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Private (18+) Hands of the Sorrowful Knight: Redux (RECRUITING!)

Discussion in 'Skyrim Roleplaying' started by CapObvious, Nov 24, 2016.

  1. CapObvious

    CapObvious A Rotten Scroungeral

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    To his relief, the ones that had already awoken were of a like mind. Both had voiced their intentions, one with more venom than the other, but one had remained silent. The troubled imperial remained with his head facing downward, signs of conflict etched on his alongside the blood and dirt. Daxos would not back down, Dolmas knew him too well to believe such. It would seem however that he needed some encouragement. Though that would have to wait. The encroaching darkness would not wait for them to be roused, and he had honestly grown tired of talking. He nodded to Brynn, then once more to Cosset after she had taken initiative and begun exiting the protection of the overhang. He was glad of their assistance, they both had proven themselves quite capable fighters, and easily amenable to the ever changing tides of combat. They would no doubt be indispensable in the coming struggle.


    “Thank you.” He said simply, not allowing himself to dive deeper. They had wasted enough time. “Now with that matter settled, we need to focus our attention to our more pressing concerns. To begin, we need shelter. Preferably somewhere close by, I doubt we’d do well walking all the way back to Whiterun proper in our current shape.” He paused for a moment to ponder, thinking on what knowledge he had of the hold for a suitable location.


    As if woken from a trance, Daxos spoke up, his words quick and concise. “Silent Moons.” He stated, before looking to Dolmas, who was eyeing him with vague curiosity. Daxos continued. “There’s...there’s a old fortification to the west of here, just a short distance away. It’s not right next door, but from what I recall, it’d be the perfect place to set up and prepare. It’s also quite defensible from what I remember, so should we find ourselves under attack…” He trailed off, reaching for his head as if to nurse a concussion. He picked up again, but offered an apology. “I’m sorry, it seems I’ve taken a few blows, and things are still a bit hazy. I might not be in the best state of mind to guide us there.” Dolmas nodded, turning to look at Brynn. “Then perhaps you know the way? You’re a companion, are you not? Surely you’ve wandered this hold quite a bit in your travels to quell beasts and such.”


    She did not respond straight away, showing signs of the exhaustion that surely plagued her. However, she did provide a response, and thankfully, it was the one he was hoping for. "I know the way and I can lead you all there, sun or moon." She replied solemnly, offering a nod in affirmation.


    Dolmas gave a weak smile, before nodding. “Perfect. Thank you.” He paused to look at them all, his mind churning as he formulated the last of the details. “Then, if you would not mind, I’d prefer if you three go on ahead and make sure that location is still secure, and that it can be accessed. I will need to start asking around for some further aid. We’re far too few to put up much of a fight on our own, and to be honest, we need some fresh blood on this. Some people Rumare hasn’t observed. I’ll gather what aid I can, and then I will meet you as soon as I am able. However, if it proves to be too arduous a task, fall back, and we will take on whatever opposition we face together.”


    He then looked down to the fellows who remained at their feet even still. “But first, I must tend to these and see them off in your direction as well, if they also mean to aid us. Take care, you lot.” With that, he turned to kneel down to gaze over the fallen allies that remained, while the rest began their journey to what would hopefully become their new headquarters. Dolmas was silent in his observations, his thoughts drifting back to the battles that were waged in the city before everything had fallen apart.


    The imperial twins and their third, the soft-spoken, clumsy nord mage, the redguard knight, all resting soundly beneath the canopy. Each at peace, probably not even aware of the wounds they sustained, or the world they were about to find themselves in. Blissfully unaware.. As Dolmas reached for the hand of the first one who lied before him, a powerful force pulled his hand back and sent him tumbling to the ground, accompanied by a resounding NO! Shocked at first by the abrupt interruption, he slowly began to rise, before something thrust him back down once more, and he finally understood what was transpiring.


    That is quite enough of that, you damnable fool! Leave these worthless insects where they lie. They are not worth being brought back into the fold. They are not even worthy of the breaths of air they continue to leech from the world around them. If we are going to have our chance to gouge those worthless eyes out of the heads of that damnable altmer and his warrior princess, I will NOT allow these fools to go blundering in and messing it up for me again. LEAVE THEM.


    Dolmas ignored the words of his rampaging other half, preparing to reach once more for them before Valen spoke again.


    I said…


    Dolmas began to feel a searing hot pain from within his skull, causing him to clutch it desperately, wordlessly begging for it to stop. The pain did not relent, and he felt Valen’s presence grow ever stronger.


    LEAVE THEM.


    He raged against the inferno raging between his ears, attempting with all his might to thrust himself back into power before it was too late. But to his dismay, it already was. Valen took control with a small, sinister chuckle, before rising to his feet and staring down at the bodies of the fallen below him. “You heard the woman, my friend. We cannot afford to waste any more time. If we’re going to find the help we need, we cannot rely on the worthless wastrels who have proven themselves to only be stepping stones to his ascension. Leave them to die. Let them fester and rot. Give them back to the dirt from which they’ve spawned and have since wasted their existence.” Dolmas tried his damndest to regain control, but Valen’s will was overwhelming. “We will find those who are not so pathetic to aid us. Perhaps they will be enough to rise to the level of fodder, and not just the scum at the bottom of the riverbeds. Either way, they cannot be more trite than these, and I will take that chance over letting them put our lives on the line any further.” He turned on his heel and marched out of the shade of the overhang into the darkening sky, and pondered. “Now, where to find our next batch of willing buffoons?” With a look to the east, toward the rolling plains of Whiterun hold, he let loose a smirk.


    “Let’s go on an adventure, little Dolmy. Make some new friends. You’ll have a wonderful time.”
     
    #61 CapObvious, Jan 9, 2019
    Last edited: Jan 9, 2019
  2. Hlíf 'Ulfr

    Hlíf 'Ulfr Nothing but a lyre

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    *

    The cool night air enveloped her, as she allowed it's cleansing presence to wash over her tired psyche. She had taken her first step into the open in the same way one walks into their home, with a sense of relief and a routine to follow almost mechanically. More so, naturally. She invited her guests in with little more than a gesture, into the world she had chosen to become familiar with. The murmur of flowing water had been her guide, and she knew intimately the rivers every curve. The way the small rocks delicately clattered under her feet as they moved against each other was a whisper welcoming her back.

    “This way” The suddenly softened woman glanced over her shoulder for a moment as she spoke, looking her flock over.

    Taking a crisp breath of air into her lungs she made a plan, plotted their course and with a sigh and a slight dip of her shoulders began their journey. She slipped over the small rocky rise with her eyes on the sky, and suddenly, a flame at her back. It made the shadows dance, and she suspected it brought the others some comfort. She had been robbed of the pale blue light that the moon lent to the planes but they had gained sight. She mused, It was a fair enough trade.


    She turned her mind away from the path itself and attempted to focus outwards. She found the gentle rhythm of their footfall enticed a kind of atmospheric magic, leading them further into a comfortable familiarity with the land. Torchbugs danced in strange patterns, blinking in the distance, while a fox barked and then screamed forlornly into the still night air. It hung unchallenged, holding her thoughts captive until it faded away. Nearby a herd of caribou grazed peacefully on a hillside meadow, slipping silently into the treeline only as the fire drew near.


    It brought her a sense of harmony and a smile. She felt safe enough then, she decided as she collected her thoughts in preparation, to let in the trials of the day and to reflect upon their meaning. Her first thought was of the others. She could picture them, laying still in the empty den of a saber cat, but try as she may she could not seem to connect emotionally with the image. Her brow furrowed as she struggled, hiding her dismay in the steep climb that faced them.

    “Stick to the left.” She called, after considering the slope only briefly before delving back into her own personal obstacle.

    Usually, empathetic her newfound apathy seemed uncharacteristic. Would she be unable to push past her contempt to feel for their suffering as souls? Or were their shortcomings too insurmountable in the face of such high stakes? Time, she concluded was the least she could give herself. After all, there were her own shortcomings to consider. She gripped the coarse stone to her immediate right and hoisted herself to the highest point. The craggy rock left a textured indentation in her hand, while the Nord left behind all traces of the internal conflict.

    It was all for the best, it seemed, as they had almost reached their destination. High up on the adjacent wall of the small valley in which they stood the squared stone was unmistakable. It was unlikely that in the darkness the others could see the markings, so she slowed her pace to bring them near. One of the two seemed especially keen, and as she turned her body ready to receive them she was faced with the imperial featuring a near fearful expression.

    “Hey. Brynn was it?”

    “Yes.” her brows rose, her gaze travelling to his face, prepared to make him feel heard.

    “Listen, I...I wanted to apologize. For earlier. I wanted to be sure you all had survived, and in my haste to do so, I fear I may have crossed a line.”

    “Daxos,” She reached out to touch his arm supportively, adding a tired smile for good measure “I wouldn't carry on worrying. It was good of you to apologize, the right thing I believe, and I accept. I had not planned on holding it against you.”

    Her eyes watched his almost warmly before being beckoned by the wavering flame that by all counts would soon overtake them. So she broke contact, letting her face return to its natural state. Starting down the valley she paused, looking once more over her shoulder to deliver her final statement before leading them to the steps of Silent Moons.

    “We all make rash decisions when lives are on the line.”

    *
     
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  3. CapObvious

    CapObvious A Rotten Scroungeral

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    Some time later…


    Daxos stepped about Silent Moons slowly, wandering it’s winding corridors beneath the surface carefully, a lit torch in hand held aloft to guide his way. With each few steps another sconce revealed itself from the shadows cast upon the aging stone, and with it the potential for more of the path to be revealed. Bringing his torch together with the one he had just discovered, the embers danced between them, the transfer of flame slow to start but shone just as bright when the process was complete. However, the path wasn’t so new to Daxos that he needed to explore. Not at all. To him, if anything, the locale felt all too familiar as he traversed it slowly, step by overly cautious step. His eyes traced over the architecture and the feelings that stemmed of it were not foreboding or the wonder of exploring old ruins, but instead those of nostalgia or remembrance. Bare fingers, finally bereft of the gauntlets he wore, tracing the cracks and crevices of the cold stone.


    But why? Surely he had not been here before?


    He continued to wander the hollow passage while his mind tried to piece together this rather peculiar puzzle. He pondered as to why the location seemed to dawn upon him at such an opportune moment, and the thoughts that flooded him when the name alone had simply graced his mind’s eye. The images were fuzzy, but were hauntingly familiar as he gazed upon the work and correlated the similarities between them. There was more to this than he remembered, surely. But what was it, exactly?


    His mind slipped back toward his companions from earlier, who were no doubt making the place feel more like home above, bringing the old fortification to suit their individual tastes. His mind lingered upon Brynn once more, how she accepted his apology so easily. The softness in her voice and the gingerness of her touch were enough to allay the fears that had begun to stir beneath the surface. It all seemed so familiar, and yet even more different than what he had ever experienced before. Not to mention, different than what he had expected from her after seeing her on the battlefield with his own eyes. It would seem that the grace and unwavering composure with which she held herself in war extended to times of peace, even if it took a far different form. She was quite the intriguing woman, to be sure, and he felt she would become a companion he could trust both on and off the field. However, the reflection of his memories and speculation of her character would have to wait. The torch grew dimmer by the moment, and would no doubt run out before he made it back to the entrance to the subsect of tunnels he had ventured down unless he turned back now. With a brief glance down the path he had tread once more, he gave a defeated sigh, then spun on his heel to make his return to the others.


    ---


    As he reached the top of the stairs he tossed the spent torch into a small bin, continuing to make his way past the different corridors which littered the area beneath the stronghold. Eyes darting to the corners of the structure around him, he caught sight of his two companions working tirelessly, each in their own way, to make this place more suitable to their needs. Even with just the three of them the once dormant ruin was buzzing with activity once more, and it brought some comfort to his anxious soul. His eyes did not linger on his new companions, however, instead guiding him to the room that he had claimed to be his own safe haven. As he stepped through the threshold, he let out the briefest of sighs, rolling his shoulders and embracing the atmosphere of his newest place of residence.

    The room was spartan, to be sure, though it did hold the touches of a brief occupation. It did not carry the nuances of his quarters in Anvil Castle, to which he was more than thankful. No heraldry or banners hanging about, not a servant nor hateful half-sibling in sight. No overly doting father reminding him of the responsibilities that came with being the son of a count. Were the situation not so dire, it would have been a near dream come true for him. Though he did miss the busy work of his time as the head of the guard, the constant reading of reports or the less serious times of camaraderie and merriment when the times called for it. However, he did not expect the lack of busy work to sate his anxiousness to last much longer, nor the vacancy the room he now occupied suggested. No doubt it as well as the others would be filled to the brim with tomes, arms and items of note soon enough, perhaps even something that could rival the power of the god-like beings they were sure to face. His mind raced with the possibilities this place held for them all, while his eyes gazed upon the one thing that would put that rushing mind at ease.

    There, situated in the corner, was a sparring dummy, hand built by Dax himself, crafted from the scrap around the area. It was crude, of course. He was no craftsman. However it would do in a pinch, and that was all he needed for the time being. To cut loose, to unleash the pent up frustration of everything that had fallen upon them as of late. To work out his anger on something other than another human being who likely did not deserve it. Or, more like, would kill him if he became such a gross liability to the party at large. As he stretched and took his blade in his hands, feeling the weight and giving it a few test flurries, he brought it to bear before his impromptu combat partner, before letting himself release a knowing smirk.


    Surely this would take the edge off. If not, he didn’t know what would.
     
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  4. CapObvious

    CapObvious A Rotten Scroungeral

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    Meanwhile, within the walls of Whiteruns' capital city...

    Word had spread like wildfire of the destruction of Rorikstead, the tales growing larger and larger the more times he heard it recounted. Though the details were often exaggerated, the end result was always the same: The once bustling city of Rorikstead, and all those that lied within it, had been burned to cinders. He had recalled the Captain’s orders had their group failed to make it back out alive, turn the city to the torch and hope that whatever lied within turned to ash along with it. The details never brought forth who exactly was responsible for the city’s destruction, only that those who had remained encamped around it’s walls had yet to appear anywhere for shelter or aid. That boded ill, thought the dunmer as he made his way around Whiterun proper, trying to find as much information as he could, and hopefully, another few souls who were not so struck with fear that they would willingly take up arms to aid him. However, while the first came in abundance, whether truth or embellishment, the second was nowhere to be found. It seemed they all came to the conclusion that this fight was not theirs, and that they would have no part of whatever force it was that wrought such hellacious havoc in the province just a few hours earlier.


    Had Dolmas any patience left, he would have been far more understanding. However the mer was at the end of his rope, and the furrowing of his brow as more and more refused to take up arms in Skyrim’s defense was all that was needed to prove it.With one more denial, Dolmas stormed out of the overcrowded inn and back into the streets, bundling his coat and heading back toward the city gates. This was going nowhere. There had to be someone in this damn province who was not so swift to bat away the danger in effort to remain unattached, or someone not so close to soiling themselves in fear whenever the tale is remembered. His frustration only grew, any feeling of his success beginning to dwindle, only to be replaced with a reminder of just how dire the situation was. They had the people in the cavern to return to, if they yet remained. As well as those Brynn had led to their newest sanctuary. Too many people counted on any aid he could bring, and he was coming up empty handed.


    With a lack of sense of direction for where to go next, he only found the best alternative was to double back toward Silent Moons, after checking on their companions at the cavern and offering them the same ultimatum. Though it would be fair to say Dolmas was not in the state of mind to be refused. He would have to be more persuasive, or if it came to it, far more forceful, to get what Skyrim needed to stop Rumare and his champions from getting their feet underneath them. They couldn’t afford to let that happen. But it was too late to accomplish much, the darkness was all but enveloping the world around him and he needed to rest and recover. He would try again in the morning, perhaps having the aid of the others as well to help spread the message. Daxos always was better at rallying people to unwinnable causes, the far more charismatic of the pair. Though, between the disheveled appearance and uneasy demeanor, it wasn’t hard to say that anyone of his companions were by far a more suitable candidate to instill hope and make grand calls to action. With renewed fervor to attempt to begin anew tomorrow, he strode to the stables, purchased a horse, and rode off toward Silent Moons once more.
     
  5. Stone99

    Stone99 New Member

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    "Of course they had to blow up the whole blasted town..."

    As the bright noon sun beat down upon the plains and cleared away the mists of the morning, a single figure wandered along a flat, winding road His faded black robes swished around him, obscuring most everything from view save for the pale skin of his head and hands. Because of the bright, sunny day (and the fact that the traveler already looked plenty spooky) he had opted to keep his hood down for the time being. This unfortunately meant that the man's face was presented to the world in all its tired, grumpy glory, with dull blue eyes flicking cautiously across the path in front of him and his left hand moving up to scratch at a scraggly, unkempt beard every so often. Really the best word to describe his overall appearance was disheveled, from the muddy, dirty hem of his robes to his close-cropped, slightly greasy hair. Thankfully he at least bathed often enough to not smell as bad as he looked, although judging from the foul expression on his face and the indignant manner with which he grumbled to himself as he walked his mood was as worn-down as his appearance.

    "... Can't even get past the wall... Why everything short of the Legion is there, prancing around and ordering this way and that is beyond me..."

    This particular strip of road was no stranger to travelers, even muttering, dirty travelers like the one currently occupying it. The path coming eastward from Roriksted into the plains had seen an uptick in traffic after the war had concluded, with the little town's booming growth making it a trading hub that almost rivaled Whiterun itself. With its proximity to the Reach and Hjalmarch it had served as a convenient stop for those making their way across the province... At least, until it had been blown to Oblivion and back by Divines only knew what. In any case, the miserable little smoldering ruin was no longer important in his mind. What mattered now was the towering city coming into view as the vast yellow plains slowly started to rise into a singular ridge overlooking a rushing river. Whiterun was majestic, he had to admit. The citadel loomed over the plains as a physical reminder of Nordic architectural prowess, with the wooden buildings having survived fear, fire and the fury of a province divided through the years. That may have had less to do with the locals' sturdy building techniques and more to do with their pigheaded refusal to just move somewhere else in the empty plains. In a grassland, any spot was as good as anywhere else, wasn't it? No, despite it all the people of Whiterun had stayed put and endured whatever Skyrim saw fit to throw at them, their tenacity unwavering in the face of whatever threat rose up to challenge them.

    "Bunch of lousy, pigheaded oafs... Could've helped figure out what had actually happened, but oh no, they needed their perimeter and their security and their proper burial practices..."

    It was for these reasons that once the man came to a point in the road where trees gave was to buildings and the path branched between north, south and east around the Throat of the World he kept right on walking, planting his gnarled wooden staff on the cobblestone road below after every few steps with no intention of actually stopping at one of Skyrim's most prosperous, populous cities. He had a different destination in mind, a destination that he had chosen specifically for its relatively low population and minimally inhabited ruins. He was on his way to Falkreath once again, and there was no force on Tamriel that could dissuade him from that goal.
     
    • Winner Winner x 1
    #65 Stone99, Jan 18, 2019 at 12:34 PM
    Last edited: Jan 18, 2019 at 3:46 PM

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