The Elder Scrolls RP: The 4th Era[IC,OPEN]

[The blood ravens]

A blades member sees the slaughter of the Thalmor, and promptly reports it to the grandmaster. The grandmaster decides to launch an attack on the stormcloaks from the inside, and take the city to make up for their wavering loyalty to the Empire. Slowly the blades operatives get into position for the strike.

[Rightful Revolution]

"I have no qualms with you or your people, we both have dealt with the trials of securing our people a homeland. I would see no harm in allying with your city, if you can help provide me with the resources to bring my people henceforth from the mountains to give us a home," Payt responded, his eyes now level with his counterpart.

"So what do you propose?"
Jerick thought that the man could be useful. As an ally and a friend.

At the fort repairs were being made to the broken sections of the walls and many were being reconstructed. Soon the fort would be back in it's glory and be fully operational.

"I need a staging base; a temporary home for my people. Our monasteries in the mountains are equipped with only the barest of necessities, so we have essentially null resources to draw from. Give us a place to rest, plan, and thrive. It is critical the Imperials or the Nords do not ruin our last hope at survival!"

[Valentir]

Windhelm, Eastmarch, Stormcloak lands
Victoria and her company of 30 approached the gates of Windhelm. They entered the gloomy grey city covered in the snows of Skyrim. Braziers lit the streets and people breathed into their hands to keep them warm. The guard patrolled and were cautious at such a large group entering the city. One man, a boy of 18, was sent to get the contingent outside the city ready as Victoria would assassinate Ulfric. Victoria told most of her men to wait in the Candlehearth Hall until she got back. They drank merely were content to wait for her orders. Victoria and Jack proceeded to walk up to the Palace of the Kings. The guards opened the doors for them and they walked up to Ulfric's throne, where he sat talking to his advisors. She walked up to Ulfric, chest up, head held high, and her features perfectly clear to him. She walked up the stairs and was so close to him they could feel each other's breath. "Hello Ulfric, Me and my mercs are here to join the Stormcloaks."...................

[The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness]

Ulfric sat on his throne as the woman approached him. He could feel her breath clearly, when she said she wanted to join the Stormcloaks. She looked good. Very good indeed.
'Are you truly?'

Ildoni Amatius, Falkreath

Everyone was celebrating. Nobody had died, save for the Thalmor. Everyone was celebrating. Save for Ildoni. He just sat near the gate. The voices. The voices. They echoed through his head. Called out to him. Every damn second. His name. That he had to come. The voices came from the graveyard.Ildoni had withstood going there for several hours, since the voices started calling him. He couldn't bear it, not any longer. He walked towards Falkreath's immense graveyard, and saw lights coming from a certain stone. The voices grew louder. Ildoni walked towards the stone, and looked at it. There was a face on it, carved into the stone. It moved.
'Well, looks like we meet again!'
The face said.
Damn it. Not funny. Not funny.
'Lord Sheogorath, so we do..'

[Pavlostani]

Valtheim Towers
Skyrim
Tamriel

Pavel Stronghammer woke at the twin bandit towers he had captured the other night.

"Piss and hell." He muttered to the dead bandits, whom he had dragged over a waterfall, squinting into the light. Stronghammer walked across the stone bridge connecting the two towers and began the short walk to Whiterun. He was a fearsome sight with his ax and shield but it was his eyes of steel that struck terror into the hearts of his enemies. He glanced back once at his new home, and felt the odd feeling that he would not return for some time. He shook the feeling off, and continued to the city.

Whiterun

Stronghammer sat down in the inn and looked around.

"Rotgut." He said. The bartender handed over the mead and he paid. Pavel took a long swig from his bottle and felt the burning sensation in his gut. There really was no mead like the rotgut, he thought.

"Excuse me?" He asked the bartender.

"Eh?" She asked.

"Where might I find Lyanna Stronghammer?" He asked.

"Lyanna? I haven't seen 'er for months." The bartender shrugged and walked away.

"Excuse me, did you ask about Lyanna Stronghammer?" A city guard asked him.

"Yeah. Who the hell are you?" Pavel asked.

"I'm called Tymin Blackwater." The guard said.

"Well, Mr. Blackwater, where might I find Lyanna. She's my sister, I've been searching for her since she went missing." Stronghammer said.

"There's tale of a Nord woman who was taken south after the Thalmor Invasion." Blackwater said.

"Tell me!" Stronghammer insisted.

"She was said to have lovely brown hair and blue eyes. She was taken from Chorol in Cyrodil." Blackwater said. Stronghammer turned pale.

"No." He whispered.

"But there's another tale that the Thalmor were waylaid on their way south, and she was taken back north, to Skyrim." Blackwater told him.

"Where in Skyrim! Who waylaid them?" Stronghammer demanded.

"You're not going to like it." Blackwater warned.

"Who!" Stronghammer demanded.

"Orcs." The guard told him.

Stronghammer's heart almost stopped.

"Do we know where she was taken?" He asked.

"Somewhere in the mountains." Blackwater said.

"I have to find her." Stronghammer slumped in defeat.

"As my duty as a city guard, I'll accompany you." Blackwater comforted Pavel.

"You? Alright. But you're not a warrior, are you? Just a guard?" Pavel asked.

"Just a guard? Ha! No, I used to be an adventurer like you. Then I took an arrow in the knee." Blackwater said with a straight face.

[Valentir]

Palace of Kings, Windhelm, Eastmarch
"Yes, I am." Said Victoria. She took his hand and led him to his bedroom, "We can discuss it more in your bedchambers." Victoria and Ulfric walked to his bed chamber. They got undressed and began to kiss. Victoria's evil plan was working well and they spent the night together. At this time Jack went to the Inn to prepare the men. He also went and told the legionaries outside to begin reading their weapons. Jack also bribed the guards at the gate to leave it unguarded. Now with all the pieces in place it was up to Victoria it finish off Ulfric. It would be awhile before the time came but finally happen. The rebellion would be crushed. Down in the Candlehearth Hall Jack and his men were drinking, laughing about the times to come. They drank merely and ate the fine food that the Hall had to offer. Their time to take down the rebellion would be soon.......

Victoria lay next to Ulfric who was sound asleep. His arm was around her and he slept like a baby. The time was now. Victoria got up and began to get dressed. She put her armour on and equipped her weapons. It was at this time she went over and grab an axe hanging on Ulfric's wall. She walked over to him and began to ready the axe. But then a thought hit her. A man such as Ulfric does not deserve to die in asleep. No he deserved by public execution. General Tullius would get his head. But not after she would use Ulfric as a sign to spread fear into Windhelm. So she grabbed some rope and tied him to his bed. She threw any sharp objects over to a corner in the room and tied Ulfric down fully. She gagged him and then began to leave the room. She put some furniture in front of the door and proceed to exit the bedchamber. She went down to the tavern and got her men ready. The company went into the Palace and waited for her. She walked into the Palace herself and readied her bow. She drew an arrow and aimed one of the guards. He looked at her and drew his axe but it was too late. She fired and the arrow pierced his breast. It was at this moment fighting began all over the Palace. Her men began to cut down the Stormcloak soldiers and the men outside charged into the city via the unguarded gates. The Fall of Windhelm and the Rise of Jarl Victoria was upon them..................

[Pavlostani]

Whiterun Hold
Skyrim


Stronghammer donned the armor that Blackwater had procured.

"Nice." He muttered.

"A merchant traveled by here claiming to know of an orc band nearby." Blackwater said.

"Well, let's go find him." Stronghammer suggested.

The two walked down the road and stopped when they heard cries. They quickly broke into a brisk run and turned a corner around a hill to see several Imperial soldiers attacking a band of warriors trying to hold their own.

"Damn!" Stronghammer yelped, looking at the fray.

"There's the merchant! Shit..." Blackwater sighed. Stronghammer ran towards the battle and rammed his blade through the armor of an Imperial soldier, then spun and deflected a sword stroke from another. The Imperial looked into Stronghammer's eyes, and thrusted his blade. Stronghammer twisted and felt the sword bounce off his armor. He then swung and beheaded the soldier. He turned to the last Imperial, who kicked Stronghammer down. The Nord scrambled for his sword when the Imperial put his foot on Stronghammer's back, and lifted his sword from the kill. Suddenly, an arrow sprouted from the Imperial's mouth and he fell dead.

Pavs shivered, knowing how close he had come to death. Blackwater ran up carrying the longbow that had done the deed.

"Are you alright my friend?" He asked, crouching down.

"Are we friends? Or associates?" Pavs asked.

"Good question." Blackwater stood up and turned to the Stormcloaks.

"My associate and I are looking for Lyanna Stronghammer. We believe she was taken by a group of Orcs and is somewhere in Skyrim." He said.

"We haven't seen squat." A short bearded man snapped when a taller, more elegant man rose his hand.

"I know of a band that traveled by here a fortnight ago. They were headed north and had a few prisoners. One was a woman who looked like him." He gestured towards Pavs.

"Lyanna." Blackwater whispered. Pavs shot him a glance.

"Ahem, Lyanna." He said.

"Where north?" Blackwater asked.

"Not sure. Said they were going to the next site." The merchant shrugged.

"Interesting." Pavs mused.

"A pack can't move too quickly. We'll gain on them as we move." Blackwater assured him.

"Yes... what disturbs me is what these orcs are looking for, whatever these sites are." Pavs said.

"The orcs had odd equipment. It didn't look orcish... more metallic." The merchant said.

"Hm." Pavs wondered aloud.

"Northwards, hurry. A pack of Orsimer is hard to lose." Blackwater sprung forwards and the two men restarted their chase.

[Occeania]

Sigurd trudged through the snow north of Burma, his destination was a small concealed position he had made that blended in on the side of the road. He put the knock of an arrow on the string of his hunting bow and crouched to conceal himself. He heard the slow gait of a horse along the trail, north bound. It was a Imperial soldier on horseback, patrolling Cyrodils northern border do to the civil war occuring in Skyrim.

Drawing back his bow as it came closer, his heart began to beat faster. Then his target came into view, Sigurd put the aim of it right in front of the chest of the rider and with a low twack a arrow flew at high speeds from the trees center mass into the Imperial. The horse let out a scream,bucked off the deceased rider and sped off. Sigurd walked to the dead body and retreived the arrow before looking over the dead mans gear. He took any supplies and weapons and was off along the trail northwards.

[The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness]

Windhelm, Imperial Legion

The Imperial Legion charged in through the open gate of Windhelm, eager to take the fight to the Stormcloak traitors.

Ildoni Amatius, Falkreath

Ildoni had much to think about. Not just much, but a lot. Way to many things. WHat the Madgod asked of him, wasn't that a bit too much? He didn't ask though. Nay, the Mad God demanded. Fitting for a God. Ildoni had two options. He could either do it, or he could not do it and face the wrath of an angry immortal.
Both were equally horrible.

[Pavlostani]

-Deleted-

[The blood ravens]

Windhelm, Imperial Legion

The Imperial Legion charged in through the open gate of Windhelm, eager to take the fight to the Stormcloak traitors.

Ildoni Amatius, Falkreath

Ildoni had much to think about. Not just much, but a lot. Way to many things. WHat the Madgod asked of him, wasn't that a bit too much? He didn't ask though. Nay, the Mad God demanded. Fitting for a God. Ildoni had two options. He could either do it, or he could not do it and face the wrath of an angry immortal.
Both were equally horrible.

When they move in they see that the defenders were eother captured or being fought by the blades whom had easily infiltrated the city.

[Pavlostani]

Whiterun
Hold

"Stop." Blackwater rose a hand and the two stopped walking.

"TARGETS, LEFT SIDE!" The two drew their weapons and a blast of electricity coursed through Blackwater.

"Gahh!" The guard fell and Stronghammer spun and and thrust his sword through the Thalmor mage who had cast the spell, then swung his sword and lopped off the other's head. The last Elf cast a spell at Stronghammer and the Nord felt cold pass through his body. Frost! He pushed his way through the cold hail and rammed his blade through the High Elf's mouth.

"Blackwater!" Stronghammer was exhausted, but ran over to his friend. Blackwater's eyes fluttered open.

"Hurt." He mumbled.

"Come on, I'll get you to Whiterun." Stronghammer hoisted Blackwater over his shoulders and began the trek back to Whiterun.

Whiterun

After laying Blackwater down at the Temple of Kynareth, Stronghammer sat down near the Gildergleam and thought. If they could barely defeat the Thalmor there, Skyrim could not possibly hold against the Aldmeri Dominion if the Stormcloaks continued their fighting. Stronghammer took a deep breath, and entered the inn.

"I have a proposition for you." He told the inhabitants, eyeing their weapons and armor.

Dragonhold

"Jarl Graymane!" He bowed upon entering.

"Ah, you're that new Lord of Valtheim Towers, no?" The elderly Jarl asked.

"I need to talk to you in the back room. I have vital intelligence on Imperial movements." Stronghammer said.

"Oh good. Guards? Leave us." Graymane and Stronghammer walked together.

"So? What do you have to tell me?" Graymane asked the warrior.

"General Tullius sends his regards." Stronghammer kicked Graymane down with sudden force and forced his hand over Graymane's mouth.

"There's a path down to the dungeons, no?" He hissed into the thrashing Jarl's ears.

"Mph!" Graymane tried to shout.

Outside, the guards heard the scuffle and ran in to see Stronghammer man-handling Graymane.

"Unhand him, scum!" A guard shouted.

"Come in!" Stronghammer shouted. The doors slammed open and several warriors from the inn ran in, and circled around the guards.

"Lay your weapons down." Stronghammer ordered.

"Unhand our Jarl." A guard said defiantly.

"Sure." Stronghammer gripped his knife, and slashed downwards, cutting off Graymane's right hand. The Jarl screamed and shuddered.

"Lay. Down. Your. Weapons." Stronghammer repeated.

Most guards threw down their weapons, the rest walked up to Stronghammer and laid them down before the man.

"By the power vested in me, I declare myself Jarl of Whiterun." Stronghammer said. In a matter of hours, Whiterun changed from Stormcloak to Imperial on the map and letters were sent to Solitude requesting soldiers and food for the people.

[The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness]

Solitude

Several hundred of soldiers are sent to Whiterun in reply.

Windhelm

Legionaires push on towards the Palace of Windhelm, and storm inside.

Ildoni Amatius, Falkreath

Ildoni was now sitting behind the bar in Falkreath's inn, still thinking about what he should do, when he heard a voice behind him.
'Talking to ghosts, were you?'

[Occeania]

Sigurd had been walking for quite a while now and now he has just entered Falkreath, immeditally he began to think of ways to take the city, and he was aware that a Tavern would be a great place to start a resistance. He took a seat near the corner and began eaves dropping on a group of military aged men as soon as his ear caught something about Talos, he tried to listen in midst the sound of people partying and talking and finally got the idea the four men were ex Storm Cloak soldiers that were separated from there unit during a battle.

Sigurd took a piece of paper out of his pocket and said to a man who appeared to be a writer and had a ink well.
"Excuse me, would you mind if I barrow that ink well for a quick few seconds." in a polite tone, the Breton looked up at him and handed it to the lad.

Sigurd quickly wrote on a peice of paper
Meet me in the back of this Inn in a few minutes, I am a Storm Cloak as well.

He returned the ink to the Breton before folding up the paper and handing it to one of the ex stormcloaks.

"This fell out of your pocket." said Sigurd before heading out to the door and then moving to the back alley behind the Inn.


5 Minutes later
The four men turned the alley to were Sigurd was, then Sigurd spoke to them
"Alright so, how does liberating Falkreath sound to you fellows?"

[Communist republic of altorus]

More redguard men, began to join Talib's army. They soon swell the ranks to 400 men, this was helped by the bribing of a government official, to distribute pro-Talib propaganda. Soon thanks to several people in the government, each man has a set of steel armour and scimitar, this will be the weapons the army will use.

[Sil Arion]

Immediately, howling winds pushed against him, snow flying almost horizontally in the powerful, whipping gale nearly causing him to fall. Only his peerless balance and reflexes, and supernatural strength, speed, and stamina from centuries of warfare and hardship granted him the ability to remain steady and standing in the face of such a storm. His form was invisible in the snowfall, so thick and constant he could barely see his own hand, and his cloak flew out behind him like great wings, flapping about wildly in the hundred-kilometer-per-hour winds. And such a blizzard hovered eternally over the lifeless icescape of the Sea of Ghosts, the land of icebergs and dark and deep freezing waters that rested between Skyrim and Atmora. Pulling his hood deeper over his head, and his mask and helmet together so only a small slit but an inch tall showed his eyes to the outside world, he braced himself. A long journey lies ahead.

For a moment, he turned to look at the ever-dark and grey-clouded sky overhead. For Auriel. For my fell kith and kin.

And so he, Paragon, Champion of Auriel, ran, doing so without apparent effort through the storm that would blown over any lesser person in a mere moment, into the dark waters surrounding the slippery icebergs that formed the only solid surface for thousands of leagues around. For three days and nights he so ran and leapt from floating icemass to floating icemass above the abyssal in complete silence in the howling gales, freezing waters below, never halting, never resting in his blessed purpose to reach Skyrim.

Finally, he reached his destination, stepping off the last mass of floating, bobbing ice onto solid rock. Pausing briefly he prayed to Auriel, thanking him, his God, for him reaching this land with utmost promptness and speed, and to do so without any hindrance beyond a mere storm. He searched for several hours, guided by his inner sense, along the coast before finding what he so looked for - a cave. He sheltered there for three hours, not needing the warmth of a fire nor the longer sleeping time of lesser races due to his heritage and spirit. In his dreams, he witnessed what he supposed to be memories of his past life, matching the scenes with accounts from his journal.

It was horrible, but he learned well from those dreams as he relived the Fall, the death and despair therein, and the loss of all his kith and kin, and his good friend and battle-brother, the Prince. So much death. But by his purpose, he would breathe new life into his people, rebirth them through his actions and his connection to Auriel.

As he arose from his position against the back wall of the smooth-walled cave, he witnessed for the first time in over four millennia the sun. Truly, I have never seen so beautiful and wondrous a thing. A smile, first in so long, lifted his noble features beneath his mask, hood, and helm. The very symbol of light and life, and Auriel whom I serve. He stretched for several minutes then, easing the tension from three days of ceaseless labor in a place no other being could hope to pass through at such a rapid pace - or even at all. He bent over at his waist, forward, then backward, twisting his limbs and core in ways few others could compare, and none in armor such as he wore. Finally, feeling rejuvenated, he set out once more.

For several hours, he contented himself with walking along the northern shores, though only of rocks and ice waters, it was a far and welcome cry from the night impassable terrain of Sea of Ghosts. He delighted in the warmth and light of the sun he'd never known before in memory, a golden, if unseen smile etched onto his face as he ran along the coast, listening to the calls of sea-gulls and gentle crashing of the waves on the white shores, and the whispering of the breeze as it flew through his long, silvery cloak.

However, not all was meant to be. In his attention to the beauty of his surroundings, his attention to possible threats waned slightly, enough so for a group of bandits, a dozen and five in number to ambush him from behind several large rocks. Any lesser person would have been slain instantly as fourteen arrows flew froth with nigh unerring accuracy from great longbows - oddly high quality for bandits, Paragon surmised. He dodged and weaved around the bolts of whispering death, pointed heads of enchanted steel clattering on the ice and rocks behind him. He danced forward, the world slowing around him as he sped towards his unwanted guests who so ruined his wonderful moment. Twin blades of peerless quality flew from paired sheaths at his back, spinning in his hands as he wove around a second volley of arrows loosed in his direction with expert aim.

Truly, these are not mere bandits. They each wore an armored uniform of boiled and treated leather, but one he of course didn't recognize given his long absence from the awake world. All their eyes were widened and faces white as they realized the nature of their foe, an unnaturally nimble and quick being whose wrath they'd incurred. Already, several looked about to flee to higher ground, while the remainder drew short swords and broad shields of metal backed with wooden planks, all bearing an unknown symbol.

Too slow. In three seconds of the first missiles loosed, he crossed the thirty meters separating them from him. And he was in their midst, blades dancing and spinning in complex patterns, silver flashing and blood spraying around him as leapt among them. In a second, seven of their party were dead, their bodies lifeless before their cooling corpses even fell to the icy ground. He aimed for the weakpoints in their armor; the throat, the underarm, the back of the knee, the eyes, the back of the neck. He was death, and those who lived through the hell of the that first deadly second fled.

Once again, so slow. The remaining ten fell as their brethren had, their bodies not making it even ten meters from his first kill. The ground was painted in arcing sprays of red, their deathly bodies splayed on the iced earth and stone with horrified expressions forever frozen in death on their faces. And, all the while, not a single drop of blood nor sword-stroke had struck him. He swung his blades down with lightning speed, clearing the last of the human blood from their beautiful crystalline surface.

Sheathing them in a single, smooth motion, he set off once more, with but more questions and fewer answers about this new world...

[Pavlostani]

Valtheim Towers
Whiterun Hold
Skyrim

Graymane shuddered on his rack. He had been tied up in a dungeon awaiting his sentence.

"So." A man entered the cell.

"Who are you?" Graymane shouted in the darkness.

"I wanted to play a game with you." The man drew a knife.

"You will guess the answers to my questions. If you answer correctly, I move on to the next. If you do not... well, you might want to find out the answer quickly." The man said.

"Shoot." Graymane said defiantly.

"First. who am I?" The man asked.

"General Tullius." Graymane said automatically. A sudden blinding pain started in his right pinky.

"Who am I?" The man asked.

"Stronghammer!" Graymane wailed. More pain in his finger.

"Please! Stop, please! Please, I beg you!" Graymane shrieked.

"Say please one more time and you lose your hand." The torturer said coldly.

"You're Olfrid Battleborn!" Graymane cried.

"Interesting." The torturer said.

"Was I correct?" Graymane asked.

"Indeed. Second. Where are we?" The torturer asked.

"Dragonshold dungeon." Graymane guessed. His finger exploded into pain again and this time his eyes had become accustomed enough to the light to see a knife cutting.

"Solitude's dungeon!" Graymane screamed.

"Did you see banners on the way in?" The torturer asked.

"No... just a guess. I know that's an Imperial prison." Graymane said dully.

"Finally. Why are you here?" The torturer asked.

"Because I'm a Stormcloak. You want intelligence?" Graymane asked.

"Correct." The torturer sat back.

"Oh wait, I forgot one more question." The torturer got back up.

"And that's if I'm a liar! The answer is yes! You have answered none of those questions correctly. The torturer lit a candle revealing Tymin Blackwater's face. He took the knife and began cutting at Graymane's finger. Graymane screamed loud and long until Blackwater peeled off he skin on his finger.

"I suppose I shall send this to General Tullius as a gift." Blackwater considered the flayed skin.

[Prumia]

I.C. (In-Character); South of Falkreath:

Skyrim was much colder than Hammerfell, Fathos Dren decided. Compared to the Alik'r Desert. As a Dunmer - ignorantly called a "Dark Elf" by the race of Man - Fathos had a natural resistant to heat, something only tempered by his childhood exposure to the Red Mountain of Vvardenfell. Heat and flames were of little consequence to a pure Dunmer. Here, however; in Skyrim, the land of the cold-blooded Nords, he was freezing.

Holding his crimson colored ropes to his body a little tighter than was perhaps normal, Fathos trudged his feet through the cold ground of Skyrim's western borders. Having come to this land by way of Hammerfell, Fathos found himself in a place he knew to be called "Falkreath Hold." Having stayed away from the major roads to avoid both petty bandits and the patrols of hubris ridden Imperial Legion soldiers, Fathos made his way through Skyrim's varying passages of tree-lines and open fields.

There was also another reason for his detour, however:

Crouching down, Fathoss' vibrant crimson eyes watched critically as a plant of some kind swayed in the chilly breeze. With leaves of brown and gold color despite the cold weather, Fathos keen eye suspected some sort of cold reistant properties.

"If only I had not used all of my ingredients on the way from Hammerfell," Fathos Dren lamented. Hammerfell's arid terrain provided little chance to procure additional plant fauna and his Alchemy supplies had dwindled because of it.

Ever since having first felt the cold, Fathos had considered using his considerable skill in the School of Destruction magic to cast a Flame Cloak to shield himself from Skyrim's bitter winds. However, considering the uncontrolled nature of cloak spells, he may very well have set fire to a few trees along the way, too.

"That would have not done me any favors avoiding the Legion, either," Fathos concluded. With a resigned sigh, Fathos gentle picked the cold resitant plant, intent on brewing a potion to ward away the cold at the earliest possible time.

Placing the plant safely in his Alchemy supply bag, Fathos straightened up. Turning his gaze in the direction he knew to be location of the township of Falkreath, he set off. Cold or not, he still had a ways to go. At least in Falkreath he could purchase some more Alchemy ingredients.