Cyrodiil: A Poison Crown — Blue Skooma archive

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Meriel operates as an Eye of the Queen through what are commonly known as "Letters of Reprisal," which legalize piracy and other acts during a time of war. She's had several in the past and has recently received another one after it got around that she was now living in Woodhearth and working with the Blue Skooma Company.

Her current letter authorizes her to smuggle skooma into Cyrodiil and see that it falls into enemy hands, with the intent that it should weaken the battle readiness of the soldiers of the Pact and the Covenant. And any Imperials still standing.

In that pursuit, Meriel will organize groups to engage in small scale battles close to enemy lands. Those who wish to join her should:

1. Smuggle 'Skooma' into Cyrodiil- labeled as some other drink. Sell it at the Victory Tavern.
2. Have a horse, some Grand Soul Gems filled, some health pots.

On the one hand, we have a Letter of Reprisal. Or rather, Meriel has one. If it would protect anyone else who got caught smuggling skooma, or selling to the enemy, that's up for debate. On the other hand, we have the mystery of why informants for the Eyes are getting rounded up and what the Imperials are doing with them. And who is employing the Mercenaries these days.

We can do any number of things, depending on what's going on: PvP, PvE, visit some of the towns, sky shard hunt. Don't forget to pick up your daily quests from the boards at the East Gate. Last I checked, the tutorial quest was bugged so I recommend that you skip it unless you hear it's been fixed.

In order to get us grouped together, you can add me in-game @odd111out.

The current campaign is Auriel's Bow, which looks quite exciting right now.

I am almost always in Cyrodiil, and if I'm there I am available to RP. :D

Victory Tavern:

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The Poison Crown: A Letter of Reprisal

Meriel smelled only the harsh scent of horse urine where she lay face down in the dirt. She knew the Imperials were there now, had known when she paused on the trial while hunting deer. The tents had been grey and colored by rot, but they had been tied down by laces to keep from making noise in the wind. Noise to hide the noises which sentries listen against. Imperial legions had learned this trick from Bosmer recruits, and in even in the northern marshes of Valenwood, no Bosmer slept in a tent.

After she'd taken a stray arrow through the leg and been beaten within an inch of her life, Meriel had spent all night watching them bury their dead and shift into their own Imperial gear. The old brigand armor they tossed in the camp's midden pit. What had brought them here from Cyrodiil must be close and she doubted they intended to take her along.

That was when they had dragged out the other two prisoners and lead out an unruly wild stallion. The two men she recognized from her time in the ranks of the Dominion. But they were no soldiers, merely a blacksmith and someone she vaguely recognized from a Cyrodiil town. The stallion was dirty and frothing with his own sweat, rolling his eyes and snapping at any hand he could see.

They dragged the girl away first and she offered no resistance. The soldiers simply tied her to the back of the errant horse and let go of his bridle. The stallion immediately flipped over backwards, rolled to one side and flipped again in his desperation to rid himself of his passenger. The girl did not die at once but she did soon enough.

Beside Meriel, the man mumbled in terror and jerked one foot up into her likely broken ribs. Through the red veil of pain, she realized that he was pointing at the sole of his boot with his bound hands. She only barely managed to yank free the blade and palm it before the soldiers too dragged him away.

Her turn at least involved some questioning. Who else is on the road? Who will miss you when you do not return? So they did not recognize her, or her them to be truthful, and this wasn't personal. But what would follow would be so very deeply so.

They strapped her into the bloody saddle while the stallion managed to roll and eye back at her. For once, Meriel was out of her element. She had been born on islands and sailed the oceans for over a hundred years. All her experiences with horses came from the trained war horses of the Dominion, smooth and white and calm. They did not, as a rule, really want to kill you.

Meriel had made sure she dropped limp in the saddle with her arms dangling down. She had noted that the soldiers were inclined to merely tie you to the part of the saddle the prisoner was pressed against, so she reached down and grabbed the girth that held the saddle to the horse.

As all the Imperial eyes turned toward the soldiers holding the bridle, Meriel drew the small knife and put the blade to her rope. As the Imperials let go of the stallion, she loosened the girth holding the saddle. Her weight dragged her down and under the belly of the horse. And then the sky began to tumble around her.

Nine times. Finally, the horse sprang up on its hooves and gave it up, panting and rolling its eyes. And Meriel stuck it in the side with the knife. The camp rapidly disappeared from view, with the shouts and arrows of the soldiers falling behind.

Meriel let the stallion run until his strength gave out and he went in search of water. And it was there that an old friend brought her own horse down off the road to join the runaways by the edge of the stream. The Bosmer had mostly cut herself off the stallion, who seemed to have decided at this point to ignore her.

Over tea and rotmeth, Meriel recounted her mishap. She took care to describe the other two prisoners in as much detail as she could remember. The other looked off into the forest, back the way Meriel had ridden.

'Ours then,' Meriel said. 'Eyes.'

'No. No. They knew how to listen. From both I heard more of your... duties... than you often bothered to put in reports.'

Meriel tried to remember how often she had bothered with those reports. Then shrugged. 'I was still not the prey of those soldiers. And they were a long way from their City.'

'Do you mean to go back?'

'Let the Green eat well this time. And not what you want, but what does our old friend want?'

If the other Eye had been fishing for more, or an invitation, or a dance... Meriel couldn't say. But the disappointment, that she could read. She caught the parchment as it was tossed to her and smoothed the scroll out on her knees.

She did not look up as soon as she was done.

'You know the 'goods' that you are asked to deliver.'

'None to Cyrodiil conquests. That bars only the Keeps and farms we hold there. Not here. Not the Isles.' She glanced across the fire. 'Walk into a Dagger camp and simply sell the stuff?'

'You have surrounded yourself with experts on that business. Or perhaps it will not go to waste if it were to be left behind when a simple farm were to fall to the enemy. Soldiers get paid little and your product sells well, even if it is not to personal taste.'

Or hers, Meriel understood.

'Cyrodiil changed even if the war has not. Mercenaries have vanished. New daedra have been found. And our foes are grown so very bold in these days. All they look for is a way to celebrate their certain victory. Perhaps your goods will help them with this, or perhaps you will fail again.'

'The Queen agreed to this?'

Meriel got her answer and looked away. Rolling the scroll up, she left without a word and with the feeling of a rough rope against the skin of her neck. The horse, oddly enough, elected to follow.