Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5583506-20160602184114/@comment-5583506-20160606235502

(Time to introduce an old devil into the plot.)

The headquarters of the Mournhold Society was located in the center of the bustling town that was Morrowind's capital. One could easily tell that this place hadn't been originally created out of passion or patriotism. It had been created out of vanity. Coins upon coins of gold had been laid down just to make the building seem flawless and shining. If people didn't know how to distinguish gold from marble one would have assumed that the headquarters had been constructed from just about any currency.

The buildin was tall and wide, with several courtyards and a plaza at the front which connected the area to the market district of the town. Beggars and commoners not dressed properly were kept off the grounds by the many guards patrolling the area. Well-groomed juniper trees were lined up along the white cobblestones that encaged the area. A fountain in the center of the plaza depicted the Nerevarine fighting Dagoth Ur. To feed the ego of the true patriots the Nerevarine had been sculpted in the likeness of a Dunmer, seeing as all historical sources couldn't quite make up for certain just which race the Nerevarine had belonged to.

The main building was several stories tall, supported by fine carved wooden beams and pillars, polished so hard that they literally reflected the sun. Their lush brown combined with the white shimmer of the marble stairs just made the headquarters of the Mournhold Society seem as a palace taken from some sort of fairy-tale. Many knew however, that the people running the whole place, were anything but taken from a fairy-tale.

The Mournhold Society consisted of men and women, the wealthiest nobles Morrowind had to offer. And their sole interests were Dunmer interests and Dunmer interests only. They denied any connections to the Camonna Tong, even though it was obvious that their opinions which were borderline extremist couldn't have come from anywhere else. The "company" as many preferred to refer them as had as many friends in higher and lower places as they had flaws. Everyone was living in its shadow, though few would dare to admit it.

And now they had received a very special guest. Having heard of their guest's previous achievements, they had called upon him the moment he had entered town, whereas afterwards he had been escorted to the headquarters of the company by two fully armored Dunmer. There could be no argument. When the Mournhold Society called, one did well to answer that call, no matter which race one belonged to. If one was summoned, one could only assume that it was a matter of getting some good amount of gold into the pocket... for the sake of carrying out a favor, of course. Whereas the favor could range from anything between lawful and illegal. If one failed them or wronged them... there would be no more summons. Why summon the dead?

This special guest had just arrived into the council chamber of the board: the most powerful men and women in all of Morrowind were there... and they all observed the white-haired man cautiously from the crecent-shaped table.

"I see you finally arrived to answer our summons, mister... Geralt? Am I right?" asked a Dunmer in an exquisite Telvanni robe.