1. Welcome to Skyrim Forums! Register now to participate using the 'Sign Up' button on the right. You may now register with your Facebook or Steam account!
    Dismiss Notice
  2. Hey there, and welcome to our roleplaying section. Please take some time to read two of these useful resources below, if you're already a roleplaying expert, then there's no need to read the following beginner's guide, but be sure to read the rules.

    Free Form Role Playing Guide for Beginners
    Dismiss Notice

Private Rise of the Draugr (Mk II)

Discussion in 'Active Stories' started by Skyrimosity, May 24, 2015.

  1. Skyrimosity

    Skyrimosity Fine Southern Gentleman

    Joined:
    Dec 20, 2011
    Messages:
    2,786
    Likes Received:
    1,218
    Reputation:
    644
    Dagvar looked out onto the horizon, where the monumental Fort Greymoor dominated the landscape. It was an older structure, deteriorated much from its glory days where it protected Whiterun. Well, Whiterun was in no need of protection anymore. A pile of stones needs no protection. Instead, Fort Greymoor would have to serve a new purpose. Protecting the survivors. Survival is what life has been about since the Draugr attacked. Cities were a result of luxury, of a time when abundance was the chief deity of most. That time was past. Now it is a time of survival, and groups of people with complementary skills are the necessity of the time.

    He looked around at the group which lay before him; he had assembled them all by mere coincidence. It seemed to Dagvar that as soon as he got a first companion that the others came by naturally. Now there were eight people, nine counting himself. He considered it merely coincidence that their numbers aligned so perfectly with the Divines, yet he had to admit it may him pray a bit more than had ever been his normal.

    Fort Greymoor is a promise. Dagvar promised survival and safety, and the only reasonable place is Fort Greymoor. The fort is out of the way of most major roads -- at least enough to where their presence would only be noticeable due to smoke-- and has plains surrounding it. Plains allowed eyesight to see the draugr approaching. And a draugr that is seen, is a draugr that can be killed. And a draugr that is unseen, is behind you. At least, that's what Dagvar has convinced himself. That's also the reason he has developed a habit of quickly turning around and glancing over his shoulder.

    The sun drew ever lower. He looked at himself for a second. Leather armor, steel sword, hide shield. He was not a formidable warrior by any means, but he can at least hold his own in battle. He has a bow and quiver on his back as well, though he is so inept at its use that it cannot be considered an asset. No, the group had a Bosmer Archer now. Solenne. She will be much more able to hunt with a bow than Dagvar. Yet, although Dagvar sincerely hoped the group would be a permanent fixture, he could not simply abandon the bow. It was a bad scenario if he had to use it, but it was a worse scenario if he had to use it and didn't have it.

    It was now dark. The last flickers of sunlight were no more, and the only light remaining was that of the campfire. It seemed to suit the overall situation very well that it was so extremely cloudy. Dagvar had to keep watch for half the night; Guryon would keep watch for the other half. Guryon was among the newest members of the group, although none of the members had been around for long. He seemed like he wanted to prove himself, perhaps thinking that the group had existed long before him and that its members were close friends who doubted each new arrival. It's funny how wrong such an interpretation would be. Truly, none of the group really held the authority to deny any person. It was simply hoped that each new member would have a unique skill to contribute.

    He didn't know if he was the leader; how could one assert leadership among such a loose coalition? What authority did Dagvar have to tell anyone to do anything, as a leader must do? He may have formed the group, but he figured that he would not be able to tell others what to do. Instead, decisions would have to be made by the group. And even then there was the possibility that there would be dissenters. And the dissenters could leave, and that could doom them all.

    Still, as his watch began, Dagvar felt certain each of these people could contribute. They could survive. Though Draugr overran Skyrim, and perhaps all of Nirn, perhaps they would find safety. Dagvar hoped they slept well. Tomorrow, they attacked Fort Greymoor. He did not know how many Draugr awaited, but he grimaced at the thought.
     
    • Like Like x 6
  2. OnlyThePie

    OnlyThePie Active Member

    Joined:
    May 10, 2015
    Messages:
    144
    Likes Received:
    71
    Reputation:
    107
    Hjor lay on the ground looking up at the stars. He heard the crackle and felt the heat of the fire, which the Man Dagvar was watching over. He mused on the strange group he had wandered into. 4 Nords, 3 Bretons, a Bosmer and an Imperial. 9. 9 Divines. Perhaps their group was blessed. But Hjor didn't believe in blessings anymore. Not since he'd lost his father. He hoped this group would be trustworthy, the last man he'd come across had tried to kill him. He'd had to use the sword Dvrendal, one of the Guardian Swords of Braaldur. He was afraid to use the sword again. That was 3 months ago.

    He had tried to investigate the Nordic Ruin Bleak Falls Barrow, but he couldn't even get close. It was teeming with Draugr, and he wasn't going to get anywhere like that. Hjor had been chased down the mountain by a pack led by a scourge. He had started wandering north towards Whiterun. After being attacked by a saber cat, he had killed it and sat in the fields eating it's meat for three days before the group of Draugr had caught up to him. He had run North to Whiterun, but found the city ablaze, and full of not just Draugr but bandits as well. After that, he had wandered the northern fields, until he had stumbled upon Dagvar and Thell, cornered by three huge Draugr. He had Sliced the Draugr to bits, and as they had moved, more of the group had gathered.

    Hjor hoped Dagvar knew what he was doing, trying to lead the group. If things fell apart, they were all dead. In the morning, they'd head for the Fort nearby, Greymoor was it? Maybe they'd get some answers there, or at least somewhere safe.
     
    • Like Like x 4
    #2 OnlyThePie, May 25, 2015
    Last edited: May 25, 2015
  3. Writes-Many-Posts

    Writes-Many-Posts Champion of Grottos and Gremlins

    Joined:
    Oct 27, 2012
    Messages:
    1,508
    Likes Received:
    638
    Reputation:
    885
    It was already dark. The sun would have hidden behind the horizon for quite a while now, but Guryon did not feel much like succumbing to his exhaustion just yet. It was still hard to believe that Skyrim would have become such a wasteland, and to think Guryon had once been presented the problem before it was too late only made him feel worse. He had willingly taken the second half of the watch as soon as Dagvar asked for a volunteer, not only hoping to prove his gratitude towards the group, but also Skyrim herself, as they could very well be the largest group of living people in the province. With a sigh, on the patched fur bedroll, beneath the stars, the soldier tried to remember how he had made it that far, without dying.

    Escaping from Haafingar proved to be a lot harder than it seemed when Guryon had sketched the route inside his mind. The only way out would be south, since the borders of High Rock would very likely be closed as soon as they heard the news, and the horde of draugr barraging the road was (and probably still is) huge. Guryon still tried to sail a ship instead of having to walk through endless ranks of undead, but all the sailors had run off, taking the vessels that weren't likely to break in half as soon as they were untied from the docks.

    Before Solitude was overrun, Guryon had managed to take a few supplies from the unguarded stores, whose owners had fled long ago, and it was to them that he owed his life the most. The screams of the men and women left behind haunted him to that day. The fear he felt as he crawled and slid through the endless filth of the Solitude sewers was one that no lost battle against the Stormcloaks had ever caused him. No, that was a very different type of bloodshed. The imperial had even tried to persuade a little boy to follow him amongst the chaos, but the kid refused to leave without his mother, who would be lost somewhere inside the crowd, running amok.

    While the citizens were slaughtered, trapped between the walls that had once protected them, Guryon managed to escape without much aggro from the dead. While not feeling proud at all about this deed, not even he would avoid admitting being happy to escape such a grisly demise.

    The road, as expected, was no longer a safe place. Instead of imperial soldiers patrolling it, Draugr sentinels limped on its broken tiles, seeking to feast on any fleshy body that moved close enough to them. Despite being able to escape unharmed, Guryon had to sacrifice nearly all the flesh he had stuffed inside his pouch, to distract the monsters.

    The remaining days in the wilds were of starvation and thirst. Soon, Guryon's tiny satchel would have run out of food, and he would have to try to hunt the few animals he found with his axes, which were rather slow, despite their superior damage compared to bows. This basically meant most of Guryon's meals were small Mudcrabs, whose camouflage was clever enough to fool the hungry draugr, and occasional eggs from birds on top of trees. Even those, however, had continuously reduced in number as he journeyed through the vast plains of Whiterun, which, despite making it easier to see predators coming, also made it harder for prey not to see him coming. Guryon began to eat the bigger bugs he came across, as well as drinking the small puddles occasional rainy days brought. By the time he had come across those seven fellows, his last meal had been five days ago, a half eaten deer Guryon had found on the road.

    But that story did not matter anymore, what was important was that he was fed, and had found survivors, and if he had a say in it, those were going to last. Guryon squirmed a little in his bed, and turned to the fort in the distance. Before it was overrun by Draugr, the fort had actually belonged to bandits, and before belonging to said bandits, it had belonged to imperials. Even Guryon had once been in there, during the Stormcloak invasion to Whiterun. According to his memory, that fort would have fresh water, food, and even clean clothes, assuming its former residents didn't waste everything. The question that nagged him was: What would it take to get inside?
     
    • Like Like x 5
    • Winner Winner x 1
    • Creative Creative x 1
    Latest Given Reputation Points:
    Skyrimosity: 21 Points (Nice) May 25, 2015
    lizardisok: 5 Points Jun 24, 2015
  4. lucid-dreaming

    lucid-dreaming Active Member

    Joined:
    May 17, 2015
    Messages:
    105
    Likes Received:
    66
    Reputation:
    225
    Eunji sheathed her katana back from its scabbard, the only valuable thing that's left of her even before this whole madness began. It used to bring her so much pride, but now, she hopes, and fears that one day she'd muster up the courage and use it as a means to end her miserable existence. She carefully put it down beside her bedroll and went out of the warm shelter of the fur tent for some fresh air. She hadn't slept for days, or probably weeks. She counting stopped after the first few days. Memories that best left forgotten, but difficult to do so, would interfere in her sleep. So much has happened in a span of 3 years and this draugr infestation was the icing on the cake. She crossed her arms, taking a deep breath of the cool skyrim air as she watched the fort from a distance. Will she finally have the death that she yearned, or thinks she yearned for all these years? Death by a draugr isn't the most fabulous way to go, but if she's lucky, she might attract a horde enough for her to cast a firestorm around them. She moved her gaze to a group of men and women resting by the campfire. She hadn't been with a group since she let the last one get fried by a dragon. It has been years but that didn't stop the bitter feeling of guilt that haunted her every night. She hesitated joining them at first, but realizing their efforts in saving her life, she thought of it as a debt to be payed in due time. And maybe, although doubtful, she could find redemption of all the faults she had done.

    A single heavy swing of her katana brought the eager draugr to the ground. She spat on the rotting corpse, as she struggled to balance herself with what little energy she has left. She had just escaped after a horde came pouring out of dead man's respite on a road bound to Morthal. Morthal was one of the last secure towns to hold off the draugr. Eunji stayed there for a few weeks, to take shelter from the disaster. The draugr rarely pass in this direction, and the town was well prepared enough to keep out small groups. That all change when a sudden wave of the undead took them by surprise. People screamed in horror and pain as the draugr ravaged the small town. Eunji and some guards managed to hold them while giving the rest of the townsfolk time to escape. When the rest were evacuated, another wave had followed. With only a few of them left, they all scattered away from the horde.

    Several came running towards her direction, feeling a bit irritated, she ran away limping from the small horde, cursing herself for carelessly letting an arrow pierce through her abdomen. A swift arrow landed on a tree trunk, just inches away from her ,another almost got her leg. Two of the undead managed to catch up to her, pommeling one before cutting its head off, then gracefully countering the other's blow. Her attempt of escape soon came to an end when a sharp rusty tip sunk deep into her shoulder, falling down into the fresh dewy grass floor. She gripped her blade as she tried to get up with both arms and knees. Facing her pursuers, sparks of purple and blue glimmered at her right hand damped in her own blood. Her vision, hazy as a bolt of lightning consumed what was left of her magicka. She got one of those battle axe wielding, draugrs, all that was left were 2 archers and a deathlord. She lied down on her back, gasping heavily for air as the ebony weilding deathlord came closer to her. Her body wouldnt let her overcome the exhaustion. "I guess this is finally it..." she thought, her mind slowly drifting into unconsciousness. She heard a long wistling sound followed by a blow of metal to flesh, the deathlord staggered as a shadow pounced on the creature, what she could see through her blurry vision. Then everything went black, with only the rythm of bow strings and clashing of blades resonating through the night.

    " SHe's still alive... " A harsh yet soothing voice had slightly brought her mind back together. She could make out a face hovering above her, her eyes slightly out of focus. She could see a man, hair blonde, face scruffy.

    "Damn. She looks plops." Another voice spoke, with a hint of concern.

    "We should get her back to camp, Thell could help her." The blonde man tried to carry her, but she weakly struggled.

    "Don't..dont' touch me." She muttered.

    "It's alright. We're here to help."


    Eunji closed her eyes, letting the cool air embrace her. For now, she is indebted to these people for saving her life, slightly relieved in avoiding a pathetic and less than flashy death. A few more hours left until they battle more draugr, no matter how tiring and repetitive the task could get, claiming that fort is their only chance of surviving this living insanity.
     
    • Like Like x 6
    • Creative Creative x 1
    Latest Given Reputation Points:
    lizardisok: 4 Points May 29, 2015
    #4 lucid-dreaming, May 26, 2015
    Last edited: May 26, 2015
  5. AS88

    AS88 Well-Known Member
    Staff Member

    Joined:
    Jul 31, 2012
    Messages:
    2,489
    Likes Received:
    1,336
    Reputation:
    1,192
    *Snort*

    ...

    *Cough*

    Waking with a start, Hrogmar sat up sideways as he coughed his way into the domain of the conscious. His surroundings unfamiliar for a second, he noticed the heat and crackle of the fire blazing behind him. It was then that he remembered that he had nodded off roasting a rabbit leg on the spit, which was now useful only for charcoal, if that. Rolling onto his back, he looked up at the ceiling of furs and hides above him as it ruffled slowly in the breeze while he patted the ground around him, being reassured to find his axe and bow where he had left them. He clicked his fingers in turn; each little finger, ring finger, middle finger, index finger and thumb, before flexing his wrists and stretching his elbows with a click for each joint. One or two of the group looked over with disdain at his habit, but he ignored them as he pulled on his boots and gloves, and stooped under the entrance of the tent and into the chill evening, bow strapped across his back and axe in hand.

    Dagvar and Hrogmar had made a habit of taking the first and second watches, respectively, and Hrogmar had begun to sleep in the early evening to stay on top of exhaustion. The Stormcloak had woken earlier than usual, judging by the hints of purple and orange on the horizon, framing Fort Greymoor in a bleak, yet beautiful, pallet of colour. Action at the camp had died down of late, making Horgmar restless and less tired, particularly as he had almost completely recovered from his brush with Bone Break Fever.

    As he rounded the corner of their makeshift fort of canvas and wood, Hrogmar sighted the figure of the man to whom he probably owed his life, Dagvar. He cut a particularly forlorn figure this night, a sense of foreboding clinging to him as he looked over to the departing sunset as Hrogmar had a few seconds before. The plan of action had rattled some of the group, those who had never really tasted the sweet glory of battle. After running for weeks and then having to rest due to illness, Hrogmar awaited the chance to fight with baited breath.

    "Dagvar. I take it I'm on watch again later?"
     
    • Like Like x 6
    Latest Given Reputation Points:
    lizardisok: 4 Points May 29, 2015
  6. Lady Redpool the Unlifer

    Lady Redpool the Unlifer Pyro, Spirits Connoisseur, and Soulless Anarchist

    Joined:
    Mar 30, 2012
    Messages:
    971
    Likes Received:
    555
    Reputation:
    695
    Thell sat with his back to a rock, facing the group. He was in his usual little half-sleep: relaxed enough to rest, awake enough to be aware of his surroundings. It was a habit he had made in his many years of wandering.

    He had wandered for so long he thought, so disgusted by man and mer, and their hate. Even then though, he had still held all life sacred, refusing to kill anything even as he wandered aimlessly. He supposed he should thank whatever woke the legions of Draugr, for it had given him purpose again. He chuckled a bit at the thought.

    Even if he had purpose though, he had not had direction until he had happened upon Dagvar, out in the plains to the north of Whiterun. Smiling a bit wider as he remembered the young man wounded and squaring off against two Draugr armed with battleaxes. Thell had seen how it was going to end and raised his hand to cast Vampire's Bane. It may have been invented and named to kill bloodsuckers, but it worked fine against Draugr too. Walking towards the young man, who had collapsed from exhaustion and relief while the Draugr burned, he healed his wounds and explained himself. Offering to join the man named Dagvar, they became partners. Before they knew it, their two of them had become nine, and they were preparing to investigate the nearby fort tomorrow.

    Thell had his forebodings about that. He had survived so far by avoiding places that people might be. He could live off the land, had no need of shelter from a storm or fortifications from the Draugr. He had learned to deal with those things. He had come to feel responsible for these people though, and had healed all of them once or twice since they joined the group. If they were going to enter the fort, he would go with them, but he would not kill anyone they found inside. he had already sworn that oath many years ago.

    He realized he had thought himself out of his relaxed state. Sighin, he said his quick prayer to Arkay and settled back into his rest.

    "Lord Arkay, champion of life, and keeper of the dead. I walk the land, doing your good work, and keeping to your ideals. I do not harm the living, and I heal them when I can. I do not suffer the undead, I put them back to rest, and send their tortured souls on to you. I have allies in this fight. Your brother Juliianos, gives me the magic which are my tools. I thank him as I thank you. Your enemy Meridia, who has bolstered my power to fight the undead. I believe that you and she share many ideals and opinions, and when my time comes, I do hope she allows me to ascend to you in light of this. This is my prayer, and this is my purpose. For the glory of Arkay."
     
    • Like Like x 6
    Latest Given Reputation Points:
    lizardisok: 4 Points May 29, 2015
  7. EpicVakarian

    EpicVakarian Calibration-Master General

    Joined:
    Jun 27, 2013
    Messages:
    3,469
    Likes Received:
    1,041
    Reputation:
    621
    The burning wood was the best thing Katie had smelled in weeks.
    Ever since she had barely escaped the draugr as they overran Skyrim, she'd smelled nothing but death, fear, and rotting flesh. In a way, she regretted being able to smell the fire; it would only make it harder to smell the everyday world again.

    But then again, what was the point of living any more if you couldn't enjoy the little things? Katie breathed deeply, accidentally inhaling a gulp of smoke before coughing it out. She leaned up on her elbow, glancing around the camp at the group of survivors she'd found herself amongst.
    There was Dagvar, a tall Nord a little older than Katie. He was scruffy, blonde, and pale, and preferred a sword and shield to the bow strapped to his back.
    That was fine though, because the group had found an elf, just after Katie had been accepted into the group, a Bosmer archer called Solenne. She was short, like most Bosmer, with short auburn hair, a master archer. She was quiet, and cold, but loyal, and she noticed things the others often couldn't even see.
    Nearby Solenne was a Breton, Thell, a pacifist. He was old, nigh on sixty, a devout worshipper of the Divines, along with Peryite and Meridia. He was always happy, which some could find annoying, but he did help provide some optimism to the group.

    There was a tall, bulky Stormcloak, called Hrogmar Stone-beard. He was nice enough; Katie hadn't really spoken to him all that much, but he was quite obviously an old-fashioned, fiercely honourable man. He was blonde, with long hair and a short, unkempt beard.
    There was also Eunji, an exotic-looking Breton with Imperial features, of similar build to Katie. She wore an outfit Katie had never seen before, but it was, like Eunji herself, quite exotic. She was very quiet, so Katie couldn't really say what she was like.
    Guryon was an Imperial, middle-aged, with greying hair and a little deaf. He seemed cold and quiet, like Eunji and Solenne, but he at least seemed more troubled by rejecting interactions.
    The latest addition to the group was Brienne, a Breton of similar age to Katie, short and slight yet beautiful. Katie had already decided she liked Brienne; she was warm, friendly and patient, with a natural urge to help people. She wore priestess' robes, a symbol of her pre-draugr life as a priestess of Kynareth. Katie's faith in the Divines had been wavering of late, and she wanted to talk to Brienne about that at some point, just for reassurance.

    There was also Hjor Steel-Fist, a huge bulking Nord warrior who Katie knew, as they grew up in Dawnstar together. They weren't exactly best friends, but they'd seen each other about, and Katie had been shocked to see him again, alive after the draugr swarm. He was the typical Nord warrior; wearing heavy armour and wielding a huge greatsword in combat.
    Then there was Katie herself, a relatively small Nord, very skinny, but very quick, both in body and mind. She prided herself on her agility, rather than her strength, which wasn't particularly impressive. She was friendly, and hated being by herself for extended periods of time, but could also be silent as a mouse when needed, which often resulted in her being the one sent ahead of the group to scout out areas. She was one of the furthest from the fire, as she hated being hot. Katie preferred the cold; a side-effect of being born and raised in Dawnstar.

    Hrogmar calling out to Dagvar was what finally shook Katie from her self-induced trance.
    "Dagvar. I take it I'm on watch again later?"
    Katie's eyes re-focused, and she shook her head a little to clear it. She took a quick glance around the camp; noticing Thell murmuring quiet prayers to whichever god it was this time, Guryon gazing up at Fort Greymoor on the horizon, Hjor watching the stars. She spared a long glance at Brienne, pondering what exactly to say to her when she eventually got round to asking Brienne for help.
    Let's sleep on it, eh? Talk to Brienne in the morning before we reach the Fort. No point asking now, we all just want to sleep.
    Katie decided she agreed with the little voice murmuring inside her head, and gently laid herself down on her bedroll once more, closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.
     
    • Like Like x 6
  8. Kaelbu

    Kaelbu Well-Known Member

    Joined:
    Jul 23, 2013
    Messages:
    278
    Likes Received:
    215
    Reputation:
    297
    With eyes closed and arms crossed, Brienne took in a deep breath of night air. Remembering the goddess of the wind and heavens, she silently thanked the Divines for guiding her to this group. It wasn't long ago that she found them gathered not far from Whiterun. If she hadn't left the temple when she did, she may never have met them at all.

    It had been too long since the last soul came to her for healing and succumbed to their wounds. The other priests had gone to their families. Brienne was alone, and her skills were being unused and wasted. It was time to open the doors.

    She silently strolled through the ruin of Whiterun, a once bustling and lively little city. Draugr roamed freely, bumbling around, looking for more living to make dead. Brienne kept just out of sight, if only by Kynareth's mercy. It was a surreal moment for her. The last time she was in the midst of such carnage and destruction was in the Reachmen's camps, and even that paled in comparison. What was this? Why?
    The sky seemed darker than usual-- something that made Brienne particularly uncomfortable. This wasn't right.

    Determined not to fade into the darkness, she quietly pressed forward, exiting the city through disheveled, useless gates. The plains were grim, but they were where she found hope. In the distance was a group of survivors, surely in need of her. If they weren't then, they could be later. Kynareth must have sent her to them, where she could do some good.

    Brienne had acquainted herself with them all, but knew little about them.
    Dagvar, a Nord the same age as herself, was a bit paranoid, but otherwise a capable man.
    Thell, a fellow Breton, was quite a bit older and seemed, to Brienne, to be a kindred spirit.
    Hjor was a large Nord, and Brienne imagined he'd be a proficient protector.
    Katie, quite agile for a Nord, seemed uncomfortable by the fire. But something else seemed to be troubling her as well.
    Solenne, eagle-eyed and stoic, was the only mer in the group, and the only one shorter than Brienne.
    Hrogmar was another big Nord. He had the look of a soldier about him, and Brienne thought she saw the remnants of a disease in his mannerisms.
    Eunji was a mysterious woman. She seemed, in many ways, a Breton, and in others an Imperial. Her sword was one unlike any Brienne had ever seen.
    Guryon was an Imperial, a little older than the others. He, like Hrogmar, had a distinct soldierly air about him.

    As Brienne opened her eyes, they landed on a free spot next to the fire. She gracefully took it, lowering herself to the ground without a sound. Her lips couldn't help but curl into a smile as she listened to Thell reciting his prayers within the sleepy camp.

    "Dagvar. I take it I'm on watch again later?" Hrogmar was a little louder than the older Breton.
    Brienne looked over at the pair of men who so often watched over their flock as they slept. She felt a surge of purpose swell in her chest.
    Yes. This is where I'm supposed to be.
     
    • Like Like x 7
    Latest Given Reputation Points:
    lizardisok: 4 Points May 29, 2015
  9. Melee

    Melee I'm back, bitches

    Joined:
    Feb 11, 2012
    Messages:
    1,598
    Likes Received:
    633
    Reputation:
    445
    It had been sheer luck and coincidence that had guided Solenne to the group that she had unexpectedly become a part of. An untimely bow malfunction had forced her to Whiterun, where she had learned of the Draugr "takeover" the hard way. As small as she was, sneaking into a shop to get materials she needed had been easy enough, but the severity and strange quietness of the Draugr invasion still left her feeling very uneasy. She didn't find herself near civilization often, and though she prided herself on her observation skills, the fact that hordes of Draugr were roaming freely throughout Skyrim would have surprised even her as she wandered the forests. And Solenne did not like being surprised.

    Now, just days later, she was sleeping around a campfire with people who had previously been strangers. Admittedly, they were still strangers for the most part to Solenne. She was aware of the fact that she didn't interact well with others; although she was fiercely loyal to this group, she had never had to concern herself with people or having social skills. It was strange being around people when she had purposefully avoided them for so long, and it bothered Solenne to admit that it was almost a little overwhelming dealing with just a few people constantly.

    Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly through her nose, Solenne tried her best to make her mind as empty as possible. She focused on the crackling of the fire, keeping her eyes closed as the sounds of hushed voices trickled over to her side of their sleeping area. It was strange, being with other people. She wasn't necessarily fond of them.. Yet. But somehow she found herself trusting them. Not completely. People couldn't be trusted completely. People were cold and mean and they could hurt you a lot if you weren't careful. So Solenne would keep up her walls because that was all she knew how to do, but she would let them watch her back while she kept a careful ear out for anything that could be deemed suspicious or dangerous. She would let them watch camp while she slept, and allow herself to actually fall asleep instead of keeping herself awake all night.

    It was harder to keep her mind empty than she thought. Scowling, Solenne twisted onto her side, back facing the fire in an attempt to shut everything else out. After a while, it seemed to work; her last thoughts before finally drifting off to sleep were of how nice the warmth of the fire was.
     
    • Like Like x 8
  10. Writes-Many-Posts

    Writes-Many-Posts Champion of Grottos and Gremlins

    Joined:
    Oct 27, 2012
    Messages:
    1,508
    Likes Received:
    638
    Reputation:
    885
    Guryon would already be by Vaermina's gates when a voice dragged him back. "Dagvar, I take it I'm on watch again later?" The reopened one of his eyes quickly, not taking long to figure out who that voice belonged to. A nord, most likely a Stormcloak if his armor did belong to him, blonde and braided like many of his kind were. At least, he seemed to be the only one talking to Dagvar, one of the two people whose names he had already memorized, as he had been the first to introduce himself. The other was the Bosmer, Solenne, due to being the only one of her race in the group, but soon, he would try to learn them all.

    "I am afraid, my friend..." He slowly got up, coughing out a bit of saliva in the process. "I've already taken the liberty of getting that job. But..." Guryon paused once again to cough at least three more times, this time dry, a bit more painful than usual. "I never say 'no' to an extra pair of eyes to help me during night watch." The offer had not been presented in a warm tone or anything, but the soldier did display the closest he had to a smile, almost completely putting to the side that the lad could have been a rebel.
     
    • Like Like x 3
    Latest Given Reputation Points:
    lizardisok: 4 Points (:D) May 29, 2015
    #10 Writes-Many-Posts, May 28, 2015
    Last edited: May 29, 2015
  11. AS88

    AS88 Well-Known Member
    Staff Member

    Joined:
    Jul 31, 2012
    Messages:
    2,489
    Likes Received:
    1,336
    Reputation:
    1,192
    "I never say 'no' to an extra pair of eyes to help me during night watch."

    Judging by the way the man spluttered and hacked as he rose, Hrogmar considered this development. The man, at least on first impression, seemed ill - too ill to take the watch alone. His age was tough to place; he looked fine physically, if a little skinny for the cold of Skyrim, but his face was beginning to wrinkle and his hair was greying. Had he come into an illness which made him appear beyond his years, or was he simply reaching middle-age? Perhaps he had come to the group in need of healing, as Hrogmar had. Perhaps he still saw visions of his healer tending to him, nurturing him back to health, as Hrogmar did as he dreamt.

    Upon turning his full attention to the new figure, he studied his posture and garb at a glance. There's something about Imperials that make them stand out like a sore thumb, especially ex-soldiers. They way they were trained from enrolment to appear as the representation of the Empire; noble and superior, had always rubbed Hrogmar up the wrong way, although that was probably due more to fireside stories of the Empire's controlling nature told among the Windhelm guardsmen than actual experience. Feeling the tension inside him, the Stormcloak tried to temper himself for the sake of avoiding trouble, but a lifetime of being told about the shortcomings of the Empire, and those that hail from it central province, were too much to bear.

    ""Ah, Imperial. I'd have thought you'd have fled south by now, enjoying your Cyrod Brandy with your elf buddies..."

    As soon as he closed his mouth, Hrogmar winced at his own stupidity. Seeking to rectify his error, he changed tact and stepped forward, hand outstretched.

    "I'm Hrogmar, of clan Stone-Beard, and I'll join you on watch."
     
    • Like Like x 3
  12. Skyrimosity

    Skyrimosity Fine Southern Gentleman

    Joined:
    Dec 20, 2011
    Messages:
    2,786
    Likes Received:
    1,218
    Reputation:
    644
    Dagvar stood calmly as Hrogmar and Guryon interacted. In truth, he was a bit worried about the two spending any amount of time together. Hrogmar was clearly a Stormcloak, and Guryon was an Imperial. However, if anything could help to cease the hostilities between Stormcloaks and Imperials, perhaps it was bands of murderous corpses roaming the lands. Dagvar had never taken a side in the war, anyway.

    After the hand-shaking and perhaps a few more words -- Dagvar had drifted into thought about Greymoor -- Guryon went to his bedroll. Hrogmar did not, which did not surprise Dagvar even slightly. A soldier like Hrogmar would undoubtedly want to make sure that he was the one to keep himself alive. It's not like it was a bad thing, though. An extra set of eyes was always welcome; after all, there is a lot of land in Skyrim. And Draugr can attack from anywhere.

    Dagvar walked to his post; Hrogmar to his. Between the two of them, they had a large field of vision. The chances of a draugr sneaking by the two of them were quite minimal, especially since they tended to be rather loud. Silence filled the plains, and it became somewhat eerie. The howls of wolves were what Dagvar noticed as common.

    The watch was very uneventful. Dagvar watched what he was supposed to, Hrogmar watched what he was supposed to, and a word was not spoken between the two of them. Finally, however, a duo of draugr wandered about. Dagvar found it odd that two draugr would travel together. What purpose did it serve? It was worrying how little was known about the draugr.

    "Hrogmar, we have two of them over here" he said, under his breath so as not to disturb anyone sleeping. Hrogmar nodded, and drew his sword. Dagvar readied his shield and sword, and the two of them advanced on the Draugr who were some thirty feet away from the group. The draugr noticed them, and readied their weapons; however, they were no match for Dagvar and Hrogmar. Quickly dispatched, the two returned to camp.

    "I want you to at least try to get some sleep," Dagvar said, "the attack on Greymoor is fast approaching, and we need everyone at their best. The second shift isn't for a couple hours."

    Hrogmar nodded, and went to his bedroll. Dagvar could not tell if Hrogmar knew Dagvar was right or just wasn't in a mood for arguing. Dagvar simply wanted every precaution taken care of.

    The rest of the shift was entirely uneventful. As the time passed, and the moons moved across the sky, Dagvar's nerves increased little by little. Finally, his shift was over. He went to Guryon, and spoke his name until he woke up. Then he went to Hrogmar and did the same. The two of them awoken, Dagvar was glad to be able to get some sleep. He hurriedly went to his bedroll. It felt comfortable to him.

    Thoughts bounced around in his head of Greymoor. He quickly put them to rest, reasoning to himself that he had done all he could do until morning. Turning toward the fort, he could no longer see it. He swiftly drifted to sleep.
     
    • Like Like x 1
  13. Writes-Many-Posts

    Writes-Many-Posts Champion of Grottos and Gremlins

    Joined:
    Oct 27, 2012
    Messages:
    1,508
    Likes Received:
    638
    Reputation:
    885
    Guryon's rest, despite not being much, was still a lot better than none at all, and, not having had any of it for a few days, those hours of sleep had been more than enough to make him look and feel a lot more alive than he seemed when the group had found him. The imperial gave his arms a couple of stretches and then, using the embers of the formerly lit fireplace to guide his steps, he headed towards his post, giving Dagvar a pat on his shoulder before he got some deserved rest of his own.

    The kid, Hrogmar, as he called himself, had also woken up, and would already be at his post when Guryon reached his spot. Earlier that night, the Stormcloak boy had chosen to join him in his watch, but not before spitting out a witty insult about Guryon's faction, immediately assuming he would be a soldier just because of his race. The insult, despite not required, was definitely fit, as Guryon himself expected the Empire to stay and fight. But Tullius and the others had other plans. Rikke herself tried to convince Guryon to come with them, but failed to do so, not getting any relevant results. Nevertheless, Solitude's judgement day came, and there was only one soldier inside to protect it. Hrogmar, while being in fact too quick with his racial judgement, did have a point about the Empire. Guryon had a clever comeback almost ready, preparing to say something around the lines of: "Yes, I actually planned to join you in your little Windhelm project, but then I remembered I was part of the majority of fools that weren't capable of being born nords." but, in the end, he decided it would be best to spare both himself and the group from a fight on his first day among them, merely nodding and heading back to bed instead.

    The plains were as quiet as a battlefield before war, asides from an occasional cricket or a frog in the distance. Guryon kept his coughing not only at a minimum, but also the quietest possible, trying not to camouflage the sound of hulking armored Draugr steps nearby. Everything seemed devoid of life. No prey, no predators, not even a single torchbug tried to defy the endless darkness of the night. All they had was a torch, stuck to a rotten wooden pole that marked their watch post, its flames creating a flickering circle of light on the ground that dictated how far their eyes could see.

    To Guryon, it felt strange going back to being on watch after all those years, but that kind of strange was not necessarily bad. It was more of nostalgia kind of feeling, rather than the usual sadness that infected him when he thought about the years he had spent on the battlefield. From a recruit to an Elite Skirmisher it had to be a long path, and knowing to have travelled it didn't make him feel very good about his career choice. What was done, was done, either way, and not even a Jarl could afford the privilege of preventing his wrongdoings.

    A few minutes of silence went by, until Guryon sighed (a somewhat awkward token of resignation), and chose to talk to his "partner". "This is why I hope I am cremated when I die." He whispered from afar, now exhaling a bit of steam as they at that moment endured one of the night's colder stages.
     
    • Like Like x 4
    • Agree Agree x 1
    Latest Given Reputation Points:
    lizardisok: 5 Points (:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D) Jun 7, 2015
    #13 Writes-Many-Posts, Jun 1, 2015
    Last edited: Jun 1, 2015
  14. AS88

    AS88 Well-Known Member
    Staff Member

    Joined:
    Jul 31, 2012
    Messages:
    2,489
    Likes Received:
    1,336
    Reputation:
    1,192
    Leaning on an old gatepost, Hrogmar felt his gaze drift off into the darkness. As he found the spot he and Dagvar had been at earlier, dealing with the two Draugr who had shambled through the dense gloom of the plains, he thought about his battleaxe and how far it'd gotten him. The weapon was nothing special, in truth - a battleaxe of Windhelm steel, well worn in but maintained with great care. Hrogmar had spent many nights by the fire in secluded Stormcloak camps and on the Windhelm battlements sharpening the weapon with care. The places he'd been, there was nothing else to do.

    Mid-thought, the Imperial spoke up and broke Hrogmar from his mental wandering.

    "This is why I hope I am cremated when I die."


    "Aye. It's tradition here now, only some can't afford it and a few of the rich value themselves too much to go through with committing to it."

    He took a small sip from his decanter of water, filled earlier in the afternoon from the nearby stream.

    "The Hall of the Dead in Windhelm would stretch out to the Sea of Ghosts if everyone wanted burying. It's a strange thing, watching a body burn. You realise how fragile we are."

    Following a pause, Hrogmar continued.

    "I knew you were a Legionnaire by the way you looked earlier. You're all trained the same, didn't even need to see your colours. What's an ex-Legionnaire doing here, in Skyrim when Cyrodiil could be safe?"
     
    • Like Like x 3
    #14 AS88, Jun 2, 2015
    Last edited: Jun 2, 2015
  15. Writes-Many-Posts

    Writes-Many-Posts Champion of Grottos and Gremlins

    Joined:
    Oct 27, 2012
    Messages:
    1,508
    Likes Received:
    638
    Reputation:
    885
    While the nord spoke, a little more respectful than before luckily, Guryon still kept his eyes both on the infinite dark of the night, which would be slowly becoming weaker as the dawn approached. With arms crossed and yawns and coughs restricted, he turned his expression to one of mild sorrow, still decently camouflaged, when Hrogmar asked him of his reason not to leave. "What's an ex-Legionnaire doing here, in Skyrim when Cyrodiil could be safe?" He had asked, after a brief pause. Shooing away part of his sadness with a shake of his head, Guryon proceeded to explain, with a voice as firm as a general when talking to his recruits for the first time, keeping a grip on his feelings of betrayal and abandonment from the Empire.

    "When I was brought to this province, as a boy, my father convinced me that all the killing the Empire was doing was for the common good. I grew up being told we were not leaving until Skyrim was a better place, even if it took decades. To me, Skyrim doesn't look like a better place right now, but Tulius and Rikke begged to differ, just like everyone else. I've spent almost 30 years in this province, and I planned to retire and spend the rest of my days in Whiterun, were it not for this madness, whether Skyrim did become a better place or not."

    Guryon paused to swallow one gulp of sadness, as well as cough as quietly as possible.

    "I might have not made many friends in this land, but it will always be where I grew up and inevitably belong, with or without an army to fight for. If Skyrim needs protection, then I'll do what I can to protect her, even if it means being mauled by undead, and turning down on drinking parties with my elf 'buddies'."

    A moment of silence went by as the imperial got himself back together.

    "On the bright side, your side just won the war. I doubt any person in Skyrim wants to join my side's cause after what they've done, if they even dare to set foot back here."
     
    • Like Like x 4
  16. AS88

    AS88 Well-Known Member
    Staff Member

    Joined:
    Jul 31, 2012
    Messages:
    2,489
    Likes Received:
    1,336
    Reputation:
    1,192
    The Imperial's words cut through the clear midnight air as a knife cuts through butter; smoothly and without effort. Hrogmar sat and listened as the Legionnaire stated his case, looking over the gloom ahead of them, as the men, once on warring sides, took their watch together. Guryon may have been an Imperial, but Hrogmar admired his commitment to his homeland, and continued to regret his earlier faux pas.

    The more the Imperial talked, the more Hrogmar realised that he wasn't the sort of Legionnaire he had signed up to fight. He wasn't the oppressive, Concordat-wielding representative of the Empire that the Stormcloaks hunted. Not the meddling, "Make Way for the Imperial Legion!" shouting, Thalmor dogsbody. Guryon was the type of Legionnaire that would turn tail and report to the Palace of the Kings, at least in Hrogmar's mind.

    The rest of the night was largely uneventful, with Hrogmar spending some time reading a copy of Biography of Barenziah, v3, which had been left conveniently under a torch fastened to a post. The watch rolled by quicker than normal, and before long people started to rustle in their bedrolls.

    Another morning had come, as the oranges and whites began to streak across the deep purple above the horizon like firebolts from the gods. Another morning had come, and they had all survived.
     
    • Like Like x 4
  17. Skyrimosity

    Skyrimosity Fine Southern Gentleman

    Joined:
    Dec 20, 2011
    Messages:
    2,786
    Likes Received:
    1,218
    Reputation:
    644
    Dagvar slept rather soundly during the still night. Sleep was itself a sort of commodity ever since the Draugr arose. At least, in a group, sleep was relatively sleep. Dagvar couldn't help but think of himself as a long survivor, getting killed in his sleep. He experienced a sort of happiness in the fact that they had a strong group, with warriors, healers, and an archer. Still, his happiness faded as he remembered the challenges of the day. The rising sun at the groups' backs created an eerie backdrop in the distance, Fort Greymoor cast in light while everything past it seemed to still be shrouded in darkness and mystery.

    There was no need to tell everyone to pack up. Everyone began waking of their own accord and packing the essentials. The obstacles of the day did not seem to phase any among the group. At least not to where it was outwardly noticeable.

    "Alright everyone," Dagvar said, to get their attention, "we know where we are going. We know what awaits. But we have to get there first. It's a short walk. Maybe just two or three hours. Keep your eyes open."

    With those short words, the group started walking in the direction of Greymoor with Dagvar at the front. Dagvar motioned to Thell with his hand and Thell approached.

    "Thell, I am curious to know. You profess that you hate fighting. Will you be able to contribute in taking Greymoor?
     
    • Like Like x 3
    Latest Given Reputation Points:
    Writes-Many-Posts: 20 Points (Because your RP just hit the 20th reply!) Jun 9, 2015
    #17 Skyrimosity, Jun 8, 2015
    Last edited: Jun 16, 2015
  18. lucid-dreaming

    lucid-dreaming Active Member

    Joined:
    May 17, 2015
    Messages:
    105
    Likes Received:
    66
    Reputation:
    225
    Eunji spent the rest of the remaining night watching over the fort and her companions. Unable to sleep, or most likely, avoiding it, she picked up a twig and would playfully twirl it between her fingers out of boredom. She'd glance at the people, every once in a while, although she did not volunteer to take watch, she watched her side of the camp. Her dark circled eyes from little sleep gazed deeply into the distance, her mind wandering.

    " Foolish little Eunji, always too eager to act first before thinking." A voice that lingered in her head, playfully teased her. A voice, not of her own, but of someone else's. Someone demanding , provoking, and at times intimidating. This voice, or more likely a person's, overwhelms her, taking the helm of her fragile mind in some situation. "If it werent for these people, you would've been sliced in half by that deathlord. But, you would've wanted that, would you?"

    "Leave me be." she sternly muttered under her breath, her teeth gritting. The voice let out a chuckle,

    " Why so serious?" It said " A little insult to injury is always good for your crumbling self esteem." Eunji focused herself, keeping the voice out of her consciousness, her finger calmly fiddled the dry twig.

    "I never say 'no' to an extra pair of eyes to help me during night watch."

    "An imperial and a stormcloak, forced into each other? This'll be interesting." She watched and observed, expecting both men to get at each others throats at any moment, she was slightly disappointed. The imperial, who looked physically old, quiet and frail in his current state, seemed to tolerate the much younger, and capable Stormcloak. Neither whom she got the chance to get acquainted with along with some of the crew. And frankly, she wouldn't care as long as they leave her alone.

    "Ah well, so much for having a good show. You know, if you had taken part in the war, it would've done you good. So many ways to massacre oneself in the battle field... " The voice wouldn't stop, but Eunji has gotten used to her delusions... mostly. She searched her satchel, clutching a tiny glass bottle that contains some sort of medicine. "Fine, drink if you wish. But know that this tiny bottle of swill wont make me go away. Not even a hundred of it, as you may have found out already.." it was right. No matter how much she'd take it only stopped for a couple of moments. Giving up, she shoved it right back in her pack, and maybe save it for something more drastic, if ever. She can handle the prodding, for now.

    Eunji packed up her tent, organizing her things into her pack as soon as the others started waking. She strapped her katana on her hip, a shield on her back, mana potions and scrolls strapped on her bandoiler and she's good to go.
    "We know where we are going. We know what awaits. But we have to get there first. It's a short walk. Maybe just two or three hours. Keep your eyes open."
    She followed Dagvar's lead, way behind the rest, guarding the rear for anything that goes by.
     
    • Like Like x 4
    • Agree Agree x 1
    Latest Given Reputation Points:
    lizardisok: 5 Points Jun 9, 2015
  19. OnlyThePie

    OnlyThePie Active Member

    Joined:
    May 10, 2015
    Messages:
    144
    Likes Received:
    71
    Reputation:
    107
    Hjor awoke with a grumble. His pack had been his pillow, as it had been for a long time. It was not a comfortable pillow. He rose and wandered off to relieve himself, then returned and began gathering his things up. He left one of the Guardian Swords, Jovus, on the ground, instead of his Orcish Blade. "This isn't safe. I haven't wielded Jovus yet. I only have a vague interpretation of what it can do, and that was translated from ancient runes" Hjor thought to himself as he put his last few things away. "But it's stronger than Dvendral, and I'm not using Sculbar again."

    Hjor finished packing his things. "Alright everyone, we know where we are going. We know what awaits. But we have to get there first. It's a short walk. Maybe just two or three hours. Keep your eyes open." Dagvar announced to the group. Hjor nodded and followed a few people behind Dagvar.

    He found himself walking just behind the Imperial, Guryon, he thought. The man had clearly seen better days, but he had kept watch, so Hjor figured he knew what he was doing. Maybe he could even teach Hjor a thing or two about strategy. The man had clearly served in the Legion. Hjor didn't completely trust these people, but he was going to have to, if he wanted somewhere safe to live. Hjor strode up alongside the man, "Hullo there. Anything eventful on the night's watch? Or are we looking clear to raid the fort?" he asked Guryon.
     
    • Like Like x 1
  20. Writes-Many-Posts

    Writes-Many-Posts Champion of Grottos and Gremlins

    Joined:
    Oct 27, 2012
    Messages:
    1,508
    Likes Received:
    638
    Reputation:
    885
    After a completely eventless night, to the point of it being a little disappointing, everyone finally started to wake up. Guryon turned his back for the first time to the golden sun climbing behind the distant trees. A little more distant from the fireplace than the others, was his bedroll, as well as his satchel and limited resources.

    No warning had been needed to wake anyone up: the survivors managed to do so on their own. "Already better than some of my old recruits..." Guryon thought while folding his bed back into his backpack. He had almost nothing to bring to the fort, asides from his weapons and armor. All that he had inside the satchel was a sharpening stone and a small bottle of oil to light up arrows or weak buildings, as well as a few raw mudcrab legs protected by an unwashed thin piece of cloth.

    "Alright everyone, we know where we are going. We know what awaits. But we have to get there first. It's a short walk. Maybe just two or three hours. Keep your eyes open."
    Dagvar advised, amidst the chaos of several bodies scattered across the camp, gathering their belongings. With a silent cough, Guryon held the bag effortlessly over his right shoulder, and began marching towards the fort they were planning to conquer, as soon as everyone seemed ready. "The Stormcloak didn't try to kill me or vice-versa. To me, that's a victory." The imperial thought to himself, while discretely looking at Hrogmar from a considerable distance.

    The environment, at first, did not encourage much talking at all. The constant concern of Draugr nearby, as well as the smell of death installing itself inside everyone's nostrils quite often didn't really make any person feel like opening their mouth for anything other than throwing up or screaming in terror. Guryon was used to it. Dreadful silence during walks was nothing uncommon during war. The imperial would have stayed that way if a short, black-haired nord from the group had not approached him. "Hello there. Anything eventful on the night's watch? Or are we looking clear to raid the fort?"

    Guryon did not stop walking, but he did turn to his fellow survivor, whose name had still to be carved in his brain, at least while he spoke. "Nothing too concerning last night, my friend. If the fort is as draugr-less as our watch, we will very likely take it for free." Guryon paused to look around, swearing he had heard the cracking of a branch nearby. With no found enemy, he turned back to his comrade, checking the sides of their path between sentences. "But a fort takeover is usually a lot more demanding than a night watch. And I'm sure you know it yourself. Judging by your gear and looks, I wouldn't call you a stranger to battle, correct?" He sketched a friendly grin on his face. "I take it you prefer using those blades of yours instead of ranged weapons in combat?"

    Guryon usually did not develop relationships with his weapons, considering most of them were destined to reside inside their enemies by the end of the day, but he did understand those who did. Fighting could become repetitive, even traumatizing sometimes. While humans could leave our side at any given moment, a weapon was a friend that would not depart so easily, and could very well be by our side during our last breath.
     
    • Like Like x 3
    • Agree Agree x 1
    Latest Given Reputation Points:
    lizardisok: 5 Points Jun 9, 2015

Share This Page

  • Like us on Facebook