!?" The captain shouted in what seemed to be relief,"Give me one, and we'll see what we can find."

The young recruit handed the captain the torch, who promptly lighted it with a curious looking device. The party began to search for anything. Doors, traps, and even strange looking rocks were inspected. Eric himself held a torch, and began scanning the mold-ridden walls. Several times, he thought he saw something on the corner of his eye, but when he looked, there was nothing there. Then, he saw it. The almost unseen shimmer of magic that his seeking eyes had bypassed every time.
An illusion.
Slowly. Cautiously. Eric approached the portion of the wall, motioning to everyone else that he had found something. Something that could possibly lead to what they were searching for. He reached out, and instead of the cold, stone, and somewhat slimy stone, his palm felt the grainy texture of wood. Then, the illusion disappeared, and revealed what it was meant to hide. A simple, wooden planked door. His gaze seeked the captain, and when they found him, Eric dropped his eyes.

"Good job," the captain had said gruffly,"Move in, boys!"

The man placed a hand on the doorknob, turned it, and swung it open. Then they walked in. Into a seemingly deserted corridor.

Then, everything happened too quickly. So quickly that it overrode Eric's senses.

A flurry of metal. Screams. Shouts. Curses. Sprays of blood. He saw the people in front of him go down, gleaming metal sticking out of their bodies in odd positions. Some stopped moving. Others were twitching horribly, screaming wordless curses to whomever would listen. He felt a pain in his stomach. Not a sharp pain, but a dull, throbbing one. He saw the ground rise to meet him. Odd. Cobblestone floors don't usually do that. Someone screamed.
He screamed.

Then, reality caught up far too quickly.

A sharp, jolting pain shot through his body, making him gasp, but instead of air, the taste of salty blood was prominent in his mouth. His blood. He let out another pained yell, primal, desperate. He heard footsteps, but he couldn't raise his head to look. He couldn't feel his legs. He couldn't move at all, and he felt blood pool underneath him.

"Are they still alive?"
"I don't kno..."

Eric's head was swimming, yet the sensation of pain was still all too present. And then he blacked out.

[Psy]

It wasn't blackness. No. It was rather, an endless, colourless, formless void, but he was aware - oh, so very aware - of the strange patterns forming and unforming in the strange plane. His senses were muted, and even though he felt his eyes open, they saw nothing. Nothing at all which he recognized. Did he even exist? Who was he to say that the fragile thread that held him to be still remained there? It was a dizzying prospect. A confusing, otherworldly, and strange one, but above all, it was frightening. If one could be frightened in the swirling mist of nothing. He couldn't feel his body - if he still had one.

"Is this what they call afterlife?"

He thought. No - he said it out loud. His body was still there, yet none of his other limbs responded. Dead weight. On top of that, it was cold. There was a wind blowing, and like a plague that festered in a town, in the corner of his mind, a red blotch of hurt blossomed, and he jerked suddenly, letting out a muffled scream, opening his eyes. The illusion was gone. The illusion of nothingness was gone - and all of a sudden, the jarring pain from his injuries returned as reality took hold again. He heard people muttering, but his eyes saw nothing.

Rather, someone had tied a blindfold to cover his eyes, which was tied uncomfortably tight, and plugging his mouth was a peice of dirty cloth with the metallic taste of blood contaminating it. Eric had a good idea of who's blood it was. None of his limbs could work too. His hands were tied behind a plank of wood with an unneccesarily tight knot, as were his feet. His torso & stomach area were also secured tightly with rope to it, to his great dismay. He was propped up in a sitting position - a chair, most likely.

He knew nothing else but to sit there fighting the urge to urinate where he sat, and the white-hot sensation threatening to overwhelm him again.

[Psy]

"He looks to be little more than a runt," Mercedes advanced cautiously," Do you truly think he can tell us anything at all? From the way he's looking right now, I doubt he could survive for much longer in these conditions. Muffling his senses serves a pointless purpose, I believe."

The aged Breton regarded their prisoner with some disgust, along with a good degree of curiosity. How the usually incompetent Skingrad guards could've found them so quickly & effectively was a mystery. The sudden intrusion was as unexpected as a summer snow, and it was dealt with in the Syndicate’s way; quickly, and severely. However, it was a little too severe for Mercedes’ liking. It was pure luck that they had found one alive, although barely alive at that. It took a good deal of convincing on his part to be granted permission to perform small acts of healing on the battered body.

Although Eric did not know of it, he had been treated in a bed, before being moved to the chair after the old Breton was satisfied that he didn’t die during interrogation on his own. Naturally, his colleagues didn’t appreciate his work. Mercedes sighed – his was a personality truly not suited for working with such a shady & underground corporation, but whenever he approached her about it, his doubts, fears, and concerns were quickly assuaged. Mercedes watched silently as their little Imperial prisoner woke up.

“He wakes,” Trog said gruffly, ignoring the previous statement altogether,” The way he moves is different now.”
“He has had a fitful dream,” the Breton shrugged,” At least now I can see his chest rises and falls systematically.”
“The dreams of a prisoner are none of our concern,” Trog was quick to pounce,” Only the intelligence he could possibly provide us.”
“Which, I’m sure, an orc has plenty of use for,” Mercedes shrugged, yet the grin could not be fully hid,” Begging your pardon, of course.”
“Hmph,” Shooting Mercedes a venomous look, Trog returned to observing the prisoner,” He’s reacting better than I expected,” he said after a pause,” Or it could just be the restraints we’ve put on him.”

Both Breton & Orc lounged casually in a padded chair, along with a Redguard. A soldier stood behind each chair in a strict position, betraying no emotion as their betters talked. Both the Orc & the Breton’s eyes flickered to the Redguard every now and again. She had no spoken for the better part of three hours, yet her presence in the room was felt by everyone there. Mercedes sighed – he had no idea how he had ended up watching the prisoner, but it was a somewhat welcome break from the intrigue he was usually suspect to.

“So, what d’you think we’re going to do with him?” Trog started again,” It’s not like he’s much of a threat anymore.”
“Oh,” Mercedes & Trog stiffened visible as the feminine voice rang through the room,” Interrogation, I suspect. All the usual – hopefully not so much blood this time, though.”

She smiled sweetly as she said the piece, treating it as a piece of local gossip. A chill went up Mercedes’ spine as he nodded gravely to the words. Trog had showed no reaction whatsoever, although the old Breton was sure that somewhere in that Orcish brain of his, he recognized the complete ruthlessness the woman had just demonstrated – all with just a few, short words.

[Arissa Warrner]

((wow thats good, thats really good))