Lord Rokinges
Official Fanfiction Judge
✝ Tʜᴇ Sᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ WɪᴛᴄʜHᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ✝
a roleplay
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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]
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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.