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    Madrar

    The Shadow in the Dark.
    It has been three years since the death of the usurper, Ulfric Stormcloak, and a year after the companions slew the one known as Drazzeth. The dark harbingers last words haunt the companions, and though Drazzeth and his minions have been slain, there is far worse coming. Legion upon legion of abominations, known only as 'the Blight' are on their way to the surface of Tamriel. The companions must warn a so far ignorant world of the danger, before they are overwhelmed in a tide of darkness not seen for over ten thousand years. Already, the signs are there. Darkness presses down on the minds and hearts of the people, and no one stays out after the sun has set.

    Recently, near Ulfrics' former capital of Windhelm, a new group of pro stormcloak 'rebels' have assembled, under the banner of a mysterious figure by the name of Azeraile. They have named themselves the Whitescar Brotherhood, and prowl the northern reaches of Skyrim, fighting in Ulfrics name, and terrorizing non-Nords, though their leader is shrouded in mystery, and none have seen his face. The companions must stop Azeraile from fulfilling his dire agenda, and at the same time, warn the rest of Tamriel about the peril they are in.

    ____________________________________________________________________________________

    Cast​
    Salthar Vivarian
    Shadari
    Torin Greenbow
    Elizabeth
    Julius
    Aliah Stormwind
    Bornir Shield-arm
    Lythare
    Skjoldr Wild-Blood
    Akassa​
    Alice Psyrakon​
    NPCs'
    (Non-Playable Characters)
    Amgril the Gold
    Hasarr the Blue
    Dremoth the Red
    Sorath the Black
    Guardsmen/soldiers.
    Azeraile
    Jorn Blackstone
     

    Madrar

    The Shadow in the Dark.
    Salthar Vivarian and Elizabeth, the former priestess that had become his apprentice, of sorts recently. The two of them, Imperial woman and Altmer vampire stood in a clearing a small distance away from the town of Falkreath. Salthar stood, his right hand extended, palm up, not physically moving, though he was exerting himself. Four large boulders, each about the size and weight of a small child.

    He focused on the young womans' face as he rotated the rocks in a clockwise manner around the two of them. "As you can see, there is no true limit to what you can do, provided you have the concentration, and the strength" he explained, lowering the boulders to the soft ground, surrounded as they were by towering pines that dotted the landscape of Falkreath hold.

    The vampire lord could have trained the former priestess in his covens' residence, the Bloodlet Throne, but she'd informed him she wanted nothing to do with the vampires of his coven. He could hardly blame her. Most of the vampires were less than pleased he'd spent so much time away from the coven. The journey he'd taken with Aliah and the others had lead to the fighting of Drazzeth, a harbinger of something called 'the Blight'.

    He'd returned to Falkreath, in order to teach Elizabeth at least some of what he knew. However, the harbingers' words haunted him, and he had no doubt that the others were haunted by the words as well. He gestured to the boulders. "Now, Elizabeth, lift the stones"

    (OOC: No, I didn't just hijack willows' character. We worked this all out before hand)
     

    Aethalia

    Well-Known Member
    "More of us are coming. You think you have won, but have only delayed the inevitable. Your world will die" Aliah shivered, hunching her shoulders up against the sudden ice that raced through her body. Of course, neither the wind nor the rain or snow affected her any longer. As a vampiress, lots of things no longer affected the Altmer woman. No, the icy feeling of dread that had struck her to the core were the harbingers last words.

    She was in Falkreath, and, as usual in the dreary little town, it was raining. Her arterial blood red hair was plastered to her skull, and her leather long coat shed the water, giving it a glistening sheen as she passed guards and buildings holding torches. Her twin ebony swords at her sides drew more than a few stares, but less than they had a year ago. The Nords had grown a little more tolerant of non-natives of Skyrim, but obviously, the Northern holds were less than accommodating. There were whispers of discontent in the North, with many joining some apparent leader under Ulfrics' banner.

    The former leader of the Stormcloak rebels had been dead for years, but it seemed those in Windhelm weren't quite ready to forget his memory. With Drazzeths' final words still ringing in her ears, she knew that if a new civil war sprang up, Skyrim would be caught flat footed when the enemies emerged to bring their darkness over Tamriel.

    Aliah was in Falkreath to meet those that she'd travelled with a year ago, and she hoped to see some of them at the dead mans' drink in the town. Heading inside, she took a seat in one of the corners, feeling the water drip from her clothing onto the wooden floor, waving the serving girl away when she came over. She leaned back into the shadows and waited.
     

    Boudica

    English Yao Ming
    To passers-by or at least the more superstitious of inhabitants, the sight of a dark, cloaked figure with no discernable features would send them inside to their shrines or straight to a local enclave; terrible omens were said to stalk the dark reaches of the south. Just as the North had their banshees and their ice wraiths, the South had the beasts with burning eyes and cavernous maws lurking within every tall shadow, every thicket of ominous mourning pines.

    The wind, pregnant with the threat of heavy rain and causing the boughs of old trees to complain, barely made a sound as it sought warmth within the folds of the travelling cloak of this omen, yet no such warmth did it find so it appeared to leave well enough alone – moving to wail and terrorize shivering guardsmen and the flimsy braziers by which they stood. The cloaked figure slipped from pool of moonlight to stretch of abyssal shadow with ease – mistaken for a shadow herself as she ghosted into dreary little burgh that had the gall to call itself a hold and pretend it could control the wild forests and its wilder denizens. As the rain threatened she moved as swift as silence towards the assembly of logs, crude class and thatch that called itself an inn.

    The peeling sign shuddered against the elements – faded white script spelling “Dead Man’s Drink” appeared old, worn and sickly against the small lantern light which was feeble through scudded, burnt glass.

    Her unnerving eyes flicked upwards before she made for the door and the man who had finished retching near the porch seemed to sense not to disturb this stranger in the hopes of acquiring change to feed his habit for drink, some primal urge warned him, made him wary despite his stupor, that a unpredictable predator was slipping past him and he would do best not to impede its path. Prey know their place nevermind how evolved they claim to be.

    The door mourned its loss of easy movement due to age and rust, and announced her arrival loudly enough to make the barkeep look up from cleaning his cups and then look back at them once more, despite sneaking glances. There seemed to be a wave of this behaviour as she moved to a relatively empty bench in the far reaches of the longhouse. Eyes followed her, emotions following in their wake; curiosity, suspicion, lust, and she could hardly blame them as her hood was down and her facemask removed displaying her beauty that was of an ethereal quality, a beauty that belonged to a different age, a mythic age, the age of Atmorans, Aldmer and Daedra…

    And perhaps they weren’t far wrong…

    Seating herself with a graceful flick of her cloak from underneath her, she unravelled a small scroll of parchment before her and spread tapered yet gloved hands over the surface to flatten and guide her focus. She noticed the man opposite her shift uncomfortably and she flicker her eyes up at him momentarily, devilish eyes seeing the sweat in his thick brows break free and sluice down, following cheekbone to chin and wavering there before it fell to the front of his tunic.

    Focus.

    She returned her eyes to the map, and felt the sigh of relief as the man moved elsewhere and released held breath – the stench of ale upon the air was gag inducing…
     

    Brigantes

    Member
    The Dunmer was leaner and faster than Skjoldr but that was the point; Skjoldr was here to be the punching bag, very little else mattered. The bandits liked to see one of their own get one over on someone like Skjoldr and it was twice as good if they were of noble blood as they had heard Skjoldr apparently was.

    They circled, Skjoldr’s blood was on the dirt floor because he was gashed over the right eye and his nose was dripping. Sitka, the greying Khajiit working Skjoldr’s ‘corner’ didn’t care enough to use anything more than he had to and pressure wasn’t enough to stop the leaking. But everyone, including Sitka, wanted to see the Nord bleed anyway.

    Skjoldr worked the jab to keep the elf at a distance. He connected but he wasn’t putting enough hurt behind the punches to make any difference to the outcome. His shoulders burned and his calves threatened to cramp. He had started the match dancing, but now he was shuffling.

    They traded punches. Skjoldr soaked up the Dunmer’s straight right with his cheekbone and when his head rocked he heard and felt his neck bones crackle. He hooked a punch into the elf’s ribs, but his follow-up left windmilled. And then they were apart again, circling If Skjoldr could keep the action in the centre, he might manage to stay up for six rounds.

    A bell rang from somewhere within the high levels of the den and the crowd was happy. Thanks to the lights from braziers, torches and scattered lanterns, the layer of smoke was as thick and grey as a veil.

    The Dunmer got all the best stuff, ice buckets, wet cloths, praise and solid advice – all of which Skjoldr got nada, apart from a bucket with water warm from spit and blood. He was the ‘designated sacrifice’.

    “Could you do something about my nose?” Skjoldr asked Sitka after he spat out a gob of blood and saliva. “I can’t breathe right.”

    “Don’t get punched in the face no more,” Sitka replied, but he stuffed some soaked cotton up Skjoldr’s left nostril and swabbed it around. “Here, suck it up.”

    Skjoldr snorted and his sinuses flared with the stink of cheap alcohol and blood. Skjoldr felt nauseated.

    “You going to make it?” Sitka asked.

    “What round we in?”

    “You can fall down any time now. Fall down or get knocked down.”

    “He can knock me down.”

    “Then you’re stupid.”

    The bell rang out again and Sitka yanked the rag out of Skjoldr’s nose too roughly, but the bleeding didn’t start again.

    The Dunmer came straight at Skjoldr and so did the first hard jab. Maybe Skjoldr was distracted, or maybe he was slower than he thought, but the punch came through his hands and cracked him right between the eyes. It shouldn’t have rocked him, but it did.

    Skjoldr took a step back. A left hook took him flush and the combo right to the body made his guts shake. He had his hands up, but they weren’t where they needed to be, so the elf battered him left-right, left-right, and he fell while all the bandits cheered the blood. His nose was gushing again. The Dunmer was over him. Another punch slugged down from the heavens and blocked out the lights.

    Next thing was that he was at the back of a small enclave, separated from the rest of the den by hanging hide. Sitka cleaned up Skjoldr’s face as best he could but he worked a corner because he got a tip and he wasn’t a physician. But, Sitka put his thumbs on either side of Skjoldr’s nose and pressed until the cartilage crunched. Needles of pain stabbed through Skjoldr’s forehead when Sitka put tape across the bridge of his nose to keep things stable. The Nord would have two black eyes for a while.

    Money changed hands and that was the end, Skjoldr grabbed anything that belonged to him that hadn’t been made off with, threw some coins across the rickety bar to justify his grab for a bottle of mead, and made his way out of the deep cavern into the cool but heavy thicket that concealed it – making his way to a place where he could get some decent drink and women; Dead Man’s Drink.
     

    willowwisp

    Well-Known Member
    Elizabeth sat cross legged on the ground in front of Salthar Vivarian,listening to him speak. She felt rather awkward, in her tan robes, on the ground, in front of a vampire lord, wearing the robes of the Thalmor. Meanwhile, she was wearing plain tan robes with a plain, brown tunic and pants underneath. She'd agreed to learn from him, after seeing his magical prowess. He'd made the offer, and she'd accepted. Unfortunately, her own powers were...less than satisfactory.

    The four rocks rotated around the pair, held aloft by the Altmer vampires telekinetic power. "As you can see, there is no true limit to what you can do, provided you have the concentration, and the strength" she eyed the rocks, every one of them probably heavy enough to crush her should they fall on her. She was fairly sure she didn't have the strength to lift one rock, never mind all of them. As long as she could remember, her magical powers had been meek, to be honest. If Salthar could teach her to harness greater magics, she certainly wasn't going to argue. "Now, Elizabeth, lift the stones"

    The four boulders settled to the ground with thumps, that were muffled by the surrounding forest. She glanced at them, then back at the vampire. 'Oh gods, he's serious' in the months that had passed, her magical abilities had increased, but were still nothing that would inspire awe. Still, she had to try, at least. Standing, she called the magic, and felt it respond, felt its' fire rush through her veins. She extended a hand away from her body, mirroring the pose Salthar had taken moments ago.

    She could imagine the tendrils of magic wrapping around the rock, taking its' weight and size, and with a small exertion of magic, she willed the rocks to lift from the forest floor, into the air. One boulder rocked in place, before lifting half a metre, then a full metre into the air. She felt her heart begin to race, the thrill of success building, and reached for the second stone, commanding it to rise from the soft earth as well.

    The rock rose, but it wobbled alarmingly while in the air, and the first boulder started to wobble as well, as if attempting to break free of her magic. 'Come on, you bastard...' she silently raged at the unfeeling, uncooperative rock. Of course, her anger did nothing to stop the rapid thudding of her heart, and the shortness of breath, and fatigue that came with straining oneself magically.
    She felt her connection with the two boulders snap, and both struck the ground, hard.

    "I can't do it!" she snarled, sending a plume of dirt into the air with an angry kick. She opened her mouth to continue her rant on how it was unfair of her to be expected to be able to shift the damned rocks when she could barely cast a destruction spell for more than a few seconds. She turned to glare at Salthar, and met his eyes. The rage left her and her shoulders slumped. 'What a fool I am. He offered to teach me, and I act like a spoiled brat who hasn't gotten her way' she glanced at the sky, noticing that a wind had picked up, and dark storm clouds were moving in. Nothing new there.



     

    Brigantes

    Member
    Skjoldr kept his bruised face down, despite not having anyone around to hide it from. His proud gait had slowly devolved to a slump over the past year and he often felt decrepit and unstable on his own two feet. He had traded his noble garb for simple cotton clothes that were easy to clean, repair or replace and his old family armour had been locked away somewhere safe and secure to protect it from himself. If it had been in easy reach it may have been melted down for an extra few coins that would be spent like the rest of his wealth; on enough drink and skooma and women to help him forget his pitiful existence that was brought into sharp focus by the old noose he continually carried with him to continually remind him that he was a dead man walking scraping by on borrowed time.

    He scratched a few flakes of dried blood out of his blonde scruff and slid on damp leaves; scrabbling at a nearby tree to stop himself going over. Short, blunt nails caught in the gnarled bark of the darkened pine and he rooted himself by focusing and trying to steady his feet. The rain made his wounds sting.

    Looking left he noticed a clearing with two people, a male and female who he couldn’t discern. But, he saw floating rocks and that drew his attention so he advanced with his curiosity whilst hanging back enough as he was wary. Lurking behind a tree in a non-too-subtle manner, he watched with his two bleary eyes; piercing, predatory blue lessened by a film brought on by bloodshot and alcohol.
     

    Simus

    An Excellent Site Member
    Alice Psyrakon was sore as could be but in perfect bliss for it. The morning sun of Whiterun saw her snug in bed, curled up under two thick, warm quilts and her head resting on a soft, deep feather pillow. She was in her warm comfortable footy pajamas and in the arms of her steady love Julius. They had met a year ago in Falkreath as part of an adventuring group and became fast friends. They quickly developed feelings for each other during their mission and the horrid things they saw during it only made those feelings stronger.

    At the climax of their adventure, prior to the slaying of an ancient and terrible evil, Alice and Julius became physically intimate. They loved each other very much and didn't expect to survive. Yet they did, and that first consummation of their relationship had started the last year together. A year of joy and sorrow, happy and sad, hope that their enemy was dead and buried and worry that there was more to come. This year had had its ups and downs but the two young imperials had been able to share all of it with each other.

    Their first consummation had been far from their last and Alice was feeling the blissful pains of such from the night before. Orange rays of morning sun poked through her bedroom window and she stirred under her protective cocoon of blankets while still in Julius' protective embrace. Just after she turned her body on its side and got settled again, she felt soft lips gently press against hers. She instinctively opened her mouth to return the kiss and nibbled Juilus' lower lip. She gave an ear to ear grin and slowly opened her eyes to see Julius' face. The face of a guy she had met as a timid young imperial soldier and had grown into a strong, confident young man and a damn good legionnaire to boot. She was so proud of him.

    "Hi." She whispered happily, nuzzling her face into his shoulder. She whispered in his ear. "I'll never get tired of waking up like this. Next to my little soldier. Who has some of the most inventive "physical training" regimens I've ever seen."

    She gently took his face into her hands, her long slender fingers cradling his cheeks, and kissed him again. Deeply, passionately, yet gently and lovingly. Never overdoing it.

    "How'd you sleep?" she whispered, softly rubbing his left cheek.
     

    Blackwhite1223

    Well-Known Member
    Torin Greenbow walked through the forest near Falkreath, moving so skilfully through the undergrowth that any that looked on might have mistaken him for a ghost. The rangers hood was down, revealing his wavy, black hair, that reached down to his shoulders, the short, black beard, grim mouth, and a pair of piercing, sky blue eyes. Not that anyone was around to see the ranger.

    Torin had travelled on his own for most of the last year. He preferred the tranquillity of the forest to the chaos of large cities. He was one of the few even among his brother rangers that were not attacked on site by the fiercely protective Spriggans. He doubted they trusted him, but neither did they stop him from travelling where he wished. Even the beasts of the forests, those that were of natural creation, anyways, had learned that he posed no threat to them, and didn't would not attack. Torin enjoyed most of his journeys through the forests of the world. He put down poachers and bandits, all the while hunting for his own survival.

    Recently, however, his mood was grim, and he'd spent more of his time spying on the men that were forming the 'new' stormcloak army. They were certainly a threat, with their fanatic beliefs, although most of them seemed to have been bandits before they joined up. If there were any uniform or flag among the men of the North, he had yet to discover it. But he'd seen what they were doing to the non-Nords near Windhelm, Dawnstar, and Winterhold. The fanatic attitude of the rogues and bandits recruited into the new 'army' could only spell disaster. He'd gone south, then, after learning as much as he could. He hadn't enjoyed the woods as much as he usually did, and his heart was heavy.

    He'd been with the others at the harbingers final words. The northern fanatics were more than capable of starting a war, and if they won...he shook his head, clearing the dreary thoughts from his mind. 'They won't win. They can't.' Of course, if they managed to hold out until the Blight attacked, worse would happen than another civil war. A strong, cold wind struck him, causing his cloak to flap madly. Torin pulled the forest green garment tighter around him, and put up his hood. A quick glance at the sky revealed dark storm clouds, and Torin realized, that if the Blight did strike anytime soon, rain would be the least of Tamriels' problems.
     

    WindWalker

    Well-Known Member
    The sun woke Julius much earlier than he preferred to be woken. But when he did he smiled to himself, seeing Alice across from him, still in his embrace. He could have stayed like that...well, forever, really. He leaned in for a kiss, and was pleasantly surprised when she returned it.

    "Hi." She whispered happily, nuzzling her face into his shoulder. She whispered in his ear. "I'll never get tired of waking up like this. Next to my little soldier. Who has some of the most inventive "physical training" regimens I've ever seen." He grinned at his lover, and allowed her to take his face into her hands, running his own hand over her side as she stroked his left cheek.
    The two of the shared another deep but loving kiss, and Julius reflected on how damned lucky he was to have gotten together with a woman like Alice."How'd you sleep?" Julius chuckled.
    "You know, I don't remember doing much sleeping" he smiled at her "but, I'm definitively getting used to waking up with a beautiful girl beside me"

    Since he'd thought he was going to die a year ago, when they'd travelled with a group of companions to fight some ancient and terrible evil, that had been terrorizing Skyrim. The evil creatures' leader had claimed that they were only delaying their assault on the world. Julius wasn't sure if he believed it, but living with the Psyrakons was a better fate than living on his own, worrying about whether or not some great evil was coming for them.

    He glanced outside again, at the rising sun, scowled and turned back to Alice. He could have stayed in bed with her the entire day, but that wasn't exactly an option. Not if the rest of the household was going to be awake. "I guess we'd better get up" he sighed.
     

    Simus

    An Excellent Site Member
    "Yeah, but I reeeeeeeeally don't want too..." Alice said, wrapping her arms back around Julius and pulling herself close to him. She still whispered so only he could hear, while laying her head against his chest so his heartbeat was all she could hear. "I've been doing dull patrols all week, then writing up reports of those dull patrols all week, and you've had more than your share of crappy support assignments recently. We have the weekend off. Good time for more...physical training."

    "Alice! Julius!" Alice's stepmother Carlotta called. "Get up! Breakfast is almost ready!"

    Alice gave a small sigh of regret but her mood was undiminished. She was hungry and the smell of scrambled eggs and crispy bacon slipped into her nostrils. She kissed Julius a final time, then gently released herself from his arms, getting out from under her blankets and pushing them all onto him. She stretched out on her bed, her footy pajamas clad body fully exposed, and arched her spine upwards. It felt good to stretch everything out.

    "C'mon. Let's go get some breakfast. Don't think you're off the hook though." She said with a mischievous little grin. "We'll have more drills tonight."

    Alice walked out of the room, shaking her rear just so, and headed downstairs. Carlotta was wearing a blue bathrobe and wielding a spatula against some eggs stuck to the sides of her frying pan. She finished scraping them free and gathering the eggs in the center of the pan, then put her spatula down and turned around to greet Alice. Carlotta could see that her eldest stepdaughter was positively glowing and that made her so very happy.

    Carlotta Valentia had mat Alice's father Simus Psyrakon four years ago. Both had lost spouses earlier in life and they both had a little girl, Carlotta's Mila and Simus' Cilla, that needed to grow up with two parents and a strong houshold. A combination of two bad wars, the machinations of their girls and their own chemistry had resulted in Simus and Carlotta getting married two years ago and the two families became one. Carlotta Valentia became Carlotta Psyrakon and after a bit of explaining what it all meant, Mila followed suit. Carlotta had come to know and love Simus' children as if she had birthed them and by now they have all reciprocated but it didn't come all at once. Cilla and Mila were best friends when their two parents got married so accepting the other was easy. Alice's brother Titus was harder to win over. He was proud and stubborn and felt as if accepting Carlotta as a stepmother meant forsaking his own mother. It took him months to change his perspective and truly accept things.

    Alice was the last to accept. She had been closer to her mother than any of her other siblings and had been scarred the heaviest by her death at the hands of the Thalmor. The scene still haunted her every now and again and the guilt of not being able to save her mother had never faded completely. Even now it was a very personal subject for her, something she didn't like to talk about, not even with Julius. She still hadn't told him the full story.

    The hard part of having Carlotta as a stepmother wasn't accepting her love or her kindness. Both of those were gladly reciprocated long before the marriage. It was the belief that this other woman was here to replace her mother. Alice felt that Carlotta was trying to fill the hole her mother had left. That that was the only way Carlotta could be a part of the family and as that was impassible, this could never be. It had taken her years, and many long talks with both her father and Carlotta, to accept that there was another way. That Carlotta would make a new place in Alice's life. A new support of love that could coexist with her mother's memory. This acceptance had only solidified a year ago, when Alice was looking death in the face at the hands of Drazzeth, but it was something she had finally made peace with.

    Alice gave her stepmother a big hug and rested her head on her shoulder. Carlotta gladly accepted and held Alice close, stroking her neck length ebony hair.

    "Well good morning." She said. "You sure are happy today."

    "Yep." Alice said with a content smile. "Today's a good day to be happy. Julius gives good cuddles."

    "I'm so happy you guys found each other. Julius is a good boy. I'm proud of both of you sweetheart."

    "I love you...mama." Alice said, still trying the word "mama" on for size, but getting more comfortable with it with each use."

    "I love you too sweetheart." Carlotta said, keeping Alice in her protective embrace. She smiled a bit more when Julius joined them.

    "Morning hon. Breakfast is on the stove if you want to fix yourself a plate. Simus and the girls aren't down yet but there's enough for everybody so take as much as you want."
     

    Stormmaiden

    Active Member
    Lythare sat as still as stone, upon the branch of an evergreen in the snowy expanse of land between Whiterun and Dawnstar. The reason the pale skinned wood elf was sitting in a tree, not moving more than her eyes, and occasionally her legs and fingers, was because she was waiting. For a friend, and more people that were no friends of hers.

    The friend was Shadari, a Khajiit assassin, who she'd met a year ago, fighting against some ancient evil, and eventually defeating it. Or, at least they'd thought it was defeated, until Drazzeth, the leader of the apparent 'vanguard' of the creatures that had been terrorizing the people of Skyrim had mocked them. He'd said that they'd only slowed the inevitable. Those predictions still sent shivers through her, a full year after. She was, by elven standards, still a young elf.

    She feared that she would come to see the emergence of the enemy, and fall fighting it, never getting to live her life. Or worse, she'd survive, and her friends would fall, one by one, leaving her alive, a miserable, wretched creature, left to wander the forests of the world until the end of time. She managed a smile then 'I'm being overly dramatic. If the enemy win, and I survive the initial war, the end of all things probably won't be long in the coming. I wouldn't be alone for very long'

    Her keen elven hearing picked up the harsh sound of human voices, and she snapped out of her reflections, flexing her fingers around the bow in her lap. Her loyal falcon, Aethos, was somewhere in the clouds, ready to swoop down and signal her as soon as he saw Shadari and her captors. She laid her free palm against the bark of the tree, urging its' branches to conceal her. The evergreens limbs complied, subtly shifting, until Lythare was invisible to all but the most trained eye.

    The voices became louder, and soon, the group of pro-stormcloak soldiers came into view. One of them, obviously the leader, wore chainmail with a leather cuirrass, along with a black and red tunic. The others were a mixture of hide, leather, and fur armour. In truth, they looked more like bandits than soldiers. In the center, hands tied, was Shadari, playing the part of a prisoner. Taking aim at the second man in line, she loosed an arrow.
     

    Madrar

    The Shadow in the Dark.
    "I can't do it!" The young woman exclaimed, turning away in both frustration and anger. Salthar kept his face expressionless, despite sympathizing with the young woman. as a young mage, he'd had similar problems, but he also knew that if she abandoned her path now, she would regret it later in life.

    He placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. He knew it wasn't only her failure with the stones that had her so discouraged. "Do not let the coming storm discourage you, young one. Even the most timid may have a part to play in the coming days" then he was back to his normal self turning and gesturing to the stones again. "You are improving. Now-"

    A slight noise caught his attention, and he noticed a man, peering towards them from what he undoubtedly thought was a safe distance. "Do you make it your business to spy on others, or are you simply lost?" Salthar called to him, waiting for a response as the rain fell around them.
     

    Brigantes

    Member
    He’d been rustled. Now what choices presented themselves to him.

    There probably would have been multiple if he were sober and clear headed. But considering his state, a state in which men can be fooled into thinking they are Gods, only one ‘choice’ made itself available.

    “If you didn’t want people lookin’, don’t levitate rocks around and then complain…loudly…” Skjoldr adjusted himself upon the leaves, however their wet, slippery surface made his slip again and dig his nails further into the bark. He wondered why his feet had chosen this particularly difficult spot, why his nails had found purchase in this particularly ‘infested’ tree. But what was a few wood ants moving nonchalantly about their everyday work regardless of the great pale hand that was dug into their hometree.

    “I was just interested was all…not often you see magick around these parts…people are more the ‘axe to the face’ than ‘floaty rock to the face’…must be a Nordic preference…”

    He tried to focus again, but his eyes failed him due to their bleary nature brought about by intoxication. He could however, make note that the male was elven, and the woman was part of the races of men…but after a few and at this distance, all their women started to lose their racial definitions and blur together – chest, hips and shapely legs - who cares what province they hail from or the skin colour they held…
     

    WindWalker

    Well-Known Member
    "C'mon. Let's go get some breakfast. Don't think you're off the hook though." She said with a mischievous little grin. "We'll have more drills tonight." Julius watched her go, before throwing his own blankets off and getting dressed. "Sounds good to me, captain" he said, with a grin of his own. A couple of minutes later, and they were called down. He dressed, making his way downstairs only a little while after Alice.


    "Morning hon. Breakfast is on the stove if you want to fix yourself a plate. Simus and the girls aren't down yet but there's enough for everybody so take as much as you want." He realized that he was pretty hungry, and so piled food onto his plate, taking a seat beside Alice.
     

    TheShadedOne

    The Angry One
    Shadari did her best to look miserable and hopeless as she trudged through the snow with the four men, two in front of her, and two behind. She was being taken to Windhelm, so that she could be 'disposed' of. The assassin was willing to bet that non nords that were dragged off to Ulfrics former capital were never seen or heard from again.

    She wasn't exactly planning on just disappearing like a good little prisoner. The only reason she'd let herself be captured in the first place was because she'd heard that Jorn Blackstone had taken up with whoever it was that was in charge in Windhelm, and Shadari knew that getting captured, and then asking her guards nicely where he was was the best way to get info on her target. She'd cut her bonds about an hour ago.

    She saw the shadow of a bird pass over the group, and while the others paid it no attention, she knew the signal for what it was. She fell, flat on her face, forcing the column to stop. The man behind her nearly trampled her, and stopping, snarled "you clumsy bitch!" She felt him shift his weight to one leg, preparing to giver her a disciplinary kick. He hesitated as an arrow buried itself in his companion, and that was his mistake.

    The Khajiit assassin was up in an instant, sweeping her own leg around and knocking the man to the ground, before driving an elbow into his windpipe, crushing it. The man behind him fared no better, as Shadari reclaimed her falchion and slashed through his meagre defences. She heard a clink of chainmail, and the steely hiss of a blade being drawn behind her, and whirled back to face her final adversary. The tip of her weapon came to rest against his throat. The human let his sword tumble from his fingers, and glared daggers at her. "I'm going to ask this once.Where is Jorn Blackstone?"

    The man sneered. "Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell-" Shadari thrust with the blade and the human fell to the ground, an arc of arterial blood spraying from the wound. "Wrong answer." She reclaimed her throwing knives and sheathed them on her belt, and then turned to stare at the tree where the shot had come from. "We're done here. Let's get to Whiterun before more of these goons come looking for their friends." she said, kneeling down to rip the insignia off the lead soldiers tunic.
     

    Madrar

    The Shadow in the Dark.
    Salthar sighed. He would have liked to demonstrate a 'rock to the face' to the obviously inebriated Nord, but instead settled for simply sneering. "Yes. Despite war being Skyrims national sport, you Nords are a rather unoriginal bunch" he sighed and began to turn back to the young Imperial woman when more noise drew his attention. A courier was making his way through the rain, dressed in a travellers garb, with a satchel. "Been looking for you!" The man said, shouting to be heard over a clap of thunder. "I have a summons here for you. Something about some council in Whiterun?" Salthar narrowed his eyes and extended a gloved hand for the folded piece of parchment. The courier handed it over, and headed towards Falkreath, probably hoping to get warm and dry before he had to head out again. He unfolded the parchment, and read over it, his expression changing from irritated to surprised. "It appears", he said softly, " that we are heading to Whiterun. Or at least I am. But first we should head to Falkreath"
     

    willowwisp

    Well-Known Member
    Elizabeth did her best to ignore the man to the best of her ability. She wasn't used to men staring at her quite as openly as this one seemed to be. Most of her time in Skyrim she'd spent either fighting or being drop dead tired. Her love life was non-existent, and she doubted Salthar would allow her much time to herself. The vampires declaration that they were headed to Whiterun drew her attention. "Whiterun? Why? What's there?"
     

    TheShadedOne

    The Angry One
    The guard towers and stone walls of Whiterun rose up from the other wise flatlands of the hold. The assassin and her Bosmer companion had made their way through the mountain passes to the fields. She glanced down at her side where the insignia she'd taken from the dead commander stuffed in her belt. It was certainly a curious design, and she hoped to ask someone about it. It certainly wasn't the bearhead of the old stormcloaks, which was strange enough. Perhaps Salthar or Aliah would know something about it, if they were in the city.

    The guards at the gate glanced at the two women, one a Khajiit female, the other an elf, and the thought to stop them obviously crossed their minds. One man stepped forwards, hand on the hilt of his weapon, the other lifting motioning for them to slow. The Khajiit assassin narrowed her eyes and her ears twitched, and the guards self-preservation instincts kicked. He lowered his arm and stepped back. The two entered the city, and Shadari glanced over at Lythare. "Pick up any supplies you need. I'm going to take a look around and see if anyone can identify this" she motioned at the cloth on her belt. "We can meet up in the tavern. After that, I need a drink."
     

    Blackwhite1223

    Well-Known Member
    The rangers cloak kept him dry, and he reached the tavern in Falkreath shortly. Entering, he noticed that many of the places occupants were mostly Nords, many of them woodsmen or hunters, relaxing after a day of work, shortened by the rain. A few glanced up at him, but their gazes quickly strayed from him. There were many rumours about the rangers that roamed the wilds of the world. Not all of them were positive.

    He spotted a flash of colour, arterial red, out of the corner of his eye,and turned to see Aliah Stormwind sitting in the corner of the room, wearing her familiar leather clothing, and being avoided by the majority of the inns' patrons. Another woman sat farther away, avoided by most of the Nords, and the ranger suspected that both women shared something.

    He approached the womans table. "Aliah. You are a sight for sore eyes. Have you heard from any of our other companions lately?" He took a seat across from the vampiress, and declined the offer of food or drink. He preferred to save his coin for arrows or repairs. His food he could find in the wild, as well as drink. He was nothing if not resourceful.
     

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