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Ralnis
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 20819
Founded: Aug 06, 2012
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Ralnis » Sat Jan 20, 2018 5:24 am

Dragon Bridge,
Four Shields Tavern


Alracongril slept through the ride as he tried to get his body to heal. As they stop at the settlement of Dragon Bridge, he felt better but still needed rest. He wasn't leaning on his longsword but he wasn't able to run full speed or try to fight. He sat down and didn't drink anything as he heard what Elinar said and he just nodded to the story of the Dragonborn.

" I'm used to sleeping outside, so it's fine." The Reachman said," just wake me up when your ready to go Nord."
I'm a damn fool, asking me anything is like asking a brick wall the meaning of life. I don't know anything and will never know anything for that is my meaning on this Earth.

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The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness
P2TM RP Mentor
 
Posts: 28786
Founded: Dec 02, 2012
Father Knows Best State

Postby The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness » Sat Jan 20, 2018 11:43 am

"We-" Astanya started in protest at the Breton's comment, but found herself out of breath. Taking in a deep breath, finally, she managed to continue. "Well, yes. We must. I don't often have the time to exercise, and there's this old wound that I have that acts up if I walk for too long without taking a quick break. It's..." She furrowed her brows, and shook her head at the nonsensical man. "...it's really quite reasonable." She looked around their current stop for a moment, however, and could only agree with the man - not a good place to set up camp, no.

Astanya, of course, had little in the way of experience with finding good places to set up camp. She looked up at Aeralys as the Bosmer climbed into a tree, and patiently waited, using the time given to go and catch her breath some more. As the woman climbed back down, she let them know that she had found a suitable place to set up camp for the night, and began leading the way. The thought of being attacked in the night wasn't something she fancied, and it brought some less fond memories back up, but they were apparently headed to the best place they could be should such occur.

After not too long, they arrived at their would-be campsite, and the Bosmer promptly made a campfire, before sitting herself down nearby, but also somewhat distant - relatively speaking, of course. In an attempt to break the silence, she started humming an old Altmeri nursery song to herself as she unpacked her bag, pulling out a simple bedroll for herself and placing it down near the fire. She took a drink from her flask, refilled as it was, before placing her bag aside, taking out some dry bread. "It's not much," she began, "but if any of you want I still have some bread with me?"

The Altmer settled down in her own bedroll, chewing on some of that bread, having pulled a chunk off of it for herself, before washing it away with some more of that lovely fresh water. Astanya's eyes wandered up to the night sky for a moment, before she gazed back at the simply campfire in front of her. "We'll head further westwards in the morning," she mentioned, "and we'll hopefully reach Karthwasten soon enough, where we can get some new supplies before venturing for those Dwemer ruins. Unless... unless either of you wants to do such in Markarth, instead? It'll be a bit of a detour, but we can do that as well, if it's preferred."
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Elerian
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 10691
Founded: Aug 31, 2012
Father Knows Best State

Postby Elerian » Sat Jan 20, 2018 9:22 pm

Emrys, Dragon Bridge

The Four Shields Tavern. One of many uninspired bar names that Emrys didn’t care to ever hear the story attached to it. He took up a seat up by the bar, the best place to be seen by patrons without being pinned in by potential enemies. Plus easy access to alcohol didn't hurt either. The bar scene itself wasn't much different from any other backwater tavern Emrys had ever visited. Perhaps its placement just off the beaten path meant it catered towards some more unsavory clientele, but other than that the barroom floor was the same that most other establishments had. What had caught his attention when asking around about the place though, was some of the patrons. And so he sat at the bar, listening to the hum of conversation all around him, his expert ears picking up pieces of conversations here and there.

"So anyways, this girl looks at me right in my eyes right, and she mouths to me . . .” Emrys shifted in his seat before he could hear the end of that conversation.

“Why would anyone want to associate with dragons after all the carnage and death they caused?” His ears perked up as he heard this. “Countless farms burnt, men, women, and children crushed under the claws and teeth of those beasts, and the sheer fear they instilled in all of us." Emrys kept listening for awhile, intrigued.

"Well I'll be damned” Emrys said to himself while turning an amulet with a dragon symbol over in his hands. He downed the last of his drink, his mind made up. Sliding the amulet onto the bar in front of him, Emrys, got the attention of the barkeep. A few moments later the barkeep was standing before him confused, having thought the amulet was a coin.

“Sir?” The barkeep said inquisitively.

Emrys slid the amulet over to the barkeep while asking “do you think you could ask around the patrons as to what the origins of this dragon amulet may be?”

The barkeep picked up the amulet hesitantly, but was rooted in his spot eyeing Emrys expectantly. Emrys got the hint and set a coin on the bar for the trouble. Snatching the coin, the barkeep was off. With any luck the word of the amulet might filter through to the table with the two Nords.

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Nuxipal
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6977
Founded: Apr 25, 2010
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Nuxipal » Sun Jan 21, 2018 1:50 am

Llyrin Osteroth
Frostfruit Inn, Rorikstead, Whiterun Hold


Llyrin was just preparing to leave the inn for the afternoon. He had enough of the local company, the local nords, while not outright rude, did not enjoy his company. He picked up his spear again and started walking out of his room paying for an extra night with the last of his coins. Once more, he was broke. The Innkeeper looked at him, "Hey look buddy. I know we aren't the warmest of people, but you look like you could use some help. Here." He hands Llyrin a paper and said, "One of the Jarl's men came by in the night with some bounty posts. You look the type to be able to help out in this matter."

"Thank you Mralki. You've been a pretty gracious host. If I come through the area again, I'll be sure to stay here."

With that Llyrin walked out of the inn and headed to the east again. He looked at the sheet of paper that was handed to him. He noted that there was a bounty for a horse thief who may be hiding in some fort. He continued looking on the list, there were at least a dozen or so different bounties. He settled on one eventually, an Argonian who stole a shipment of weapons and was last seen heading northwest on the Whiterun plains.

Looking across his map and the date of the alleged thievery Llyrin narrowed down the likely hiding places to Greenspring Hallow or Redoran's Retreat. He would go to the Hallow first as it was the further destination from Whiterun and had a good overhang to hide a shipment of weapons as well as any other stolen goods.

Later that day

Llyrin approached the cave. He could see a few crates, a wagon, and two horses ready to move the wagon. Llyrin observed for another hour as the Argonian as well as a Khajiit and a Bosmer all prepared to move the wagon full of supplies. Llyrin decided to ambush the trio and started moving however the Khajiit saw him. "Hey there! What are you doing?"

"You fool, he must be a bounty hunter. Kill him!" The Argonian said. Llyrin immediately reacted to this pulling his shield up in front of him and readying a spell in his other hand. The Bosmer peppered him with a couple of arrows which impacted his shield. He threw the spell at the Khajiit. A small dagger of fire hit him in the neck and he dropped to the ground. The Khajiit didn't move, and seemed to have died from the single firebolt. The Argonian picked up a large axe and charged towards Llyrin. The Bosmer took another shot which Llyrin stepped to the side of and dove forward, rolling on and dropping his shield in the process to launch him and his spear further. He put his spear square into the Bosmer's gut and tore it out the side.

The Argonian looked at Llyrin and spat, "Filthy Dark Elf. I've killed dozens of your kind."

Llyrin threw another firebolt at the Argonian which he blocked with his greataxe. The Argonian they was surprised to see Llyrin charging right into him with his spear nearly into his gut. A spin of his axe and the spear is knocked out of Llyrin's hands. He swung the axe only missing Llyrin by a few inches. Llyrin grabbed the Argonian's arm and sent a shock through his hands hurting the Argonian in the process. This particular Argonian proved strong and threw him a few yards away. Llyrin drew his sword, his secondary weapon. He located his shield, behind the Argonian. He ran forward and slid past the Argonian and his next swing managing to cut the lizard's leg. Aggressively the Argonian turned and swung down at Llyrin, who managed to lift his shield to deflect the blow so that it landed behind him. He buried his sword into the Argonian's now exposed chest.

Looking around to make sure no one else was alive Llyrin retrieved his spear. He then noticed, the Khajiit had gotten up and run away. Sighing Llyrin threw both the Bosmer and the Argonian's dead bodies onto the cart. He went through the belongings of the two bandits and recovered twenty septims from them. A health potion sat in the cart, but he presumed it belonged to someone else. He turned the horses and cart towards Whiterun and started his way to Whiterun and suspected he would arrive shortly after dawn.
Last edited by Nuxipal on Wed May 30, 2018 2:02 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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New Finnish Republic
Minister
 
Posts: 2418
Founded: Mar 30, 2015
New York Times Democracy

Postby New Finnish Republic » Sun Jan 21, 2018 2:21 pm

Four Shields Tavern
Dragon Bridge





"I'm used to sleeping outside, so it's fine. Just wake me up when your ready to go Nord."

I nodded, motioning my head towards the rented room for the men.

"Just enjoy our current conditions, I suppose."

I paused for a second, thinking for a bit before I made up my mind on what to say next. Don't ever say I'm not generous, I thought before tossing the keys to the man.

"I suppose, given that you still seem banged up, you should get the actual bed for the night. Won't do us any good if you can barely lift a sword, after all."

Before, I don't think I'd even been able to imagine myself saying this to a wild man of the Reach, let alone even allow one to accompany me. But desperate times meant desperate measures, and if it meant that I could stay on the man's good terms and therefore avoid being stabbed in my sleep by him, I was willing to change my old ways. At least, for the time being.

The comment of rest seemed to remind my body of just how much it needed it itself, as my eyes were beginning to feel heavy under both the fatigue of the past few days as well as a belly full of food and ale. The tavern had mostly died down by this point, only a few stragglers besides my own group remaining. While it may not be in a bed, I was eager to sleep in a warm room. I was about to announce to the others that I was going to be calling it a night before the voice of the innkeeper.

"Excuse me, sir, but there's a gentlemen over there wishing to know if you had any knowledge as to what this amulet may be."

Turning to face the women, my heart nearly jumped its way out of my chest as the sight of an all too familiar amulet lay in the hands of the innkeeper. Without thinking, I reached for it, looking it over in detail. A few seconds of inspection made it clear that this was indeed the same kind of amulet that was worn by the cultists we had encountered before. I looked back up to the innkeeper, my voice cold as ice.

"Where is this man you speak of?"

The innkeeper seemed a bit concerned, but pointing at the bar where a grizzled looking man sat. Based on his mixed assortment of armor and sword, I could tell the man was a soldier. For who, however, I did not know, and that was dangerous. If it hadn't been for the amulet, I'd likely not interacted at all with this kind of character, knowing that it would likely only end in trouble. However, the chance of this mysterious man knowing something about this cult was too much of an opportunity to pass up on.

I glanced at the others, knowing the danger that this would mean. I had no sort of protection on me, not even my dagger which I had foolishly decided to leave in the room. If things turned ugly, I'd have little chance to defend myself. I nodded at them, communicating that I'd need them to watch my back in case things went for the worse.

I stood up, thanking the innkeeper before I made my way over to where the man was sitting, amulet clutched tightly in my hand. At first, I was hesitant to sit down next to him, but after a deep breath I managed to force myself into sitting down. I tried to get some sort of judgement on the man, but I quickly realized it was futile. Whether this man was mercenary to the Legion, a informer of the Thalmor, or even a member of this dragon cult, I'd have no idea until I spoke to him. Tossing the amulet on the counter between us, I spoke up, my voice low and deep.

"Who are you, and how did you come across this amulet?"
Known mostly as Finn, but also known as a few other things I can't put in a signature by those who know me.

American who got left too long in the sauna.

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Rodez
Diplomat
 
Posts: 550
Founded: Oct 18, 2016
Father Knows Best State

Postby Rodez » Sun Jan 21, 2018 9:20 pm

Tharsten Seabourne
Northern Reach


Tharsten looked on as Aeralys clambered rapidly up the tree. That climbing ability of hers was impressive, to say the least. No doubt it'll come in handy around here, he reflected, turning his gaze back to the imposing cliffs before them.

He was stuck on the ground for an awkward minute with the Altmer, whom he did not feel like speaking to after the confrontation over her absurd expectations of rest.

After a moment, the tree shook a bit as Aeralys descended, landing lightly on her feet. She pointed ahead, explaining what she had seen.
"There's a spot we can rest at just a little further up. It's rocky, so stable and free of pests, and it's raised so as to deter any would-be ambushers. Not that I think we'll have that problem, the only apparent camp seems a couple leagues away, far from any threat. Plus, from the smell on the breeze, they've settled in for dinner already."


Nodding, Tharsten tried to peer ahead, but the twists of the road around the gorge obscured his view almost immediately. No matter. He found it relatively easy to trust the Bosmer in this instance. All other things aside, they all had a vested interest in not getting jumped by a Forsworn warband.

Acceding to her suggestion with silence and another nod, he followed his elven companions down the road.

It was only a short awhile before they found themselves arduously clambering up the hill in question, which was indeed as steep as Aeralys had suggested earlier. The prospect of rest and perhaps something resembling supper propelled him onward, until he reached the summit with a relieved exhale of breath.

As Astanya and Aeralys had claimed their respective sections of the rocky hill, Tharsten deployed his bedroll in the remaining nook, set a little ways back from the two women. It established a polite distance and was also protected from rain by the slight overhang of stone.

When the Altmer opened her mouth again, Tharsten expected a complaint and braced to tune her out.

Instead, it was talk of food, and of the journey to come. I'll humor the mage, Tharsten thought. He dug into his pack, grasping with a hungry hand . . . yes. It was still there. Triumphantly withdrawing a handful of jerky strips from the bag, he made his way over to Astanya, half-full canteen slung over his shoulder.

Taking a modest hunk of the Altmer's bread, Tharsten offered two jerky strips in return. "I wouldn't stick around Karthwasten if I were you," he responded gruffly. "I entered Skyrim from Hammerfell through those parts just a few months ago. Absolutely lousy with the Forsworn."

"Then again," he continued, "we have to go through it to get to Markarth anyways. If we are to resupply, I'd much rather do it behind those walls where real goods are available than at bloody Karthwasten."

The Nord-Breton munched contemplatively on his jerky, his bemused gaze falling finally on Aeralys. "I know the sky is pretty, archer, but you're probably hungry. Eat or die, as they say. Thanks for the fire too," he added. Tharsten had absolutely no inkling of any famous person who had said that, but it sounded suitably grandiose for dinner time.
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Tribe of Rinos
Diplomat
 
Posts: 795
Founded: Dec 20, 2016
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Tribe of Rinos » Mon Jan 22, 2018 6:39 am

Devthes Mirlis - Dragon Bridge
Devthes walked into the inn. It had been a hard few days. Just yesterday, he had been running from a Frost Troll that nearly killed him. He really needed to sit down for a minute in a safe town. He walked up to the counter and bought a loaf of bread. It hurt him to have to use his dwindling supply of gold. He had not been able to complete a job all week, as someone would always beat him to it. He took off his helmet and sat down to eat. He finished and looked at his helmet. It was dented and scratched from the frost troll. He took out a small hammer and tried to take out the dents while loosely listening to the chatter in the inn. There was a small group nearby. The innkeeper walked up to a Nord in the group and showed him something. He watched as a look of surprise appeared on his face and the Nord walked over to a soldier. He put down his helmet and turned to see how this went. He grabbed the bottle of ale he had on him and took a sip of the burning liquid.
Last edited by Tribe of Rinos on Mon Jan 22, 2018 6:40 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Xah
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 354
Founded: Jan 25, 2016
Iron Fist Socialists

Postby Xah » Mon Jan 22, 2018 6:47 am

Haeigr Flamehair
Four Shields Tavern
Dragon Bridge


"To be honest," Haeigr replied to Einar about the dragon forge. "I've no idea what dragons eat. I assume it's whatever they want. Who's going to stop them? But I've heard about the heat from their flames and it sounds better than any mortal-made forge, except maybe the Skyforge in Whiterun," She smiled. "I doubt it'll ever be an option though. Who ever heard of someone taming a dragon?"

Haeigr gave the Reachman a look of sympathy. "As much as I feel for your injuries friend, my bed is my own. There's got to be some perks to being the only female in this group, and a room or bed of my own is something I intend to take full advantage of. You can ride in the cart as long as you like though. Stinky has pulled heavy loads than you in his day."

When the innkeeper approached and made his request about the amulet, Haeigr's interest was piqued. Unlike Einar, who came to the common room without even so much as a dagger, Haeigr had a hammer hanging from her belt, albeit not her dwarven-style one which was cunningly hidden in her cart. She'd never had any issues with a plain steel smithing hammer though. 2 or 3 kilos of good Nord steel usually shut most people up. As Einar got up to talk to the stranger with the amulet, Haeigr pushed her chair slowly away from the table, ready to stand up if needs be. She didn't watch the interaction directly, but made sure not to drink any more of her mead, merely bringing the cup to her lips in pretence. If it all kicked off, best not to have had too much.

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The Ik Ka Ek Akai
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 13355
Founded: Mar 08, 2013
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby The Ik Ka Ek Akai » Tue Jan 23, 2018 1:03 am

The Bosmer had almost lost herself when she had been called from afar. Well, it seemed afar, but in truth was but a dozen feet away. The voice, that of a certain Tharsten, beckoned her to eat the goods from his hand, that such was necessary. Aeralys had ignored her own hunger, the pains it caused, but had to admit that, no matter how she tried, it was simply unhealthy to go so long, nearing two full days by now, without a single thing to eat. She felt weak, a little light-headed, and despite that her corset seemed to be roomier than ever she likewise felt a little bloated. There was definitely a sickness feel to the whole, but contrary to usual illness this plague tempted her towards feasting. At last, she could no longer resist the temptation, and made her way to the fireside.

Reaching into her humble satchel, she pulled out a couple of colorful bottles to get to the underlying food beneath. In accordance with the Green Pact, despite such rules usually being considered obsolete beyond the borders of Valenwood, the entire handful consisted of strong-smelling venison jerky. She gave a quick glance to the probably fresher Nord jerky, and the definitely more-filling bread, before tearing a bite out of her chunk of salty venison. Nothing had been offered to her, per se, and she had her own food anyway. This would, to some degree, give her the minor autonomy of not being indebted to these fellows.

She thought about the nickname bestowed upon her, 'archer'. She had a name, certainly. They all did. They even shared them at their first campsite, while the group was all together and fresh from their escape. Aeralys had to admit, however, that 'archer' was at least better than many of the other nicknames she had been bestowed with over her time roaming the continent- 'thief' and 'savage' came to mind as particularly common examples, though the total amount of different names was wider than the whole land of Skyrim.

The fire was warm. It was actually kind of nice, being closer, being warmer. It was at this point that she, within her own mind, thanked all of the gods that she was not wearing traditional Bosmeri attire- the clothing suited to the heat of the jungle with no sleeves, bared midriffs, and usually some form of skirt seemed not particularly well suited to the cold of the land of Skyrim, though perhaps it could succeed in the more southerly parts where the climate was more agreeable. Indeed, here she had sleeves, gloves, a full top, and gloves, and still found herself cold. Perhaps she was simply thin-skinned? No, it was no illusion- the country really was that cold. Any other thought was mere delusion, seeing how even the Altmer who have been stationed here long wear very thick clothing.

This only brought to mind the Dominion. She had felt betrayed by them, having been arrested at last. They'd been a fallback option for years, always supporting her to some extent so long as she was not too obvious with her work in front of them. As a career criminal, such was all too easy to hide, and her ability to simply mention the Dominion as a potential ally often dissuaded others from making particularly strong moves against her. Now, though, she felt as if she could rely on nothing. Perhaps it was a local problem, one of the Thalmor rather than the Dominion as a whole, but either way her strategy would have to be revised once one considered the new circumstances.

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Theodosiya
Minister
 
Posts: 2785
Founded: Oct 10, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Theodosiya » Tue Jan 23, 2018 11:14 am

Magnus Skybreaker
Entrance of Blind Cliff Cave, Skyrim


"Quiet. Very quiet" Joffrey remarks as Octavus wakes up. "Could be worse, heard if this place teems with Forsworn." Magnus opened his eyes. "Indeed. I scouted inside, and find traces of Forsworns here" Drevayn grunts, as he crept back to the group "Dammit. Maybe the group that attacked the caravan yesterday." Magnus cursed, as he picked his spear, shield and strapped his sword on his hip, before looking at Talavir. "You're the last one who stand guard. Did you see anything?" Magnus asked. "I think I saw some Forsworns up the hills and the cliff. Luckily they didn't spot us. Still, in my opinion, we better move as soon as possible" Talavir spoke as he checked the prisoners. "So, you fuckers still alive, eh?" Magnus looked inside the cage. "And the milk-drinker think we're dead. I've faced more dangerous thing and still escape, you know?" the bandit leader mocked, prompting Magnus to grin. "Yet, you're still inside there, and we outside it. Enjoy your place, scum" Magnus turned away. "OK, people. Mount up and be quick. The sooner we reach Solitude, sooner we could do our next business" Magnus picked the rest of his gear and mounted his horse, as everyone else gathered their equipment and jumped to the carriage.




Few hours later...
Few km outside Karthwasten...


"Few people ahead" Magnus looked at a group of armed men visible in the distance. "Hopefully, they aren't bandits or worse" Octavus sighed.

"Halt!" a man clad in steel armor, with sigil of the Reach on his shield stopped the group. "We're sanctioned by Imperial Legion to escort these prisoners to Solitude. We're stopping by here to rest and depart tomorrow, if possible. Quaestor Drevayn will explain further" Magnus gave the guard leader a parchment, who then looked at Drevayn. Drevayn jumped down the cart and answered few questions from the guard leader. After a while, the man signals the group to continue. "Hey Magnus. I have a strange feeling about the Forsworn raid on the caravan. If they have the audacity to raid a caravan that's very close to Markarth..." Octavus spoke to Magnus. "They might do something more dangerous than that. I have a bad feeling about what they might do next" Magnus wearily look upon the mountains. "Maybe there's nothing, maybe they will raid sooner or later" Joffrey jumps into the conversation. They fell silent until they reached Karthwasten. "We'll talk about this later. I'll take some rest." Magnus grunts as he approached a building with an inn signpost outside it. It's not a very big or decorated building, but it would suffice...
20 years old Indonesian Javanese Catholic with interest in History, Military and Politics. Airsofter.
Marhaenist
Heterosexual
Pro : Civic Nationalism, Death Sentence, Indonesia, Center left, Center right, Chemical castration for rapists.
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Anti : Communism, Fascism, Capitalism, Anarchism, Ethnic Nationalism, Religious Fundamentalism (All Religion), Far Left, Far Right.

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Sil Arion
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1112
Founded: May 07, 2013
Authoritarian Democracy

Postby Sil Arion » Tue Jan 23, 2018 9:21 pm

THE CLERIC
Outside the Thalmor Embassy


"FINUVIEL!"

My scream echoes on the chill wind. Arms outstretched to her moonlit form at the rooftop. Tears wet and cold on my face as I fall all too slowly. I failed her once already. Yet no more now as a score of Thalmor pour up there in armor of glistening glass. Fading cries of pride and pain within the telltale music of spells and ringing metal. Then shouts of triumph.

Hn. Breath stolen from me as I impact below. Rolling sideways on drifts of snow and frosty shrubs that break my descent. Somersaulting to my feet as I flee across country while arrows and spells fly past in twos and threes. Few come closer, but none connect as I hurtle over stone and bush. Around ice and under tree. And away. Far away. Fast and furious, I run no straight path as tears blur my sight. I'll not suppress this. Not this time. Not anymore!

Nine Divines, why?!

TALOS, WHY?!

North-wind batters at me from behind, my stolen robes and mantle whipping about like fell wings beneath the dark sky as flurries are blown up in walls of white powder. But it cannot cool this fury. This fiery heart now an inferno.

Talos! Why have You forsaken me?! Have I not obeyed in all ways? Have I not given everything in Your service?!

If only I could scream beneath these moons, a release of this grief and anger! If only I'd the fortitude of heart to turn round under these tall pines and barren oaks. That I might fight to my own death and stain the snow and stones red with my enemies' essence and mine. To deny selfless sacrifice for once and finally enjoy that final rejoining with them all.

Memories swell and flow in my mind; a ghastly sea in storm where a lone man desperately tries to stay afloat as ghosts pass him by. Crewmen and women of the Thunderchild. Siblings in battle, Blades and friends in Hammerfell. My mother. Father. Finuviel. Firiel. All my family by blood shed together who now surely rest in Sovngarde after the Great War. In whose memory I swore that oath and continue my personal crusade. My vows to the Nine which I've held true to for forty years. For which I'd sacrificed my entire life in time and efforts. Serving the Emperor, Talos and all Tamriel to protect my loved ones.

Yet now You take her from me?! My sister in all but blood?! The last remnant of my family?!

Then I do scream. Its so close yet so distant. A broken, beastly sound not of mer nor man. More monster than mortal. A rabid beast's hollow howl of grief and anger and hatred. And all aimed at the heavens above the heat in my heart dies; outer chill air overcoming my resistance as something is sown midst that dust. A seed. But not bright, or light at all as what came before. Now a bitter fruit born from this latest betrayal of my trust. I feel it bloom; that tragic woe I'd buried deep beneath a surface of calm and cool logic that is my identity as the Cleric. And I allow it now. This is as well a time as any to confront inner turmoil; as Varamaer, I've nothing left to live for beyond my own life.

Yes. The Emperor betrayed me. Abandoned me and my family to our enemies. Now too, Talos seems to follow suit?

I am thankful to keep my life. I can cope. Learn. Improve. Evolve. And in this moment, I must do so to move on.

No more. I am my own man now, so sadly beholden to none. Little else lays before me but the road south.

I rise and halt atop a moonlit pinnacle then, grey granite bare of frost and flora. Looking behind me and around. Listening too. Drawing in a deep breath of the air. No longer hearing, seeing or smelling any signs of pursuit. My head bobs faintly at that. I'd been running for - hours? Hm. Perhaps I'd succeeded, but I'll not fall to complacency.

Turning my head south once more, I try to estimate my location on memories of maps. Direction and distance. Dragon Bridge shouldn't be too far away. Another hour or two at decent pace across this country. I can stop there briefly for information and supplies; I still possess the uniform, purse and identification documents of the Thalmor I'm impersonating. And it'd be such a shame to waste such excellent resources and how I may exploit them; a petty act, surely. Perhaps hypocritical too in one respect. But if the Thalmor are already at my destination -

Well. I've a debt in desperate need of repayment.
Aiya! Elen síla lúmenn omentielvo! Call me Sil!

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Elerian
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 10691
Founded: Aug 31, 2012
Father Knows Best State

Postby Elerian » Wed Jan 24, 2018 10:21 pm

Emrys, Dragon Bridge

He sat quietly on his stool, slowly drumming his fingers on the bar as he waited for one of the Nords to make their way to him, or at least he was pretty sure they would. The barkeep made her way slowly around the tavern, eventually she would reach the Nord’ table, until then Emrys was content to sit and wait patiently. He’d always been a patient man, and that had served him well both as a Knight and a Bandit. Many people in those professions were hot-headed, and that shortened their lifespan considerably. It was perhaps the very thing that had allowed Emrys to remain the foremost bandit in High Rock for so long.

When finally she reached the hushed men’s table, she said much the same thing she’d said at every occupied table in the joint. “. . . there's a gentlemen over there wishing to know if you had any knowledge as to what this amulet may be."

The next thing he knew, the sound of approaching footsteps came from behind him. Outwardly Emrys was calm, but internally he was listening for any indication of steel coming out of a sheath. When nothing was forthcoming, Emrys grinned slightly, he was being silly. If they were with the Dragon men, then they likely would have been more subtle about trying to get rid of him.

A few moments later the Nord was next to him, tossing the amulet on the bar and saying in a very serious tone, "Who are you, and how did you come across this amulet?"

Looking up, Emrys studied the man a moment. The Nord was tall, muscular, and looked like a mean son of a bitch. It was a good thing he didn’t want to kill Emrys. Yet.

“I believe I asked you first” Emrys said with a hint of a grin, “but I suppose I’ll go first. The name is Emrys, but before I go any further I must admit I’m quite parched.” He klanked his empty tankard against the bar to prove his point. He had spent the last of his coin on the first cup of mead, and wanted nothing more than a second before he went on to detail his run in with the Dragon men.

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Postby New Finnish Republic » Fri Jan 26, 2018 1:23 pm

Four Shields Tavern
Dragon Bridge





“I believe I asked you first, but I suppose I’ll go first. The name is Emrys, but before I go any further I must admit I’m quite parched.”

The man was relaxed, almost to relaxed for my liking. Further more, the man had the audacity to demand a drink from me. I looked back at the others, an unsure look on my face as I tried to figure what to do next. My first thought was to punch the man square in the jaw before leaving back to join the others, but thankfully I realized that that kind of thinking was due to the alcohol and wouldn't do me much good. I considered refusing as well, but if this man knew anything more about this mysterious cult, I needed to know. I let out a frustrated sigh before waving my hand towards Julienne grabbing her attention.

"Two more drinks, please. One for me and one for my...friend here."

"Right away!"

Within a matter of seconds, two new mugs of ale lay before me and this stranger. I looked over at the man, once again observing him for any sign of danger. While a Breton would never be able to outfight a Nord in a traditional sense, if said Breton had a blade and the Nord did not, it didn't take much smarts to realize who would win said fight.

Picking up my glass of ale, I slowly sipped on it once more before addressing this man.

"Okay, Emrys, I suppose I'll introduce myself. My name is Einar, and my party here are looking for a certain group of people. A certain group of people who all wear that amulet laying before us."

I pointed at the cultist amulet before us.

"If you have any idea who these people may be, or where they come from, I would be glad to repay you for your kindness."

I locked eyes with the man, prepared to carefully judge what the man would say next. I had dealt with my fair share of Imperial infiltrators before, and if this man was indeed with this cult, I'd be able to tell immediately what he was after in this conversation. If he wasn't with them, he could perhaps be...useful.
Known mostly as Finn, but also known as a few other things I can't put in a signature by those who know me.

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Sil Arion
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Postby Sil Arion » Sat Jan 27, 2018 10:38 pm

THE CLERIC
Nearing Dragon Bridge


Pale light blooms on the far horizon as I crest the piney ridge, finally gazing on the small town below. One I recognize easily: the massive sawmill; its attendant waterwheel; the lumber camp alongside with its piles of drying timbers; the clustered homes; the military outpost; and a single inn midst a copse of ash trees. All built with masonry foundations beneath wooden walls and shingled roofs in classic, Nordic style with those massive beams. From whose chimneys rise thin plumes of dark smoke. And beyond, the cobblestone main road and stone-hewn arch of elder days spanning the Karth River where it cascades down towards the Sea of Ghosts.

Seems quite quiet at this hour; only a two teams of four Imperial soldiers standing at ease about at the north and south ends. No signs of my pursuers either. So I embrace it - the atmosphere here. Nostalgia swells inside my breast as sink into my senses, eyes closing. Snow-melt water falling in a thunderous torrent. Birdsong midst the budding trees. Smells of wood-smoke and damp earth. Seems so much the same. Like home. Like -

No. I'll not follow down that road now. Not yet. I cannot lose focus.

But it's been a while. Many months since last I visited here. That road patrol in Midyear, I believe. When I remained undiscovered among the Thalmor. Mm. Good times, those. Good times indeed. Sometimes almost forgot my mission, seeing those Thalmor as comrades instead of enemies; simply regular beings doing their best to live and serve.

I eye the outpost again. Perhaps Commander Maro still serves there? His face and voice are yet clear in memory despite meeting - twice? No, three times. An admirable man by dutifulness as a father and a soldier. Rather flexible in execution of those duties too; an excellent mindset for an intelligence agent and spymaster. But he's no Blade; the Penitus Oculatus are but a shadow in ability.

If only I'd been able to speak truthfully with him then. Reveal myself to not be one of the Thalmor, but as -

Mm. On second thought, I hope he's not there. If he remembered my face or voice, it'd be - inconvenient.

I turn to the east. Light brightening there as darkness retreats west. And slowly, weakness entering my body as it does.

Well. Best to rest now in the shadow of the mountains; within one of the deeper caves around these parts. Then I'll descend with the night to collect information and some supplies. Spend the intervening time in sleep and preparing myself; plans, spells and a few alterations to the documents and clothes. Perhaps a wash as well for the last; the Thalmor live by rigorous standards in cleanliness, but I feel - uncomfortable wearing another's garments without cleansing them first. A bath for me too. A familiar task to put my mind at ease; appearing as a lone Thalmor wouldn't provide any benefits in currying favor for honest discourse. And it'd be best no one can correlate that with what happened half a day past when word reaches here . . .



I hold it up, brushing off bits of dust and earth. Fabric sways as I whirl it round within the shadowed cavern. Hands fiddling with the hem, fingers feeling for ragged cuts and loose threads yet again.

What is this, the fourth time?

No. It's the fifth.

Mm. I really should stop.

It's - adequate. Colors still dark grey and deep green, suitably complimented by the dull golden trim. Resewn seams and hems of a more modern in cut. Tunic and trousers tailored more to my height and weight, a few new pieces made from the robes. A priestly stole that doubles as a scarf. A tall-collared, floor-length and mantled cape hanging from the shoulders. Broad-brimmed hat made from that hood. Belt and bandoleers from those silly little chest-straps. So unnecessary, those; more than a touch wasteful of the Thalmor. Though the undergarments and gloves are still good. And washed now. Boots and bracers too, if refitted and now cuffed. And the walking staff I worked from a branch; almost a facsimile of a stave of destruction by shape and carvings.

All in all, looking just like a Judge of Julianos, or reminiscent of an ancient Psijic. Certainly a clear departure from Thalmor robes before. But no award-winning costume from Radiant Raiment, surely.

Hn. I barely suppress a shudder at that thought. Taarie and Endarie would be most disappointed with me.

Maybe. With just a conjured needle, these material and this result? Well. I feel fairly accomplished, no matter the otherwise simple style and somewhat well-worn appearance in places. Functional and a bit fashionable, per my impersonation of an ordained priest. Still wish I'd some shimmer-silk from Alinor. Or tanned leather for a few more bits. King elk, not like this bull -

No. Focus, Cleric! I've not the time to tarry about without reason.

I glance around the bend, searching beyond the entrance. Yes. Seems I might've lost track of the hour.

Outside is a world awash in warm and vivid hues of blood and fire below a violet sky, if colors also fleeting. The shadows fall long and thin beneath the trees. Waters glisten dimmed gold where still alight. My haven now dark as dusk. A few specimens of nirnroot chime and glow faintly, leaves bright against the oncoming night. Several clusters of evening campion bloom too, drooping petals pure snow-white.

Sunset soon. Very soon.

Time to move.



My stride is smooth and slow on the cobblestone road, measured and confident while I march down towards the town from the north. In my mind is an old Windblown song, and from my lips I half-sing, half-hum along. Softly. Yet high and true. Almost pale. Like the moon rising above me now. Just a lonely man's tune as he nears journey's end. Indeed, not far ahead sits a tall milestone. Atop it, a small bell. Beside, a brazier ablaze. And around that stand four men at ease, if close to the fire. Men whose uniform I know well as they turn to watch my approach.

Black cloaks sway in the northerly night-wind, red dragon outlined in gold still visible their backs. Above and beneath shines silver the steel of crested helms and laminate armor. Tower shields rest by two, these ones with short spears in hand. The others hold re-curved bows, quivers at the draw-hand hip. And at the left side of every man is a sword and a knife.

Some hundred feet distant as I enter the lit area, one calls out in a deep and dour voice.

"Hail, traveler!" He raises his spear in greeting.

"Hail, the guard!" I respond mildly in an Imperial lilt, lifting my staff as I approach. Subtly, I study the man and his comrades as details become more distinct. A quaestor by the crest and shoulder-tabs. And a Nord too, by his hair and that accent. Clean-shaven still, as with every Legionnaire. Curious how he's stationed here, far behind the battlefront. But I'll not comment on that. Civil wars are so rarely civil affairs, after all.

"Have you your papers handy?" he questions gruffly, puffing vapor in the cold five feet from me. I meet his eyes. Upon closer examination, his expression seems a touch too tense. The others as well. But not borne by soreness and stiffness in body. No. Their eyes remain alert. Wary, even. Too much so. Which leaves a few possibilities for this area at this time.

Beasts. Bandits. Forsworn. Or the Thalmor and their threats.

Hn. But what words were passed on, if any? And how obedient are these men to their orders?

Most importantly, will my new identity and subtly doctored documents hold up to scrutiny?

"Of course," I answer readily, handing them over with a soft, if weary smile, "Sigurd of Solitude. A Judge of Julianos." I bow my head gently with a sweeping gesture across my front. The other soldiers stand at ready, eyes looking on while the one has scans my documents. I feign a half-suppressed, heavy yawn while I fold my hands atop the walking staff.

"Seems in order," says the one, returning them to me. "Bit late to be about alone in these parts, Father, what with beasts and bandits. Where're you headed from here?"

"The Temple of Kyne in Whiterun, my son," I reply amiably, if affecting a tired tone, "Sister Danica requested another trained hand with her work. As I'm qualified and familiar with her duties, Father Rorlund sent me. And here I am, on my way now. If also in need of a bed." I give a faint smile and shrug, leaning on my staff.

"Well, Father," he grunts, nodding to himself as he points to a building a few hundred feet behind him, "Four Shields's just there. Only inn around here, but it's decent enough. Got good stews, though the bed's're a bit rough. Least it's not stone."

"Any bed's better than that, My Son," I chuckle lightly as I stroll on, lifting my staff in farewell now, "Divines guide and guard you all. And a good night."

"And a good night to you, Father."



Oaken doors squeak shut as I walk in, a wave of firelight, warm air and muffled conversation buffeting me as I doff my hat. I breath in deeply, those homey smells of wood-smoke, wheat bread and hearty beef stew. And sweat too.

Hn. Sometimes I wonder whether Skyrim-dwelling Nords wash at all. But that's neither here nor there.

"Evening, My Lady," I greet, stepping up to the stone-topped bar where a woman stands with busy hands wiping pints. Early twenties, perhaps. Sandy blond hair, almost auburn in parts. Darker skin, and flawless. Square, if also delicate facial features with that pert nose. A Breton by blood, and Redguard too, I'd guess, if her face and hair reflect it. And that dress. Well-worn, but its modest cut and color becomes her with; those complimenting shades of deep purple, leaf-green and gold tracery. Taarie would appreciate that.

Maybe. Her tastes turn with the moon. So -

I meet the lady's wide eyes. Mm. A warm brown. Almost amber. Then she blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice.

I was still staring, wasn't I?

Oh, dear. Better transition.

"Have you bed and board for one?" I continue, as if without delay.

"Aye, I've room and food for you," she nods pertly, hands on her hips and one slender brow raised, "Ten for the first, and five to dine this eve. We've a hearty beef stew on the pot with diced potatoes, sliced carrots and celery. I've even left a few loaves of fresh bread warming atop the oven too. Red winter wheat. All you can eat and all from local sources too."

Hm. Wow. She's rather - lively. And dedicated. And I've still failed to ask her name.

"Sounds lovely." I palm fifteen pieces and slide them to her on the counter-top. And another fifteen. Separate. An apology to her for my lapse. Made all the better by payment with Thalmor money. So considerate of them to let me use it for this. Best I be the same. "Full bed and board, if you please. And pray tell, My Lady, what is your name?"

At that she claps her hands together, grinning broadly as she takes the coins. "Oh! Since you asked so kindly, I may have a bottle of Colovian brand hidden somewhere. Perhaps I'll share that and a name with you in due course. Til then, seat yourself somewhere near the hearth. It's a long night to be without warmth." Then she spins on a heel towards an open doorway behind the bar. She stops there, one hand high on the frame, the other slowly brushing a loose hair behind an ear as her hips sway and cant sideways. Then her heads turns towards me. Chin tilting slightly down. Lips barely apart. Eyes heavy-lidded as I meet her gaze. Then she gives a too-wide smile, winks and walks out of sight.

Blink.

Pause.

Blink.

Well. That was - not what I intended. What would Firiel say if -

Nope. I will not walk down that path. No, no, no. Such leads only to damnation. And further foolishness.

I stroll over to an unoccupied table between the bar and hearth, slipping into the wooden chair nearest the wall there. Donning my hat again, I glance about the space. Casually noting the entrances. Doorways and windows. The bar. The tables. Persons and postures. Garments and gear. Then listening closely; words and tones of those I can hear best.

By their clothes and conversations, most appear to be locals. Only one table and the bar seems to seat travelers. Unusual travelers too, by their talk. A party of them led by an Einar, and another man named Emrys. Both seeking something.

I lean back in the chair and put up my feet on another, affecting an air of nonchalance and weariness as I pull down the broad brim of my eye. Covering my eyes as I focus on their conversation, staff cradled in the other arm. Feigning sleep as I correlate details. Cross-referencing with my memories. But I've nothing to contribute of my own. At least, nothing beyond personal judgment and simple conjecture.

Still, how curious. A secret dragon cult? And an amulet of some sort borne by members? Sounds - interesting.

Aimless as I am now, I've half a mind to aid them. Perhaps half a heart too . . .
Aiya! Elen síla lúmenn omentielvo! Call me Sil!

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Elerian
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Postby Elerian » Sun Jan 28, 2018 1:08 am

Emrys, Dragon Bridge

"Two more drinks, please. One for me and one for my...friend here."

Emrys gave Einar a beaming smile, a gift rarely given these days. Emrys wasn’t sure that the Nord would buy him a drink, but it was a pleasant surprise to be sure. And, before he knew it a fresh mug of ale was set before him. It filled the air with its pungent, yet inviting aroma, and before he could help himself Emrys already had the mug at his lips. Drinking greedily, the mug was half empty before he set it back down, a mustache of foam covering his upper lip.

"Okay, Emrys, I suppose I'll introduce myself. My name is Einar, and my party here are looking for a certain group of people. A certain group of people who all wear that amulet laying before us."

Emrys sucked the foam from his upper lip and swallowed as Einar introduced himself and made his intentions clear. Despite the fact that he had already drank a tankard and a half of ale, Emrys was no lightweight. In his days with the Knights of the Rose, Emrys could outdrink any of his peers. A feat made less impressive when you considered that most of his peers drank only mulled wine in their pseudo-sophistication. Even still, his mind was sharp enough to understand the danger that this would mean if Einar’s words were true. Though, Emrys remained calm and listened as Einar continued on.

"If you have any idea who these people may be, or where they come from, I would be glad to repay you for your kindness."

In truth, Emrys knew precious little. Certainly less than Einar, if he was in fact hunting the unsavory dragon fellows. But, his word was worth its weight in gold, and he would tell Einar what he knew. No fee more than the ale had been demanded, so no further payment would be requested. And so, after making a grandiose gesture with his tankard, he tipped it back and drank the last of the frothy ale.

“It was perhaps two days ago that I was travelling down a seldom used path near the border to the Reach. It was nearing dark and with my hopes of finding a homely establishment such as this all but lost with the fading sun, I decided on settling down for the night.“ Lost in the memory, Emrys stared off as he recounted the events that had led him to this very establishment.

“As I looked for a pleasant shrub to call my own, I heard shouts coming from farther down the path. Being the inquisitive type, I thought I would find the source of this ruckus. Since it was dark it was difficult to make out much more than shapes. As I approached the voices became distinct enough to tell that one belonged to a man, and the other to a woman. But with the way they were shouting, I thought perhaps the man was a bandit stealing from a poor lost farm girl. Being the Chivalrous Knight I am, I rushed to her aid.” Emrys made a show of it by puffing up his chest and looking every bit of a hero as he felt.

“However, to my utter dismay they both turned out to be bandits. Or so I thought. Perhaps these cultists as you called them were lost, but they had no intention of being found by anyone. As soon as they saw me, they made motions to draw their cruel weapons, and cast treacherous spells on me. But I was ready for whatever they could throw at me. I made quick work of the two of them, and when I went to see what sort of ruffians these two had belonged to I found this amulet around each of their necks” Emrys finished by pointing at the amulet on the bar.

“And there you have it, the truth of it” Emrys said proudly.

However, that was not the truth of it. At least not the whole truth. He had in truth been lost navigating the wilderness of Markarth, trying to remain off the main roads for fear of being found by the Watch of High Rock. He had run out of food and water the day before, and when he heard the man and woman arguing he planned on robbing them to keep himself going. Though, he hadn’t planned on them fighting back. In the end he’d been forced to kill them, but not before they’d nicked and bruised him a bit. If he hadn’t had the luxury of surprise, they likely would have killed him right then and there. But, it seemed as though the Divines had favored him that day.

And perhaps they had led him here too. Led him here to meet Einar . . .

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New Finnish Republic
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Postby New Finnish Republic » Sun Jan 28, 2018 11:01 pm

Four Shields Tavern
Dragon Bridge





I listened in great detail to Emrys's story, trying to find if the man had any gaps or contradictions in his tale that would otherwise spell out a liar. While I found none, I couldn't help but feel as though I wasn't getting the entire truth. However, even if the man was telling him a lie, I couldn't help but at least think that the man would be a useful. If indeed this man was a knight, having his aid would be something most fortunate for my upcoming journey. While Breton knights may not have had much in terms of political power here in these frigid lands, their reputation as capable fighters was more than useful in these troubled times.

I took the last remaining sip of my ale, pondering on what to do next. There was a part of me that told me that this man would be nothing but trouble for me, and quite frankly if I had been sober I would have likely listened to this man's advice. However, at this point the effects of the alcohol were beginning to creep into my mind, and I finally gave in.

"I see. Well, Emrys, a man of your talent should not be wasted sitting at a small inn such as this telling his tales of glory to strangers. If you would be interested, I would be more than happy to offer a deal for you in exchange for your services."

I looked around the inn, seeing that by this point it had mostly emptied out. I noticed Haeigr closely watching what was happening, no doubt ready to jump in should the need arise. Besides her and the rest of my party, nobody was close enough to hear my next words. I leaned in close to Emrys, speaking in a low voice.

"I have certain friends that will be more than willing to reward you should you aid me, as well as even offer further employment. All I ask is that I can trust you to aid me in my journey. It'll be dangerous, for sure, but nothing a knight couldn't handle I suppose."

I gave the man a small wink there and then reached out my hand. The man seemed to ponder the decision for a few seconds before a grin came to his face, reaching out and shaking my hand. A deal had been struck, and a new member had joined our party. I prayed to Talos that my judgement on this man was correct and that I wouldn't wake up with a dagger in my back.

I pointed back to the table where the others were.

"I suppose you'll have to introduce yourself to the others. Word of advice: Try not to mess with the Nord girl over there. Try anything and she'll turn your skull into a mobile anvil."




Fort Snowhawk
Hjaalmarch Hold





For four days, our party had travelled relatively unbothered as we made our way to where the small village was located. The roads had been busy, as we were often greeting with travelling merchants, local farmers, and even Legion patrols. The last bit had been bit worrisome for both Haeigr and I, myself especially. Had these Imperials figured out who we were, we would've likely been killed on the spot as would the rest of our party members just for being associated with us. In order to avoid that, we had created an alibi of Haeigr being a simple merchant delivering goods to Morthal and the rest of us being her personal guards. With Skyrim being as dangerous as it currently was, the story was more than realistic, and thus when we were questioned we were soon sent on our way, albeit with beads of sweat dripping down our faces as we did.

Our good luck seemed to end, however, as roar of the winter gusts filled out ears as we made our way down the road. Snow had fallen the previous night and the wind was continuing to howl, creating blizzard conditions that pounded us as we walked along the snow covered trail. While as a Nord I could live with such weather, I could tell the others were not handling it as well. As stubborn as I may have been, I could tell we needed shelter. I sighed, realizing that waiting for the weather to improve would only further delay our travels, something I would've rather avoided. However, having the others freeze to death wasn't something I wanted to avoid as well. We'd have to find shelter, and find it fast.

In the distance, I spotted what appeared to be a large structure. I was confused, as I knew we were still two days travel away from Morthal. However, as we approached, I began to notice the distinct features that gave away the nature of the structure: It was a fort, and an impressive one at that. While not as familiar with all the details, I remembered hearing that there was one such place known as Fort Snowhawk near the minor city. From what I had heard from higher ups within the Stormcloaks, the fort was planned on being the stepping stone to Solitude once we had gained a foothold in the region.

If the place was truly abandoned by the Imperials as reports had said, the place would serve as a great resting area for the time being. Seeing as we had yet to see an Imperial patrol these last few hours, I could only assume that there couldn't be any serious Imperial presence in the area, meaning that it could indeed be possible that the reports were true.

I looked over at the others, who seemed eager to get out of the cold. Reluctantly, I spoke up.

"Let's check out that fort up ahead. If it's empty we'll take shelter there, and if not we'll just move along until we find somewhere better."

I didn't hear any arguments, so I began to make my way to the entrance of the fort. Indeed, as I approached I saw no signs of fires, banners, or anything else that would otherwise indicate the presence of others being present. While this didn't necessarily mean that it would be safe, it was a good sign at least. The sight of crumbled walls reinforced my opinion that the Imperials or anyone else was bothering to use the area as a defensive positon, as one would have to be an idiot to try and defend such a vulnerable area.

However, as we approached the gate, my eyes noticed through the blowing snow a figure moving slowly towards us. The white snowy haze made it difficult made it hard to tell exactly what it was, but after a few seconds I was able to discern a figure. Indeed, several figures. While in any type of situation this would have made me wary, something else felt off about these figures. I couldn't tell what it was, but their movements betrayed something off about them. Cautiously, I drew my sword from its sheath, the others likewise putting up caution.

It wasn't until I noticed the sight of pairs of glowing blue eyes did I realized that coming to this area had been a grave mistake. These eyes belonged not to mortal men, but to the undead. Specifically, their skeletons that possessed a terrifying aura to them. I knew immediately what this meant, and it wasn't something I wished upon anyone to ever encounter in their journeys. Turning back to the others, I shouted as loud as I could over the billowing storm which continued to rage on around us.

"Necromancers!"

My cry seemed to spur on the skeletons in front of us, as they suddenly began to sprint as fast as they could towards us, their ancient weapons raised in preparation for battle. I braced myself, prepared to take on the onslaught while also glancing for the masters of these undead. After a few seconds, I noticed black robe figures also approaching, albeit keeping their distance significantly as they had their summoned beings do their dirty work for them.

I let my pack drop off my back, not wanting it to get in the way as the first skeleton reached me. The undead creature took a swing straight at me, seeming not to care that such a move could be easily read by a competent fighter. I merely sidestepped the skeleton before smashing into its ribcage with my armored shoulder, causing a good chunk of it to go flying away. However, it still was not out of the fight, instead merely attempting to swing at me once more. Cursing, I raised my sword to block the oncoming blow, deflecting it towards the ground where it then stuck in the ground. I then swung with my sword, this time going for the creature's head, causing it to go flying off as the blade smashed through the bone. This seemed to end the creature's fighting capabilities, as the remainder of its bones collapsed into a heap on the ground.

I didn't have the luxury of feeling victorious, however, as what must've been over a dozen more of the undead still remained, some of them already engaged with my party members. Worse, I could see even more being raised from the ground further ahead. If we were to get out of this, we'd need to go for the people responsible for this. As I blocked another oncoming blow, I shouted for the others to hear.

"We need to get the hooded bastards before we're overwhelmed!"
Known mostly as Finn, but also known as a few other things I can't put in a signature by those who know me.

American who got left too long in the sauna.

Proud to spread Spurdo Nationalism from sea to shining sea.

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Xah
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Postby Xah » Mon Jan 29, 2018 7:57 am

Haeigr Flamehair
Fort Snowhawk
Hjaalmarch Hold


Being of a rather conspicuous hair colour and build for a Nord woman, Haeigr was exceedingly careful over the next few days to keep her head covered with the hood of a cloak and spend most of the time sitting in the cart, keeping her ox, Stinky, on the right path and at the right pace. Whilst red haired Nords weren't altogether uncommon, it wouldn't take much of an enterprising Imperial soldier to link red haired woman, smithing tools and just the right amount of local knowledge to get Haeigr, and by extension Einar and the rest of them into some entanglements that they could do without.

When Einar made the suggestion of stopping at the seemingly abandoned fort, Haeigr raised an eyebrow. She felt it highly unlikely that such a structure would have remained unoccupied; there were far too many people in Skyrim either without a proper home to go to, or taking their chances at carving out there own little empire. However, it was cold and getting colder, some shelter was better than none so she stifled her objections and gee-ed Stinky up the path towards the crumbling pile of rocks.

When the big Nord leading the group shouted 'Necromancers!' Haeigr let out an audible groan, partly from the unpleasant feeling of being right when she didn't want to be, but also because necromancers were a right pain in the proverbial backside. Just when you thought you'd knocked one down, another one popped up and brought them right back to life again. Taking down their unnatural servants wasn't overly difficult, getting them to stay down was the trick. She stood up and lifted the lid on the seat, pulling out the large, golden coloured warhammer that lived under there. Gripping it with an ease that Haeigr lamented she'd ever acquired, she took her first swing at an approaching skeleton, sending its skull flying off into the swirling snow and making its body collapse in a heap. She jumped down from the cart and moved over to support Einar.

"You lead, I'll follow," Haeigr said, taking another swing at the overly-thin opposition. "I've got your back," she glanced back at the rest of the group. "And if anyone is handy with a bow, you watch mine."

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Tribe of Rinos
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Postby Tribe of Rinos » Tue Jan 30, 2018 6:56 am

Devthis Mirlis
Near Fort Snowhawk

Devthis was walking down a road. Gods he hated Skyrim. It was covered in snow almost year round. Maybe he would move to Cyrodiil one of these days. He could visit Kvatch, the place torn up by daedra during the Oblivion Crisis. Sure, they probably fixed it by now, but it would be nice to go see it. The sound of battle broke his thoughts. He listened closely to see where it was coming from. The shouts seemed to come from... the fort. He began to run towards the noise, readying a small flame in his left hand. He touched his sword with his right hand, ready to unsheath the blade.
Ta Ta! Come again, or I'll pluck out your eyes!
-SHEOGORATH

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New Finnish Republic
Minister
 
Posts: 2418
Founded: Mar 30, 2015
New York Times Democracy

Postby New Finnish Republic » Wed Jan 31, 2018 10:31 pm

Fort Snowhawk
Hjaalmarch Hold





"You lead, I'll follow. I've got your back."

I merely grunted in response to Haeigr, too focused on fending off a pair of skeleton warriors that rushed towards me, one armed with a mace and shield while the other wielded a rusty warhammer that likely hadn't seen action for Eras. While I didn't dare try to look behind me, I could tell Haeigr and the others were also busy dealing with their fair share of the boney bastards, which meant I'd be taking these two on by myself. I let them rush at me, the sound of their bones creaking with every step they took as their unblinking eyes stared me down. It was a sight that unnerved even a season veteran of war like myself.

The warhammer wielding skeleton was the first to strike, choosing to attempt to swing towards my kneecaps in a likely attempt to cripple me with the blow. At the same time, the mace wielding skeleton began to raise his weapon in preparation for a overhead blow that combined with the other skeleton's would kill me right and there. If I had a shield and sword this wouldn't have been much of an issue, but seeing as I wielding a greatsword, I had to think fast before either blow connected.

Bringing my sword down, I managed to catch the oncoming warhammer blow and trapped it on the ground by keeping the blade within the cleft of the bulk of the hammer. While doing this, I lowered my shoulder into the shield of the second skeleton, causing the undead to go flying backwards from the move. Had it been a man, I doubt such a move would have worked, but being merely bones the creature barely seemed to have any mass behind it.

Turning my attention back to the first skeleton who was still struggling to dislodge his warhammer, I slammed my head into its exposed skull. Thanks to the hardened steel that made up my helmet, the blow managed to shatter the creature's skull, causing the blue light to fade from its eyes and the rest of its body to crumble to the ground.

As for dealing with the other skeleton, which was now missing the arm which had originally held its shield, I flipped the grip of my sword in my hand, instead switching my hands so that they held the blade and the handle was facing outwards. With a mighty roar, I brought the handle down onto the creature's clavicle, completely shattering the frame of his upper torso. The damage seemed to be enough to end the necromancer's control, as the light from its eyes also disappeared.

Temporarily safe from attack, I glanced back to see Haeigr fending off another skeleton. She seemed to be making quick work of the thing, her warhammer being the perfect weapon against the fragile bones of her opponent as she smashed through its frame. However, seemingly unbeknownst to her, another skeleton was rapidly advancing behind her. This one still possessed equipment that I recognized as belonging to the Legion, albeit torn up and missing pieces. It likely was one of the many Imperial bastards that had fought against us, but I couldn't help but feel pity knowing that whoever it had been was now having their corpse desecrated by a necromancer. I rushed forward in an attempt to reach Haeigr in time, also yelling out a warning as I did.

"Haeigr, behind you!"

She had just finished off dealing with the foe before her, and thus seemed taken by surprise by the sudden appearance of the foe behind her. The undead Legionnaire had just begun to raise his sword in preparation to strike when I managed to reach it. I let out another roar as swung my sword at the undead creature, managing to sever its spine in half as well as it surrounding ribcage. Immediately the creature collapsed into pile of bones, its sword clattering on the ground beside them.

I looked back to Haeigr, panting as sweat dripped down my face beneath my helmet. Weariness was already beginning to set in, and the battle was far from over. Glancing, it seemed the others were in the same boat, as while they were able to cut down the undead creatures with relative ease the sheer amount of them was beginning to become overwhelming. I looked up towards the walls, where the robed figures were still busy conjuring up more of the undead. If these bastards weren't killed soon, it would only be a matter of time before my party and I were overwhelmed. Unfortunately, dark art users were smart enough to keep a handful of their minions at bay in between us and them as a wall of sorts, and I doubted I'd have time to try and fight them all off individually and try and move on to the necromancers. I had only one choice, and it wasn't going to be fun. I let out a small groan before speaking up to Haeigr, a metallic ring in my voice as it traveled through my helmet.

"Haeigr, I'm going to need your help in fixing a lot of dents and scratches to this armor after this."

Before she could ask what I meant by this, I let out one final battle cry as I began to barrel towards the group of skeleton guards. I prayed to Talos that he would bless my armor with the power of the Divines, as I refused to alter my course even as the undead began to notice me coming towards them. They began to raise their weapons, prepared to strike me down, but even then I was unfazed as I merely willed even more power into my legs as I sprinted as fast as I could in my armor.

Keeping my shoulder down, I simply bull rushed through the crowd of undead warriors, who probably would have shared looks of complete shock if they were actually alive. I could feel the sensation of blades scratching across my armors, one managing to find a weak spot and draw blood as it cut across my chest. Instead of yelping in pain, I merely cried out louder in my battle cry as I finally got through the now somewhat decimated group of undead guards. A trail of bones and fallen weapons littered the path before me, a sight I would've been impressed by had I not been focused on my intended targets.

The necromancers, seemingly in awe at what could either be described as sheer bravery or utter stupidity, were slow to react as I reached the first of their group. Under his hood, I could tell the man showed the features of a Nord woman, a sight that made me even more furious knowing that one of my own could ever commit such an evil act like this. Before the woman could try to escape or even raise a dagger to defend herself, I ran my sword through her torso, the blade finding no troubles in piercing through the cloth that she wore. Her face was one first of shock and then seemingly bliss as the life quickly faded from her eyes.

Pulling the sword out from her body, I scanned for the next closest necromancer, a Breton who clearly showed signs of panic as he tried to summon further minions to protect him. I didn't allow him the chance, as before the new skeletons could even get half of their torsos out of the ground I already swung my sword with a massive strike, nearly cleaving the Breton in two as I did. He tried to let out what I could only imagine to be a cry, but all that came out was a small gurgle as his nearly separated body collapsed onto the ground in a heap of blood and gore.

At this point, the remaining necromancers had been wise enough to retreat and redirect their remaining minions towards myself, switching now from offense to defense as they desperately tried to escape. The thought of people so interested in the dead fearing death themselves was so ironic that I wanted to laugh was it not for just how tragic the whole situation was.

With roughly a third of their casters now dealt with, the number of undead before me was significantly lower, albeit still large enough to pose a threat to myself. However, I was not alone in this fight, a fact that these undead summoners seemed to disregard in their panic to save their own skins. While indeed I would likely be unable to deal with any more of them, the others would now be facing significantly less resistance. This meant I'd now have to rely on them dealing with the remaining necromancers while I stood my ground against the horde of undead in front of me.

Beneath my helmet, I felt a small grin begin to form as I readied myself for the oncoming skeleton foes. My muscles ached, sweat practically was flowing down my face, and my previous wound burned like the flames of a forge. But still, I couldn't help but feel a sense a strange sense of joy, as I reveled in the feeling of battle. I was a son of Skyrim, practically bred for this type of thing. I knew that my ancestors were smiling at me, and I could feel their energy flow through me. This energy filled my voice with power, as I once again charged towards the undead.

"For Sovngarde!"
Known mostly as Finn, but also known as a few other things I can't put in a signature by those who know me.

American who got left too long in the sauna.

Proud to spread Spurdo Nationalism from sea to shining sea.

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Nuxipal
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6977
Founded: Apr 25, 2010
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Nuxipal » Thu Feb 01, 2018 1:37 am

Llyrin Osteroth
Whiterun, Whiterun Hold


Approaching the gates of Whiterun, Llyrin is yelled at by a Nord from the direction of the Whiterun Stables. "HEY! Those are my Horses. You stole my horses! Dirty Elf!. GUARDS! GUARDS!"

A pair of whiterun guards start approaching Llyrin puts up his hand and slowly pulls out the paper regarding the bounty on the Argonian. "I was just collecting the bounty on the bandit here. These horses were tied up to the cart when I arrived, I presumed they were his. I would be more than happy for the stable master to have his horses back. I am also sure the townguard wants what the bandit stole as well."

The guards, still untrusting of the man keep ready to jump him. He lifted the bandit's head and one of the weapons in the crate. "He took weapons and armor from whiterun's guards." This calms the guards down enough for them to escort him into town. Once inside the walls, Llyrin is escorted to Dragonreach where he was told to go inside to collect his bounty on the bandits and the lost horses, which the guards took back to the stables.

As he entered the great hall the Jarl was holding court and Llyrin was excited to get to speak with such an important person. When he was asked what his business was, and he showed the bounty and the sign off from the guards whom he had escort him. The man approached an imperial standing near the Jarl and whispered to him. The Imperial walked towards Llyrin and put his arm around him while leading him back towards the waiting area.

"You must be Llyrin, my associate here has notified me that you are here to collect on the bounty we placed on the bandit and recovery of his stolen goods. I am Proventus Avenicci, Steward of Jarl Balgruuf, and I could use more adventurers like you. Not everyone of them would simply return all of the goods, going so far as to return a pair of stolen horses as well."

He passes Llyrin a pouch of 50 septims. Llyrin smiled, "All in a days work. If you have more bounties, I can keep an eye out for you all."

The Steward passes Llyrin another sheet of paper, "These are the other known bandits that are on our wanted list. If you happen to run across one of them, you know we will pay for you to eliminate that problem." Proventus Avenicci returned to his place to continue advising the Jarl. Llyrin turned out of the palace and looked across the city. First thing he needed was a drink and he had a good idea as to where to find that around here.

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Xah
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 354
Founded: Jan 25, 2016
Iron Fist Socialists

Postby Xah » Thu Feb 01, 2018 2:22 am

Haeigr Flamehair
Fort Snowhawk
Hjaalmarch Hold


Haeigr wasn't a warrior, not in any sense; she'd had no formal combat training and not even any real experience in a battle. Sure, there were bar fights, provocative customer and even the odd lover who'd erroneously thought slapping around his woman was a repercussion-free activity, but nothing on this scale and certainly nothing like these opponents. Being a Nord, Haegir viewed magic as a necessary evil; it had its place and certainly had its uses every now and again, but often caused far more trouble that it was worth. The mess that the College of Winterhold had made of the town there was obvious enough. However, just because Haeigr wasn't battle-trained, didn't mean she wasn't capable. There wasn't much of a difference between swinging a hammer onto hot metal for hours at a time and swinging a hammer into opponents; if there's one thing Haeigr didn't lack, it was stamina.

When Einar turned to speak to her in the middle of the fight, despite his own sweaty countenance, Haeigr was still relatively fresh, although there was a scratch along her upper left bicep where a sword had caught her and a bruise on the side of her face where an inexpert block had bounced back off her own face. She nodded a thanks for the timely intervention and smiled, almost a grimace. "If all we need fixing after this are dents and scratches in armour, we'll be lucky," she replied and then watched in mild incredulity as Einar dashed off through the throng of undead.

"For Sovngarde indeed," she murmured. "Although I'd rather not go there just yet." Hefting her hammer up, she continued to crack bones and work her way up the path towards the fort's entrance where Einar was doing the classic Nord 'thing'. Keeping the skeletal horrors off Einar's back and trying not to get stabbed were still top priority.

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Tribe of Rinos
Diplomat
 
Posts: 795
Founded: Dec 20, 2016
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Tribe of Rinos » Thu Feb 01, 2018 8:19 am

Devthis Mirlis
Fort Snowhawk

Devthis stopped at the entrance of the fort, there was a sea of skeletons charging a small group. He ripped his sword free from its sheath. He charged, sword and flame in his hands. The first skeleton he came up to was engulfed in flame. He ran through the crowd, striking down the abominations before him. As he stabbed one in the skull, another smashed a mace on his head. Stunned, he swung blindly, only grazing the creature. The skeleton swung again, this time hitting Devthis in the stomach. Devthis quickly slashed one more time. The swing sliced the skeleton in half. He chugged a health potion and continued to make his way through the onslaught, bones splashing around him as he cut them down. He shattered the spine of another. Well this is easier then killing bandits, I should do this more often. He slashed another, and he saw the victims. A Nord had just killed two necromancers as the rest focused on the skeletons. He looked familiar for some reason. Devthis felt a sharp pain as a skeleton managed to stick a sword in an open spot in his armor. Seconds later the same skeleton was a pile of charred bones on the ground. Devthis continued to blast the crowd with flames for as long as he could. Eventually, the flame began to sputter and die. He had barely made a dent in the forces.
Ta Ta! Come again, or I'll pluck out your eyes!
-SHEOGORATH

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Sil Arion
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1112
Founded: May 07, 2013
Authoritarian Democracy

Postby Sil Arion » Thu Feb 01, 2018 8:30 pm

THE CLERIC
Four Shields Tavern


I sit idly by while I wait for my food. Entirely at ease as I listen between the bar and hearth, hands behind my head and eyes shut below broad-brimmed hat. Late is the hour I came; people soon start to depart. The volume of conversations and cups tapering off with the flow of the taps. Clothes rustle as bodies bustle out, boots scuffing wood and stone midst scraping chairs and slamming doors. Various town-dwellers, off-duty soldiers and several others take their leave as the full moon rises beyond the windows. They stay, that party of travelers. And while the whispered words Einar and Emrys share escape my ears, they appear to be in accord. Soon they too disappear upstairs; to their rooms and to sleep, I assume. Then I'm alone and soft footfalls approach me.

"Wanderer," murmurs a feminine voice, tone low and lilac-sweet in its lilting tune. One I know, yet not; the lady of unknown name. "Your dinner awaits you." I hear many wooden wares and metal utensils set on the table - too many. Smells of steaming meat and potatoes subsumes my senses. Then two tinkling sounds, and the rush of drink pouring as another scent wafts about. One fleetingly familiar, yet strong and sharp. Curious. My hand tips up my hat an inch, one eye opening slowly.

Well. She'd not simply teased earlier. For there sits the source. A decanter and twin tumblers.

There she stands beside the empty chair opposite me. Hands at her hips. Lips curled and but pursed in slight. One slender brow raised as I meet her eyes. Firelight reflected within, color a warm amber-brown and clear as the Colovian brandy before us. Something equally liquid and bright bursts in my breast. A fountain of feelings stirs that I'm wont to deny as always; wants drowned in sorrow, wet and cold. Then those buried deep beneath my missions' needs; the identity of Cleric.

But not now. Not tonight. This night, my heart weeps and wishes for warmth. The path of foolishness and damnation mayn't be so bad after all if such lays on it. Nine know I too often walk alone this narrow road.

So I stand. Twirl around to her on a heel in a fluid swirl of fabrics. Yet not touching at all. Smiling gently, I pull out the chair beside mine with all the courtesy of a nobleman courting a genial young woman. At the same time, she seats herself and I slide it under her. She makes a show of smoothing her skirts and slowly shifting around as I return to mine, eyes heavy-lidded and watching me all the while beneath those lashes dark and long. She lifts one tumbler towards me.

A toast. Mm. Very well. I take the other and mirror her.

"To your travels, wanderer without name," she says warmly, words teasing yet unhurried, "Nine guide and guard you well."

"And your hospitality, o lady fair," I reply in kind, tapping my tumbler to hers.

We drink it all. And for now, no more talk as the first spoonfuls enter our mouths.

But her word holds true from before; this stew is all she described it to be. And despite my condition, I find it most pleasing; a memory of years past. Younger days long ago when my tongue tasted roots, greens and legumes. While still my belly felt full with those, and by them my body sustained. My eyes close, head tipping back as I savor the taste; my mind lost midst scenes and feelings now only half-remembered.

I miss it some, the taste. I miss more a meal shared in itself. My teeth clench, lips thinning.

My family. Mother. Father. Finuviel. Firiel. By the Nine, I miss you so.

Alas, no more. And its poor form on my part to dwell on another while with a woman. Even if she was my beloved wife.

Eyes open again. Only a little, for my vision waters and wavers. Head dipped down, for I feel at odds with myself in this. But I meet her gaze still as I feel those tears fall. Eyes quietly questioning as her hand slips atop mine on the table. Head tilted and touch tender, thumb rubbing over mine in slow circles.

Her hand is warm. Marvelously so. Skin soft and smooth despite her labors. The care that speaks of. I -

She stands suddenly. Hand holding mine. Eyes searching still. Then her head tilts away, eyes flickering back towards the north-side bedroom. I rise to my feet slowly, almost unsteady. Not from food or drink, but this - this -

Talos. These last two days are too much.

She spins on a heel, stride soft and leisurely as I'm led to that door. With the turn of a key, it opens and she pulls me in. Pushing me in front with her other hand. Barely I notice the door close behind me as my focus narrows and heat blooms inside.

It's dark. Lit only by the moon, rays thinned by the window curtains. But still I see the bed in the corner, and hear the sound of fabric falling to the floor. Then her hands grasping loosely at my shoulders as she presses herself against me.

"Julienne," she breathes at my ear, hot and low.

I turn. One hands sliding to her bare hips, then about her about waist as the other caresses her flushed cheek. Her own clasping behind my neck. I lower my face to hers, lips barely brushing one another as I whisper my reply.

"Varamaer."



THE CLERIC
Fort Snowhawk


Under tree and over roots I venture within the shadowed woods. Thoughts light and smiling faintly as I flow around hanging branches and fallen boughs. Still dwelling on that night four days before while I follow along the road a few hundred feet away, hardly beyond the dense treeline of ash and pine. That party of travelers there a hundred feet ahead me. Still at ease by their bearing and pace, though barely visible through the driving snowstorm. One to my fortune; no sun shines this day.

A result of my aims; I would remain unknown for now. Only an unseen hand to guide and guard them on the road and at rest. My smile grows slightly at that, remembering two nights ago. I've been unable to perform such a fair service to the Empire in - some time. Ruddy Thalmor and their hospitality. I owe them a debt. One in desperate need of repayment. And it's colored my actions as of late.

Those five bandits who moved to ambush the travelers' camp. Their misfortune I found them first. I'd been -

Mm. A commotion ahead.

I creep nearer the road. Observing from cover. Listening well as I may. A cry rises from near the fort. Einar's voice, I believe.

Oh. Oh, dear.

Necromancers.

And to charge in like that? Mm. They have courage in abundance. No doubts there. But trouble will befall them should they come across an Ascendant without warning or proper preparations. Let alone a Master Necromancer.

My lips curl at that. Been a while since last I'd that - pleasure.

I watch them from the southeast side, my soon-to-be if witless allies embroiled in battle. Surveying a certain section of ruined wall between two towers, only twenty tall and ten wide there. Then every enemy I can see and hear as war-cries sound, steel rings and spells sing behind the battlements. Blue light blooming and held in hand, flowing and folding upon itself as water might. Separate, if similar currents I concentrate on simultaneously, left foot tapping as I measure time and drain.

Detect dead. Detect life.

Clouds of new color appear view. Those few blue. Four-score more in shades of red. Most still indoors, clusters midst whatever vaults, halls and corridors lie within. But moving swiftly and more registering on range with each tap of my foot.

Very well then. Let's be about it.

I release my spells. Burst forward from the treeline. Feet blur. Hands shine. Alternating equilibrium and close wounds. One dual-cast muffle. One invisibility. I come within a ten feet of my entry point. Leap. Run up. Push off and up to one side. Grip and push off again to the other. Run up. Push off one last times. Fingers grasping at the battlement.

I slip over. Crouch low as my feet touch the stone. Scanning for any enemies too close for comfort.

No one. Least, none but for four fifty feet beyond, who run towards the main entrance.

I study them, if briefly. A Breton necromancer per her face, three minions arrayed before her. Skeletal by looks, no skin to them at all. Only scraps of hair, tendons and muscle on bare bone. But armor they wear, and arms they wield. Rusty steel in laminate strips on the head, torso and every limb. Wretched swords in hand and rotted shields on arm for all three. Too-bent bows at their backs and black arrows too in queer quive.

My hands glow. Vivid indigo and violet color coming into being. Swirling. Twirling towards those four. Twin portals opening.

"Let blood run in rivers!" Then infernal blades crash down. Heads fly. And a feminine scream echoes.

I drop to a knee. Hand on the battlement to steady myself. Invisibility lost. Reserves drained dry. One hand glowing red, another golden-yellow. Equilibrium and close wounds, silent and swift as always while I replenish myself. Once more my blood boils and burns. Flame and feeling swells within. But this pain. It is nothing now as I look on and listen.

Shouts sound in the courtyard below, a hundred feet away.

My comrades. And a dozen zombies on the attack, hacking away beside their fell masters. Yet this remains but a beginning to the greater battle. A prelude to the main act. Scores more surely gather behind the gate to the main hall; so I saw.

Hm. Due to distance, I'll provide fire support. General ranged spells. Given the targets, disintegration it is.

Sparks kindle in between my two hands. Bright blue light. Colors arcing. Magic surging. Charging. Then released.

Chain lightning.

The bolt hits center-mass. Bony body blasted apart in a burst of ashen flesh. Its six fell-formed fellows too in the explosion of stormy force. None will rise again; disintegration work wonders. Too bad for their masters; they'd the sense to stand far and away their mindless minions.

Well. Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes. Now only four remain.

Hm. How sweet they'd be. But I'll not. Not yet, at least. Frost Cloak. Equilibrium. Close wounds.

My summons are already on their way. Their war-cries carried on the cold wind. Flaming swords raised as they leap down and cut in twain two more undead. I follow, if from the flank. Sprinting behind the deranged mages. Dropping from the battlement. An airborne somersault. Feet impacting. Falling foorward into a roll. Rising up in at a dead run. Arms spread wide. Mystic blades bound to Oblivion held in hand.

Sharp points thrust through beating hearts. I retract. Two corpses crumple to earth. The others attempt to flee. But so close to me, they slow and still. Frozen. Paralyzed. My blades thrust once at their backs. Twice. Thrice. Then their fallen fellows too. And four more swipes, each to the neck. And sparks. Best to be sure.

Soon it is silent. Only the wisps of snow and whipping wind, so cold and cruel as my spell dissipate.

I turn to regard the party of travelers. Einar. Emrys. The Nord smith. The Dunmer warrior.

So I wave at them, sporting a soft smile. And with cheery nonchalance, call out clearly.

"Well, hello there!"
Aiya! Elen síla lúmenn omentielvo! Call me Sil!

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Theyra
Senator
 
Posts: 4632
Founded: Aug 29, 2015
Democratic Socialists

Postby Theyra » Sat Feb 03, 2018 3:34 am

Hjaalmarch Hold
Fort Snowhawk
Ravonl Larethwatch


Ravonl was staying behind the Einar and the rest of them. He was keeping up with them as they moved up and decided on using his magic against the necromancers and their minions. Though he had his mace out ready for if a skeleton had someone got passed Einar and the rest. By now Ravonl had already taken down some skeletons with his fireballs and one necromancer that was watching the fight over the battlement. As he was about to launch another fireball at a skeleton, he heard a sound behind him. Ravonl turned around to see a skeleton preparing to slash down at him. Without saying a word he quickly used his mace to block the skeleton's sword as it came down on him. Before the skeleton could raise it's sword for a another strike, Ravonl unleashed a fireball from his left hand and the blast reduced the skeleton to cinders. "That was too close and how did that thing sneak op on me" Ravonl thought and when he turned back to the fight. He saw that the rest of the enemy seem gone and he heard someone say "Well, hello there!" "Ravonl looked at the new face while still in a battle ready stance."Who are you and where did you come from"?

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Theodosiya
Minister
 
Posts: 2785
Founded: Oct 10, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Theodosiya » Mon Feb 05, 2018 4:25 am

Magnus Skybreaker
Karthwasten, Skyrim


"MAGNUS! WAKE UP!" A voice shouted, preceded by loud banging on the door. Magnus himself quickly jumped down from the bed and wore his armor. "What happened?" He shouts, as he opened the door, already fully fitted for combat. "Octavus got wounded when he scouted the area around Karthwasten, just when he's about to return here" Joffrey barged in, sweating and covered in mud and blood. "He's taken to the local healer" he continues as Magnus barged out of the inn, and into the local village hall.

"How bad is it?" Magnus broke into the room where Octavus is being treated. "Took a rock to my helmet, and an arrow to my shoulder and left arm." Octavus grunts, before looking at the healer. "Could be worse, considering he's ambushed by Forsworns" the healer sighed. "Forsworns? This close to Karthwasten?" Magnus eyes widens, before he sat on a chair. "By the Eight. Has the village chief...?" Magnus turns to a Breton who entered the room. "I've heard about what happened" the Breton spoke, and then approached Magnus. "Chief...?" Magnus looked at the Breton, trying to remember the name of the leader of Karthwasten. "Ainethach. And if I'm not wrong, I've seen you before, few years ago. Praefect Magnus Skybreaker, right?" Ainethach stared back at the former Legion Officer. "It's just Magnus Skybreaker, now. Adventurer, freelancer." Magnus sighed, as he stands. "Sir, you better prepare the village for a raid. I don't think the Forsworns would only attack Octavus and run away. There's been a raid on a caravan within the reach of Markarth. I know Forsworns would rarely take risk with that kind of raid. Eight knows what they might do to Karthwasten!" Magnus took a deep breath. "When your friend came here with two arrows and a bruise on his head, I ordered everyone to come full alert. We started to barricade the streets and the roads, if you notice" Ainethach gestured outside, where some people build barricades out of whatever materials available in the village. "Hopefully that would be enough to stall some of them. I also sent two villagers, each to Markarth and closest Legion fort. Just hope they reach their destination in time, otherwise Karthwasten would have lots of dead people, or might even be wiped off map" he continues, and then looks at Magnus. "Since you have experience in Legion as soldier and officer, face Forsworns before and also an adventurer, I'll ask you to lead the defense. We might not be able to pay you much, but you would have our gratitude, Magnus" Ainethach put his hand on Magnus shoulder. "I, I'm not sure, Chief. It's been some time after I lead soldiers or militiamen in combat. I don't think I..." Magnus looked down. "You're our only hope, Magnus. Please." Ainethach begged, forcing Magnus to close his eyes and think, before sighing, and opening his eyes again, fully committed and sure of himself. "Alright, I'll take the responsibility. If this village falls, then you all can blame me alone. I would defend this village, even if that means the Forsworns would sacrifice me to the Hargravens. I can't forsake my oath and my conscience, even though I'm no longer a Praefect..."
20 years old Indonesian Javanese Catholic with interest in History, Military and Politics. Airsofter.
Marhaenist
Heterosexual
Pro : Civic Nationalism, Death Sentence, Indonesia, Center left, Center right, Chemical castration for rapists.
Neutral : LGBT+(Nominally Pro, if thinking that they shouldn't be persecuted or attacked or converted), Russia, USA, Atheism, Religion.
Anti : Communism, Fascism, Capitalism, Anarchism, Ethnic Nationalism, Religious Fundamentalism (All Religion), Far Left, Far Right.

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