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    Madrar

    The Shadow in the Dark.
    The year is 4E 210. Tamriel is, for the most part, at peace. There are rumours of skirmishes on the Dominion-Empire border, but the war both sides have been preparing for has yet to break out. Skyrim itself, is an independent kingdom, under the rule of high queen Elisif the fair. However, a series of brutal murders have been perpetrated throughout the snowy kingdom. The queen has summoned a group of experienced hunters to the capital, Solitude, in Haafingar hold. She knows as well as any, that putting a swift stop to these killings is important to her continued rule. However, stopping the murderers might not be as easy as it sounds.

    Cast
    Madrar as Aiden Kassius

    Melee as Solenne

    Drahkma as Ardus Carn

    Kivuli_The_Khajit as Kivuli Careesareeth
    Kivuli_The_Khajit as Kazasha Xasopor

    Grapefruit as Saruriil Corellon

    A.Auditore as Aurea

    Lil'Sqeagles as Do'Graes​
     
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    Kivuli_The_Khajit

    Werewolf Queen of Skyrim
    Entering the Winking Skeever is a tallish female Khajiit in her casual attire. She had just fulfilled a contract, and was now headed in for a bottle of ale and dinner before heading for home. The odd-colored and horned Khajiit sits down at the barstool and gets her usual order, Black-Briar mead and potato soup. Ah, the sweet smell of potato soup, best smell in the world. She scarfs down the meal, purring happily the entire time.

    A male Khajiit has been lounging about the inn, hood off. He'd just finished snacking off of someone in one of the rooms while nobody'd been looking, and now was seated at one of the benches in the shadiest area of the inn, not sure what to do with himself now. Head home perhaps? Seemed to be the safest idea. Only thing stopping him was a craving for socialization...but not many people wanted to talk to a vampire.
     
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    Drahkma

    Dashing Imperial Officer.
    The bandit leader, or, what passed for a leader among the lawless group, fell into the fast moving stream of cold, clear water with a splash. Blood flowed from his wounds, tainting the previously pure waters. The man struggled to his hands and knees, crawling out of the water, towards his fallen weapon, a plain, iron shortsword. Behind him, a chuckle split the otherwise eerily silent cave. It was not a sound of mirth. "Six Forsworn raiders on Morndas, a pair of necromancers yesterday, and a whole bandit camp today. All in all, it's been a damn good week."

    A kick in the ribs, delivered from the side, lifted the man a good couple of inches, and sent him sprawling onto his opposite side. "You should've left off raiding the jarls caravans weeks ago. Left Skyrim entirely. Too late now, I guess." The speaker came into the mans' view. He was tall,with a gaunt face, and grey eyes that shone with a seemingly unnatural light. The man smiled coldly, and swung his blade. A moment later, he bent and retrieved his prize from the ground. "This isn't personal," he assured the dripping, slack jawed head. "Just good business."

    The rest of the trip to Solitude was uneventful, though the hunter, Ardus Carn, wasn't complaining. There was a big sack of gold waiting for him in the capital, and with proof of the bandits' death, all Carn had to do was collect on it. He made his way into the city, where a group of guards were waiting for him. Mutely, he handed the stained sack over. One of the men smiled grimly, accepted it, and nodded to his comrades. One of them handed over a large coin purse. "Why do you still do this, wolf?"
    "Because people still pay me to."

    He made his way to the nearest tavern, the Winking Skeever. The place was fancier than most places he'd been in. Mostly because of the clientele, he assumed. Despite this, a khajiit in leather gear, notably different than the usual armour. Another sat at the bar, though there was something clearly different about it. Ignoring both of them, Ardus took a seat at the bar as well. When the bartender approached, he ordered "Whiskey. Make it quick."
     

    Kivuli_The_Khajit

    Werewolf Queen of Skyrim
    "Like the strong stuff huh?" Kivuli purrs to the newcomer, noting his choice of drink. Whiskey was good for a long hard day to the odd Khajiit, it might just be that this guy had one himself. "Long hard day then?" She inquires of him. From his attire, he must be some kind of adventurer....or perhaps guard. One of the two.


    Kazasha then gets up, having his usual craving for rum, hopefully the bartender here had some. "Oi, bartender. Bottle o' rum." He growls once at the bar, looking less than amused. Bartender makes to say he had none, just to get a mace pointed at his head. "T'would be quite the shame if ye had none, as I'm not in a good mood." He growls his thinly veiled threat, mace out for extra emphasis. He's killed over less so...
     

    Wauten Dayhil

    Demon Hunter and Wordplay Extraordinaire
    A lone figure stood at the edge of a steep hill, shrouded by brush and shadow, waiting for the perfect time. A single wagon, lightly guarded, rolled its way along the road beneath, pulled by a pair of horses. A child's sleepy laugh burbled up from the wagon, following a particularly funny part of his mother's story. She hushed him, and continued to tell the tale, as her eldest son and daughter strode along the sides of the wagon, their father driving the horse in its near-tireless trek.

    A smile slowly crept on to the figure's face, and his hot coal eyes lit up as he began his descent. Further down the slope on the opposite side of the road, two other figures took the cue and emerged from their own positions, a soft rustle following. One stopped, and turned back, eyes narrowed as it searched behind them. After a moment, they resumed their climb to the road, and perched just out of sight.

    The wagon now rolled, almost within arms' reach, between the duo and the first figure. "Atta-" the first started, before an arrow found its mark, burying itself to the feathers in the speaker's throat. With a roar, three large Vigilants of Stendarr burst from inside the wagon, torches catching fire to reveal the three assailants - a trio of vampires. Two more Vigilants erupted from the brush behind the duo of vampires, balls of brilliant holy fire searing the vampires' backs. A sixth and final fighter barreled out of the brush from behind the first vampire, torch held between his teeth, and a massive, shining warhammer in his hands.

    He grunted, and spat the torch out of his mouth, the fiery wooden stick rolling down towards the wagon. "Slay them!" Saruriil cried, as he charged down the slope, hammer held high. By now, the first vampire had managed to pry the arrow from his throat, but could manage no sound save for an angry, terrified wheeze. He leapt forward, his body a blur, and savagely hacked at the bow-wielding Vigilant that had wounded him. With blade, he cripple the Nord woman, and with teeth he drank his vengeance. She screamed, but it quickly turned into a gurgle as blood welled up out of her mouth and neck. In seconds, she was dead, and the vampire threw his head back with inhuman, almost howling, laughter.

    Saruriil arrived as her body fell to the ground in a heap, and he swung his silver warhammer, its spiked head punching into the vampire's back and downing him. He viciously kicked at the creature's head, the vampire's neck snapping back for a moment, before he turned a bloody grin up at Saruriil. With a look of disgust, the high elf brought his warhammer down into the vampire's face, his skull crunching beneath the force as gore splattered all about.

    On the other side of the caravan, a Vigilant was down, his throat torn open and his body riddled with bleeding slash and stab wounds. The vampiress held her side, a large gash under her right arm made worse by constant movement, as she held off a mace-wielding Vigilant with her short sword. The other vampire was locked in combat with two others, before a swift scratch took one out of the fight temporarily, the right side of his face covered with blood.

    The vampiress made a desperate move, kicking at her assailant before diving forward, blade held out. Her aim was true, and her steel blade slid into the Vigilant's stomach, but his own spiked mace swung down, smashing into her skull and sending them both tumbling down into the brush. As they rolled, her blade caught on a rock, and it ripped free of the Vigilant's body, his entrails spilling out over the hill as he rolled down the rest of the grassy knoll.

    Realizing he was alone, the final vampire took his cue, and quickly cloaked himself with an invisibility spell. The Vigilant fighting him took no solace in his apparent attempt to flee, and began swinging about wildly, trying to catch him before he escaped. A hand emerged from the shadows, though, beneath where he'd been swinging, locking onto the Vigilant's throat. The rest of the vampire's body followed suit, as he stood up - lifting the struggling Vigilant clear off the ground. Squeezing his hand, the vampire's claws dug into the man's neck, blood rushing out over the ash-colored hand and down his arm.

    Surariil took the opportunity, and swung his hammer, tripping the vampire onto his back, and bringing it back down in a swooping loop-de-loop into the vampire's stomach. Over and over, he swung, crushing every bone in the vampire's torso, puncturing the skin, until all that was left was a bloody, pulpy mess. As Surariil's breathing began to slow, so did his swings, until they finally came to a halt. He looked at the mutilated body with detached disgust, and went over to the fallen Vigilant.

    "Ooohh," the man groaned, still covering his bloody face, and looked up at Surariil with a pleading whimper, "the pain, make it stop. Can you stop the pain?"

    Dawn had arrived, bathing the blood-soaked battle with glorious sunlight. Already, the family had moved on, their role in the reverse-ambush complete, and it was now a receding dot on the road heading south. Surariil basked in the glow of dawn, before turning his gaze on the whimpering Vigilant. Already, the man's skin was slightly ashen, and Surariil noticed the telltale burning of skin that came with the curse of vampiric blood. It would only be a matter of time, and he had no poultice to stop the change.

    "Can you- can you stop the pain?" The man pleaded once more, tears already rolling down his face.

    "Yes," was all Surariil said, just before his hammer struck home.

    Numbly, he turned away from the battle, and headed north. Crossing the massive Dragon Bridge, passing through the town holding the same name, Surariil headed north. North, to Solitude. To someplace as far from home as possible.
     
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