Open Tʜᴇ Sᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ WɪᴛᴄʜHᴜɴᴛᴇʀ

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    Lord Rokinges

    Official Fanfiction Judge
    :blackdragon:
    Tʜᴇ Sᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ WɪᴛᴄʜHᴜɴᴛᴇʀ
    a roleplay
    BYFRoVF.jpg
    ===~~~===
    CURRENT STATS:
    3 CONTRIBUTERS
    Dueur
    Jekkems
    Arretia
    RECRUITING
    you do not have to post a character card first but you can if you want to, just remember to put it into [OOC]
    ===~~~===
    The witchhunter raised his hand, angling it backward. His elbow was tilted at a slight amount of degrees, ready to spring forward with high power. In his palm lay a thin shard of pure silver- cold as ice, deadly at a bolt of red lightening.
    The cold, conquering spear was absolutely flawless; glowing with white silver. The most simple piece in the world, yet the most deadly.
    The man whom was to die within the minute stood, unaware, his men standing beside him. As he leaned forward to inspect the piece of gold he had just specially ordered from a local blacksmith in the town of Dire, he left his protective shield of men in full regal armor. The witchhunter let the stake fly.
    The sun glinted off of it (as it was about 5:00 PM) at it flew at the man's ear. It entered the lower ear first, piercing the skin of his earlobe, ripping through. The sharp end (both ends were equally sharp, actually) broke the layer of the skull. The 1/2 centimeter shard (with 1/4 millemeter tips) cleanly went through the mind of the target, killing him instantly. There was no recoil of his body; he simply collapsed as he bent forward.
    A second passed, and then the guards as well as the goldsmith recoiled, reaching for weapons- a dagger (for the smith) and spears (for the guards). The witchhunter was experienced in this way, and instantly made a beeline for the golden amulet. As he stretched his hand out, the stake flung itself into the air, returning to his palm.
    The guards turned to see when the piece of silver was going. As they spotted the witchhunter (a man with a top hat and a partial mask covering the bottom half of his face), they rose their spears in retaliation.
    The witchhunter evaded one of their spears, spinning while holding the silver shaft outward, and slashed across the chest of one of the protectors of the late buyer. The guard stared down, then collapsed to his knees and died.
    The fellow guardians charged at the witchhunter, who grabbed the amulet and cut down the goldsmith who had tried to stop him. As the thief disappeared into the forest, half of the warriors gave up pursuit. The rest (about 4 of them) continued running into the darkness of the towering trees, oblivious to the facts that 50% of them had left for other help.
    The witchhunter smiled. This was his favorite part. Behind the wide tree, he reached into his belt to grab a hold of a curved sickle. The sickle was more of a smaller version of a scythe, a single ornate round opening with sunspikes protruding from the outside hole. A simple leather flatcord was wrapped around the end, creating a flat handle for striking and swinging.
    As the first guard dashed past the tree, unaware, his neck met the curved blade. The edge easily ripped out the man's throat, spilling blood.
    The witchhunter twirled the sickle and cut down the rest of the men within the minute. It was a simple, quick bloodbath (though none of the spear thrusts even touched the witchhunter).
    The witchhunter began the walk to his dark cottage in the mid of the forest.
    Dueur had arrived in Skyrim.
     

    Slave of Rokinges

    Popular Member
    Jekkems took the remaining steps toward the town hall of Dire, also his home. He had completed a talk with the lower minister of Windhelm, and had learned the needed extra wood for a brand-new outpost they were starting to build. The minister had a tendency to talk more then needed, and Jekkems had learned that he needed a supply of wood (due to the fact that a slight green-disease had killed many trees). The minister had seemed to drone on about how the movers of the logs would be well protected from the most highly trained paladins they had.

    Jekkems had been reminded by the days of when he was a master of the broadsword. Nowadays he simply was the Town Head of this new village near their city (of Windhelm). The town of Dire, in which he lived in, was populated by many citizen and villagers of Skyrims, such as the several rich merchants living in the proximity, as well as many goldsmiths, silversmiths, and others who had the ability to make expensive goods. Un-owned land was attractive to richer folk (land for their towering mansions. Soon enough, the city had become appealing to many men. There was even an active guard, some available for hiring and other simply to patrol the pavement, looking out for bandits. There was one merchant, an extremely rich one, Jekkems remembered, that seemed to utilize the men-for-hire as much as possible... what was his name? Eh, he would recall later.

    In this city, the population seemed to be made up of varied people. About 300 (or more) people seemed to live within the land- ten percent were guardians and men-at-arms. The rest were made up of smiths and merchants, restaurateur and entrepreneurs, loggers and hunters. All sorts of positions were filled, and the town ran smoothly. Bandit attacks had been frequent over the last week, but they were usually easily countered by the city guard. Assaults for wealth were never cleverly taken out, the bandits simply yelled "Charge!" and came running out with torches and poisoned scimitars. The men-at-arms just drove them off with spears and such.

    Jekkems placed the key inside into the doors leading to his large town hall/home. After climbing up the oak banister the city logger had crafted for him specially, he reached his room. He walked past the stately doorway and scanned the room. It seemed to be proper. The bed laid on the side of the window (across from the doorway), and there was a low table next to the bed with an immaculate glass of water in-case he needed it in the night.

    Easing his 70-year old bones, Jekkems lowered himself onto his bed. He groaned (it was 8:00 PM, time to get to sleep). One day in the past, he would have stayed awake till the morning.

    The town headman laid himself down on the comforter, lone in his house. Then a glint caught his eye; the stand of silver armor he had worn decades ago. The helmet was gleaming on the top (conical) as well at the thick torso breastplate. The leggings were plates of silver made easy to bend by steel links. Finally, the immense broadsword of a paladin master laid next to the gauntlets and steel boots.

    Still shining, Jekkems smiled. No one would ever match his skill as it had been.

    Suddenly, the door flew open to his room. The town head flew up due to his once honed reflexes. A guard stood in the doorway. Jekkems had not realized it, but he held the silver broadsword in his palm.

    The man who had woken him fell backwards, startled. He finally got himself up, gasping for breath, and said: "There has been a slaughter!"

    Jekkems instantly straightened and flashed a questioning look at the man. Clearing his words, he exclaimed, "Vladimir and his guards were killed by an assassin. The goldsmith on Dret Pathway was murdered by a slashing weapon, and... well, I think the target may be the minister-"

    Jekkems realized the meaning (and he knew that was not the reason of the murder; the minister had many guard with him, an it would be better to attack his when he was in the center of a forest. Gripping his broadsword, he charged out of the room, motioning the man to follow.

    "Come! We must hurry!"

    He knew the survivors of this attack would instantly make a party to follow this assassin. None were skilled enough though-
    None were as skilled at the White Paladin.
     

    IndurDawnD3ath

    The Legendary Conundrum
    (So I'm sorry, but I don't know if you need to see my character before I post the real pieces so if so could you tell me?)
    (This is my Character Below) (If this is unnecessary well, thanks for telling me.)

    Name: Arretia

    Race: Breton

    Gender: Female

    Fighting Style: Conjurer- (Specifically,) Summons beings to fight for her. Refuses to resort to any necromancy, and devoutly destroys any undead on sight. When opponents get to close, weapons are summoned and used to fight off attackers in melee; weapons summoned in are: Bound Sword, Bound Bow.

    Appearance: Copper colored hair (Short-parted down the left side) Standing rather short at only 5'4" (Five foot four) Not super attractive, but not super ugly. Wears a white hood (Attached to the robe) that has a veil and mask that can be pulled to cover the face. (Only used when playing at deception) Dons a enchanted white robe that enables a minor boost to conjuration spells for 60 seconds a day. Wears white boots that go up to her knees with no special properties along with white gloves doing nothing special either. (Only removes the clothing to sleep)

    Personality: Very insecure about her body. She thinks that nobody will like what she looks like underneath, so she only shows her face. Very confident in battle, but does not care for boasting, nor does she take kindly to it. Though despising undead; she finds a strange pleasure in blood. This strange pleasure causes her to enjoy occasionally pulling a psycho move just so she can feel it as it runs down her body. (In simple terms, she is a little creepy.) Gets along with almost anyone except those who boast their deeds, necromancers, and those who resent her or her magic.

    Background: Being born poor, and into the cruel world. Her father was a gravedigger in Falkreath. Her mother was the owner of Dead Man's Drink before Valga. At the age of seven, a platoon of Forsworn looking to expand their territory attacked Falkreath. They slaughtered many citizens. One of them being Arretia's mother. Her father dug two holes. He buried her in one, then killed himself in the other. The funeral was so brief and generic that it hurt Arretia that her parents were not recognized for anything big they accomplished. Every one was dressed in black. After the funeral, Arretia fled town. Where she was eventually captured by a group of necromancers who brought her to their lair and planned to sacrifice for their ill intentions. This is where she first discovered her ability to conjure beings when she summoned a familiar which killed all the necromancers. She found her way to the college and studied magic there briefly before she deserted.

    Misc: Wears white because she remembers everyone wearing black at the funeral. Her familiar, which slew the necromancers used up its strength in that one moment and became significantly weaker after that moment. Most commonly summons Atronachs to assist her; rarely, she attempts to bring a daedra to her side if she is desperate.
     

    Lord Rokinges

    Official Fanfiction Judge
    [OOC: It is not necessary, but greatly appreciated. You can now post your pieces. I like the idea of your character.]

    Dueur trudged towards his small, quickly made cabin. It looked quite homely in the woods, but at least was most likely comfortable inside and was blended by the trees. The cottage was surrounded by tall plants and made of the same wood as the logs in the forest. Each log was simply tied together to form a stiff, dark wall on four sides. A simple, boarded roof was on the top- no intricate shingles and all.
    He had not made it.

    As he walked up a faint dirt path, he smiled to himself. Eve would already have dinner going. As he opened the creaking door (made creaking so no robbers could get in) he put on a large smile and tromped into the warm cabin.
    A thin woman ran up to him and threw her arms on his shoulders. "Thank the lord, you came!" After a second she added: "And you're late!

    Dueur smiled. Eve, always worrying and caring. "Yes, but I brought you something to re-compensate for me being a couple minutes off." From a leather pouch, he pulled the gold amulet the goldsmith had made. She gasped. "Oh, Dueur, why? You shouldn't have!" She tried it on various times, placing it on her neck and watching the orange light of their oil lantern bounce of the gleaming metal.

    Eve looked truly beautiful as she admired the wonderful piece. Wearing a beaten leather cloak and linen cloth for an undershirt, she looked like a peasant whereas she could be the richest person alive. She had followed him for 13 years, and was like a sister, but could be a wife to him. Eve did not know that this Witchhunter was the deadliest person alive in many counties, and what he had done to retrieve this amulet.

    Dueur had met Eve 19 years ago at a slave market. She had been saved by Dueur, and then stayed with him for the rest of her life because she claimed no one cared about her- she was a nobody.


    Eve was truly an excellent cook and went out to the cities the Witchhunter preyed on. She bought supplies and had a likable personality, so made many friends as she went. Everyday she had returned with butter, oil, fruits, and other materials used for eating and cooking. Dueur couldn't say that she knew nothing of his experience-she had seen him cut the throat out of an Argonian who had been following them. After that, he reassured her he was fine and the Argonian was a hired stalker or killer. The Witch Hunter knew that she also probably heard phrases when she went to the village, such as "Did you hear of the killing in the local tavern?"

    Dueur removed his top hat and placed it on the rack near the entrance way. "Did you bring the case?"

    She answered as she admired the amulet. "Yes, I placed it where it should be." Dueur scanned the room and walked into what seemed to be the kitchen. A fire was lit in the corner, and on the other side of the wooden room lay a wooden case. The case was with imprinted, ornate decor and was polished to the brim. Dueur slowly opened it, and reached into his black coat.

    His hands closed around the cold, shard of icy silver. As he pulled it out of his stained coat, he instantly began to admire the glowing, flawless metal. Dueur finally placed it in the case and shut the lid. He hadn't realized it, but was holding his breath.

    He returned to the kitchen where roasted peas and garlic was waiting for him. Eve smiled as he slowly took each piece, and without speaking, ate the plate. Dueur stood up, and asked Eve, "Will you go to the town tommorow?"

    She replied. "Yes, we need butter and potatoes. All we have is some oil as well as dried fruits." Dueur nodded.

    He said slowly, "We'll have to sell the amulet to make the money..."

    "But no! It's so beautiful, can't you get some more currency tomorrow morning?" She touched the gold necklace around her throat.

    Dueur smiled. "Sure, but I'd better sleep now then. Can you feed Dent?" Dent was the name of their pack donkey who carried their supplies whenever they moved from realm to realm. He slept whenever he could, and was trained to not whinny of honk when awake.

    "Yes, and I'll clean the dishes."

    Dueur rose and tromped over to his room. A door made of interwoven, hard sticks protected him and gave privacy. Eve did a good job, he thought. She is a true architect. He laid down the the close mattress, his sickle in his hands. No changing, just in case.

    ===~~~===
    He awoke just in time, right as the man above him brought the sword down.
     

    IndurDawnD3ath

    The Legendary Conundrum
    Arretia found herself approaching the town of Dire. Her many travels had led her to this location. She planned to leave Skyrim. It was quite cold, and she was eager to search the rest of Tamriel while she was still walking it. The town looked to be a decent size. She pulled her hood up and let it cover her face fully. She planned to speak as little as possible, if at all. She took in some of the important buildings standing before her. She saw houses, a tavern, a general store, and a rather tall looking building that seemed to be a focus in the town. Suddenly she saw a man about 70 years old charge out. He meant business. "Oh well," she thought to herself, "I didn't have anything else planned." She had become accustomed to following those who looked like they were going to battle. So she silently followed the man from a safe distance. Always keeping him in sight. She pursued on. "I'm getting bored," She thought to herself. She failed to notice that she was picking up speed as she kept pondering all these things in her jam packed mind. "What if this guy is going to murder somebody? Am I just helping him out by being here?" When she finally realized where she was standing, it was to late. She had already bumped into the man she had been following.
     

    Slave of Rokinges

    Popular Member
    The guard Jekkems had been following was a few paces ahead. As Jekkems tried to catch up, he began to wonder if he should've put on his suit of armor. His broadsword was still gripped in his hand, and folks that were wandering squinted at him. It wasn't every day you saw your town headman running towards a murder scene with an enormous silver broadsword.

    Jekkems Williamson attempted to cover up his weapon with his arm, but the sword was still to big. Finally, he settled, it was better than nothing. As he looked down to examine the greatsword's visibleness, he wasn't looking where he was going. Suddenly, he bumped into a stranger wearing a pale hood and a white veil. Strange, he thought, I have never seen this woman before.

    Jekkems stared at the unknown person, trying to place her. He remembered his manners, as he realized this was a person who was probably new to the town of Dire. "Welcome." He said, offering his hand. It wouldn't do to look like he was in a hurry to be in a murder area; newcomers were always welcomed.

    His outstretched hand was ignored as the woman inquisitively stared at the ground. "What is your name?" He prompted.

    "....Arretia." Her voice seemed to have layers of tones to it. Jekkems was tempted to ask her how she got here, for she did not seem to have any weapons in her and the way to this city was filled with forests and bandits.

    At that precise moment the guard returned and said, "Mr. Williamson! Hurry, the men are leaving!"

    Jekkems spun around, leaving his offered hand and charging as fast as a 70 year old man could. As he ran, he remembered who Vladimir was: the rich man who always hired many guards. How had he been killed?

    A few minutes later, they reached the site of killing. Dret Pathway, the path to the market had many stalls next to it, the most profitable being the quaint goldsmith Tren. He had made Jekkems a chain to wear on his neck--he also had been repairing it when he was killed. Excellent at making heavy jewelry.

    Jekkems saw the bodies of men on the ground. It was quickly spread that more carcasses had been found in the forest. Hell truly had occured.

    The town's head knew that the cause of this was an efficient killer; the bodies were neatly slashed, no sign of an apparent fight. He heard a young man's voice call out a second later: "I am leaving today!" Jekkems recognized him to be one of the survivors.

    The headsman stopped the young one and exclaimed, "No, I'm afraid more experienced people will have to go. 7 men is good enough." Before any could complain, Jekkems Williamson swiftly dealt 6 roles to the most battle-worn guards.

    The young survivor said, "That's only six!"

    Jekkems interrupted, "This was an experienced killing. Not many men could take whoever this was down."

    "So?!"

    "I am afraid...I must go as well."
    Jekkems uncovered his gleaming greatsword.
     

    Lord Rokinges

    Official Fanfiction Judge
    Dueur instantly rolled of his low mattress and flicked his hand upward. His other hand reached for the scythe, but it was too far; the man had moved it. The witchunter's eyes scanned the room for other enemies, none. He could sense, though, the others outside of his door.

    He tightened his fingers around the bandit's neck, stopping the choking noises made. The thug dropped his blade onto the bed, and, kicking the shin of the foe, grabbed the handle and cut his head off. No noise, he caught the head as it fell to the ground. Dropping the bloodied sword on the mattress, he found his scythe and crept forward. Peering through the doorway, he saw....

    The door flew open, breaking into two over Dueur's back. He spun, holding out his scythe and, without even knowing it, ripped the throat out of two bandits.

    Outside in the main room, holding the ornate case carrying the stake as well (in the other hand) carrying the blade against Eve's throat was the bandit leader named Reif. He saw the two men he send to check of Zekt, who had been searching the rooms, fall. A pool of blood was around them. He gaped, then came to his senses and handed the polished case to an ally of his. Both hands were occupied about to kill Eve. "Show yourself!"

    Dueur crept slowly outwards, one hand still gripping the miniature scythe. The man in front of him was enormous. His muscles seemed to be the size of hell, and he look as if he could break a thick tree with one swipe. But more importantly:
    He had Eve.

    The witchhunter noticed the ball/wire around her mouth. Those caused tremendous pain over time and scarred you for life. Dueur could already see the strong steel wire cutting into the sides of her lips. Eve's eyes were wide, staring right at him with pure fear.

    She looked....ghastly.

    {AGAIN, WILL UPDATE SOON}
     

    IndurDawnD3ath

    The Legendary Conundrum
    "What is your name?" He asked her after attempting to shake her hand. "...Arretia" she replied. She was a little hesitant and spoke with multiple tones. Another man approached and said to the first "The men are leaving," then the two ran off She was about to follow the man when she heard a voice yell out "Show yourself!" From somewhere nearby. She looked around and sprinted in the direction of the voice. "I hope whoever that was is really close," she thought to herself. She spotted a small rundown cabin. Through a window she spotted a very large and burly man holding a woman at knife point. She hid behind a tree and muttered a few words and summoned a bow silently "Thank goodness I dabbled into illusion magic enough to cast silently," she muttered to herself.
    She hesitated, thinking that maybe the man she had been following was a cohort of this man. No, there was no time she had to act now. She dropped her hood, took aim with her bow; then she fired an arrow though the window. It tore through the window went right in front of the man and woman and thudded into the wall, disappearing seconds afterwards. "Crap," she thought to herself. "I missed another one"

    The man turned to look at where the arrow landed then out the now shattered window. She didn't hesitate to knock another arrow. The man moved his hand to make the kill. She only had one chance to kill this guy. She thought she heard another voice inside the building. She aimed quickly and fired another arrow towards the man; this time the arrow found its mark inside the man's hand. He yelled out in pain; at the same time he released the piece of the ball wire in that hand. The woman he had saw her chance and ran forward away from him. She had this guy now. Just one more.... suddenly her bow disappeared; with a horrified thought she remembered, the spell had run out. "Hey if you're still nearby!" She yelled out to anybody close enough to hear. "I could use a hand." She prepared to summon an storm atronach to deal with the man. However she hesitated to see what his next move would be.
     

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