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Open War of the Condemned

Discussion in 'Active Stories' started by solace84, Jul 31, 2012.

  1. solace84

    solace84 God of the Arena

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    A New End
    After the fall of the Emperor, Titus Mede III, during the siege of the arena ((The Arena: Gladiators of Tamriel)) the Empire has seemingly lost power and place among Tamriel. In their state of weakness, the Thalmor have come to give aid, yet with a cost. The newly formed Imperial Senate, in their anger and humiliation of those events that later came to be known as 'The Slave Uprising', agreed to a new alliance with the Aldmeri Dominion. This act gave equal power and land to the two forces in the end, but allowed the Thalmor's most decorated general, Acrel Hielden, to lead both armies as one unity against their enemies.
    Acrel, an evil yet intelligent minded Altmer warrior, brought the bulk of his newly found power into Skyrim first. His army of Bosmer, Altmer, Imperials, and any else that followed defeated the Nords and overtook the land. Acrel's army expanded into battling the other lands, but a great majority stayed in Skyrim to keep control. Now, just a few years after 'The Slave Uprising', every major city in Skyrim is overrun and kept by the Dominion and the Empire. Those that refuse are hung or stuck to a cross in the streets for all to see, leaving few to roam freely.
    Though the Nords and the other races that allied with them lost almost everything, there are a great number of them that still fight back, known as the Resistance. The war wages on...
     
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  2. solace84

    solace84 God of the Arena

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    Of Peace and Sorrow

    It had been five years since the slave uprising and the fall of the Emperor in Cyrodil. The wood elf who lead the escape was Felian Oakenshield, a famed hero in the north. He retired to a small bit of land near Rorikstead in his elder years, becoming a hunter and a salesman to the small town. His oldest friend and former journeyman, Isnar the old, had retired with him in this time of peace.

    The peace was short-lived, though, as the Altmer general Acrel and his newly formed army scoured the lands of Skyrim, defeating the Nords. The battles lasted for a few years, and came to be known as the Red War. In Acrel's victory he sent legions of men to overlook each town, setting new laws and punishments. Rorikstead, including Felian and Isnar, remained nuetral to the war, and were thus able to dwell among the people. Nords, however, were not so lucky and were forced into bondage or freely killed.

    An Imperial troop seized Rorikstead, building forts and watchtowers to maintain its' territory. The town now served the purpose of helping the Dominion or the Imperials that traveled through, with whatever they desired. Nords and non-believers of these new laws were hung or placed upon spikes out on the open streets, where their bodies decay for all to see day after day. The lucky Nords, the ones in bondage and chains, passed through the town almost daily, heading to where they were desired.

    -----

    An Imperial guard posted a writ to a wooden board within the town, with all the townsfolk of Rorikstead gathered around in a crowd.

    "From this day forth you are the property of the Dominion," said the guard. "Any and all Nords should be reported to your local authorities. If you are found nursing a Nord, you are commiting treason and will be killed. If you disobey any of our posted laws, you will be killed. If you are caught in worship of Talos, you will be killed. If you harm or attempt to harm any Imperial guard or Altmer, you will be killed. When your children reach the age of seven, they will be shipped away and have the honor of joining the Dominion no matter their race, save Nordic. These are the laws you must obey, or you will be killed."

    The crowd disburst and the days of the claimed 'New Age' had begun.
     
  3. solace84

    solace84 God of the Arena

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    The Little Things
    Felian tended to his crops as the sun began to rise. His dog, a husky named Stealthion, ran off the birds in the field. The dog started to bark at one spot in particular, a trait which was not normal for the animal. Felian brushed through the high grass toward the dog, until he came upon a small child hiding on the ground.
    "Get up, child," Felian demanded as the boy did so. "Why are you here?"
    "I turned seven," said the boy. "Midday, they are to take me to their army. I don't want to go."
    "Not my problem," Felian said sternly. "You hiding in my field, is my problem. Now go!"
    Felian walked the boy out and toward Rorikstead.
    "You just don't care about anyone, do you?" the boy said. "Why can't you just help me?"
    "Not my problem."
    "It doesn't hurt you to know all these people are dying around you?" the boy asked.
    Felian said nothing as they continued, Stealthion trotting alongside.
    "You know I know who you are," the boy stopped walking. "You're Felian, they don't talk about you anymore but they used to call you a hero. Some hero you must have been, helping nobody."
    "Yeah, well they call me Hunter now," replied the elf. "Those days are gone. Even if I were to try and help you, it would change nothing. More troops would come in the next day and kill us all anyway. Besides, this is not my war."
    "But you live in this land," said the boy. "Don't the people here hold no value to you? Do you care for no one?"
    "Everyone I've cared for is dead."
    "Then you are lost," the boy replied. "You were lost a long time ago, hero. It's not about making a big impact and trying to defeat them all, it's about the little things like what is right and what is wrong. Fighting for others, whether you know them or not."
    "What is your name, child?"
    "Does it matter?" the boy asked, then he ran off back to town.
     
  4. solace84

    solace84 God of the Arena

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    By mid-day Felian and Isnar were in the market of Rorikstead. Felian hunted while Isnar ran the meat shop. The wood elf approached the old man carrying a hunk of dead meat around his shoulder. He threw the carcass on Isnar's table.
    "More goods," Felian said.
     
  5. Start Dale

    Start Dale I got 99 problems but a Deadra ain't one.

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    He awoke with a start, the loose dirt falling from him he pushed the fallen vegatation aside and rose from the ground. Another night survived with out being found, another day to find food and evade capture. This was no may to live out retirement as an once proud Imperial Mercenary. He never should have let his heart lead him to fight with his Nord kin, they were valiant in the battle for Whiterun.

    When he thinks of the Companions and how they charged the Altmer advance he knows they are all in Jorravsker soaking up their just rewards. Meanwhile he trudges on barely surviving, subsisting off the land, his rewards for helping the Jarl and his kin make their escape from the city as the walls fell. At least in that charge he was successful, maybe he should turn himself into the Altmer or Imperials.

    It wouldn't take them long to find him out and then he would be off to the execution block no slavery for an ex-warrior for the Nords and maybe he would find salvation himself. No he didn't believe in chances and risks never had, which his why he swaddled himself in the armour of his now adopted Forsworn kin, and used their bows and weapons to hunt the food he managed to eek out of the land. His own Nord weapons and Steel plated armour long ago secreted away somewhere in these very hills just incase he should ever need them for one final fight.

    A figure entered his burrow, a forsworn making all the noises he was told to incase he was mistaken for one of them. "Why, we keep you here overnight Nord i'll never truly understand, still the Briarheart says it is sometimes wise to sheperd those that you would kill, for it may turn out they are you after all. I'm here to tell you it is time for you to depart, it is dawn and the first Imperial Altmer patrol passes through, we shall see you again at dusk, if you survive that is". The Forsworn warrior left with a cruel smile playing on his lips.

    Donmjark getting older, stretched and donned his Forsworn attire grabbing bow arrows and the daggers, if it wasn't for them being too great a give away, what he would give for two handed battleaxe, a decade ago he would have slaughtered any he had seen wearing this Forsworn gear. Now he wore it has a disguise, since the Altmer had prevented a desperate union between Nord and Forsworn by elevating old Madanach to the Throne of Markarth, the Forsworn found themselves now as loyal subjects of the Altmer Imperial pact.

    As Donmjark left the encampment he received a nod from the Briarheart before he went to greet the patrol, at least he could rely on the old Forsworn Briarheart to understand what it meant to be hunted and to not fully trust the Forsworns new position as subjects, enough to turn in an old adversary.

    Donmjark made his way from Serpent's Bluff Reboubt out into the lightly vegetated brush land of what once long ago was the proud Whiterun hold.
     
  6. GuardianCren1812

    GuardianCren1812 The guy with the axe

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    In the old farmhouse, now set up as a blacksmith shop, a once proud warrior pounds away at flattening steel. The same way he pounded away every day of his life. Being slowly consumed by his self-disgrace.

    'Why am I here..?' He asked himself silently for every single day his life eroded away in this infernal shop, only comforted by the exciting fires of the forge and the bright orange sparks that danced every time the hammer struck the heated metal.

    He longed to hold Stone-fury again. To weild his favored axe as highly as a god's hammer of judgement, smiting down on his Thalmor and Imperial overseers until Rorikstead rained with blood and thundered with screams and his mighty war cry.

    Perhaps he would die...but it would be a fate worthy of Sovngarde. Not a fate like this.

    'One day...' he thought to himself.

    He would be disturbed of his contemplations as he felt a whip strike him in the back. "Quit daydreaming, you brute!". A Thalmor stood behind him, wrapping a lightning-charged whip that made each strike unbearably numb. Bloodthirsty thoughts flickered through Crengar's mind, wanting to break his chains and take the Thalmor's head off with his bare hands. It took every fiber of his being to so much as keep him from roaring like an abused mutt. His very inner humanity at stake as those thoughts became clearer and more gruesome.

    He only barely caught himself... He merely grunted and continued pounding away at the steel.

    'One day...' he thought to himself once more, dipping in the now perfected blade into the barrel, a column of steam rising from the sizzling water within.
     
  7. Dinkleberg

    Dinkleberg I don't take myself seriously half the time ^_~

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    Four Years.

    It had been four years since the Dwemer-at-work had ever even stepped out of his laboratory within the Irkngthand ruin, nor did he ever care for the politics and burdens of the outside world. In actuality, the thought of a better world outside his lab was quite hilarious, being too accustomed to his Dwarven haven to even step out. Having his automations hunt food for him, he only left when he knew his automated helpers couldn't accomplish the task at hand. And once again, it was time for him to (reluctantly) become social once more.

    Aziezl had been constructing a new design for a better, stronger, more durable Dwarven Centurion, and he was in dire need of just one more crucial piece to completing this puzzle. He had the perfect soul gem placed within its core already, wrapped around a custom gyro he spent months perfecting in diameter and movement. But instead of the regular Dwarven metal body, he seeked a new material, and that's where Whiterun fit in. He heard fables and tales of the dependability of Skyforged steel, but the aspiring Dwemer had never taken initiative to try seek this rare material out. So, placing all his essentials within his trusted satchel, he finally ventured into the outside world.

    Upon exiting the cavern, the intensity of the sun's rays pounded against his eyes, almost sealing them shut. They were much hotter to his skin then he had predicted, but Aziezl refused to let something as meager as the sun foil his plans now. It was a brutal path down the mountain, but halfway down he spotted a carriage, harboring four Altmer in the back, and a Nord manning the horse in the front. This was unusual, his memory was shady, but Aziezl could clearly remember that those sitting in the back were usually the prisoners, while the one steering was the authority. But no, the elves were in their pricey golden armor. And the Nord, dirty and beaten, had a shackle around his neck, abiding to their commands almost naturally. One of the high elves spotted Azi along the path.

    "Halt! Kinsman! Tell me your purpose for wandering this mountain ridge at a time of need for the Dominion." This confused Aziezl, before realizing the similarities he bore with the high elves.
    Unsure as to what they meant by "time of need", he tried to come up with anything he felt the Thalmor would regularly be doing in the mountains.
    "I... I was uh... I was, patrolling. Y-yes! I was p-patrolling the uh, mountains. For uh... for..." He was terrible with conversation as it is, but their golden eyes gazing upon him felt as if they were burning a hole into his soul. Luckily, they somehow bought it before he proceeded to make a complete fool of himself.

    "That's quite alright kinsman. We know you were just performing your duty, but General Hielden currently calls for a dispatch of more Aldmeri troop to Whiterun. Hop aboard and we will be off" Aziezl had no idea who this "Hielden" character was, but if the trip got him a quick, efficient means to getting to Whiterun, he was all for it. He hopped on the carriage.
    "Move slave! Waste no time!" The Nordic carriage driver instinctively began driving. Something was wrong... really wrong.

    Aziezl arrived at Whiterun minutes later, only to be dumbfounded by what he had seen. He whispered to himself.
    "By the nine... what in Oblivion has happened?"
     
  8. solace84

    solace84 God of the Arena

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    A troop of Imperials passed by on the road, they had many slaves with them all grouped in chains. Other slaves worked in the town for various jobs, their slave masters whips ever behind them. Before Felian could even say anything more to Isnar at the meat shop, a man ran out begging and pleading with one of the guards as they took a woman from him.
    "Please!" the man begged. "She is to be my wife! Please do not take her!"
    The Imperial smacked the man across the face.
    "You will be wed with her soon enough, Thanden," the Imperial said. "The new law is that if you are to be wed, then the woman must first be with the new Jarl in Whiterun. He will take her for a night, then she will be returned to you. It is a great honor."
    The woman cried as she was taken away, Thanden just stood helpless of the act.
    Felian ignored the scene and began chopping meat next to Isnar.
     
  9. GuardianCren1812

    GuardianCren1812 The guy with the axe

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    Crengar looked out a nearby window towards the commotion, his hands instinctively continuing to make the pristine blades. His soft side surfaced, feeling pity more for the woman than the man. How many brides to be has the 'Jarl' defiled aside from that one?
    He could almost feel the bile building up in him at the thought, truly disgusted at the concept. As if enslaving an entire people weren't enough, they must pollute their proud bloodline.

    He was grimly awakened again by the crack of the whip as he realized the hammer was smacking aimlessly at the anvil. "Pay attention you remedial buffoon!!".

    Crengar glared madly at the overseer. Once again he found his sanity eroding away by vivid thoughts of a gory comeback. His chest heaved deep, frustrated breathes of air as he returned to the smithing, flattening the blades to a point of bending them as he vented his excess rage through his smith hammer.

    The overseer watched with outrage"You are -worthless-!! Expect a trip to the racks tonight!" And he continued the beatings, the whip slicing and sparking into his back. The whip cracks could almost be heard from outside.

    Crengar gripped the anvil beneath him, making not a grunt groan or complaint through all that was left of his stubborn pride. Feeling some of the scars trickle blood down to scars beneath them, and those beneath them. One after another.
    Crengar's rage began to burn hotter than flames from Oblivion itself. He knew he simply couldn't contain it much longer if the beatings continue. 'Shor..forgive my cowardice..' he prayed silently to himself before feeling relieved as the whips finally stopped their relentless frenzy.

    "That'll be just the beginning if you don't go back to work, and do it -right-!"

    Crengar stood up straight again, panting silently through his nostrils, picking up the hammer with an unsteady hand.
     
  10. Start Dale

    Start Dale I got 99 problems but a Deadra ain't one.

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    Donmjark watches as a young male Deer stops for a drink from a stream just upwind of his position in the brush. It is hesitant, then after watching its position it finally dips its head into the stream and starts to suck water, relieving itself its thirst.


    Bow in hand Donmjark reaches to his quiver and pulls an arrow out, drawing the bow he sight along the shaft and breathing slowly in he waits. As the Deer lifts its head, from the stream Donmjark breaths out closing his eyes and releases the arrow. It is a technique he was shown long ago by the Forsworn Briarheart when they first came to the agreement of his shelter within their camp. It was after the Briarheart had watched him try and hunt, he had schooled him on aim and sighting a shot before releasing the arrow, that closing his eyes prevented him from straying from the arrows true path.


    As he opened his eyes he watched the arrow sink into the Deer’s head piercing straight through the skull and protruding out the other side. The Deer fell instantly into the shallow stream, Donmjark counted to five under his breath then replacing the bow he slowly stalked over to where the Deer had fallen. Pulling it from the stream laid it out on the undergrowth, using his dagger he cut through the soft tissues under the ribcage down to the creatures hind legs. This was still the part he had trouble with, bracing himself he reached in and using the dagger as a scoop he slid the animal’s digestive entrails out of the carcass and spread them on the ground.


    Leaving them behind for the more feral scavengers than himself he pulled the rest of the Deer carcass off of the ground and straddled it across his shoulders. He set off for Rorikstead, he knew there would be butchers there, where he could get the animal sectioned, a portion for the Altmer tithe, a portion for the Imperial tithe some coin for the butchers, then return with the rest to the encampment to share with the Briarheart and his Hagraven.


    As he approached the outskirts he could see the start of a commotion, it appeared that the pretender Jarl in Whiterun had decided to enact his rights again. Donmjark’s heart sank to think of Balgruuf in hiding in the far reaches somewhere even he did not know while this pumped up thug in his throne abused what used to be a position of honour.


    Sighing Donmjark spoke under his breath “May as well wait till this plays out no use getting my cover blown just today”


    He settled down pulling some dried meats from his pouch and gnawed on them while he watched the woman dragged off and her fiancé almost break down in useless and untapped rage.


    Once they had taken her away and the man had been led home by his fellows, Donmjark picked up the deer and set off into Rorikstead to find the local butchers.
     
  11. Lucas76020

    Lucas76020 Prisoner of the mind

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    Isnar watched as the horrifying event took place. It was the usual 'the jarl gets what he wants' type of deal. Isnar brought down his war-axe down in disgust. It chopped cleanly through a slice of pork. Isnar pulled up his axe and cleaned it off. The old man took a glance at the weapon and remembered all the times the weapon had saved his life. The woman began screaming, only seconds later. "Damn it, Felian! That's the fourth one this week! I've had enough." Isnar said. It was about time Isnar stopped using his axe for cutting pork, and started cutting elves. The old man looked to Felian for approval.
     
  12. Dinkleberg

    Dinkleberg I don't take myself seriously half the time ^_~

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    Stepping through the gates, Aziezl soon realized that he severely underestimated the situation in Whiterun. Whiterun Hold had become an over-sized prison block. Nords chained left and right, being beaten and humiliated in front of their own family and friends. Imperials stood right beside them controlling the flow and numbers of them. Fact is, unlike most Dwemer before him, Aziezl wasn't pro-slavery. He disliked the first era slavery of the snow elves, and three eras later, this still left as bad a taste in his mouth. Pardoned for being an elf, he calmly advanced past the screaming groups of Imperial enforcers and Nordic captives in agony, most of which made him cringe all along the way. He also saw bystanders looking on as well, either despising or (sickly) enjoying this display. Regardless of how disturbing the anomaly was to him, Aziezl came only for the forge, and was determined to gain access to it.

    Stepping into Dragonreach felt so surreal, the size of the building was immense, and the stories that came along with it had always intrigued him. He took slow and steady steps across the foyer, just taking in the atmosphere, which differed from the more gruesome atmosphere on the outside. Aziezl walked up to the Jarl before being stopped by his housecarl.
    "Halt! State your reason for attempting to address the Jarl." The Imperial guard towered over Aziezl, making him retreat by just a bit. He had to come up with an excuse that tied with the Skyforge.
    "I was asked to... consult with the Jarl, over the uh... Skyforge's..." The Jarl had been listening on and as soon as heard the forge had been mentioned, he was quick to repond himself.
    "The Skyforge? That's all I needed to here. Allow me to converse with the visitor." With a look of satisfaction on the Jarl's face, the guard let Aziezl through, "Our friend here is obviously one of General Acriel's consultants." Aziezl didn't know what to think, but went along with it for his sake.

    The Jarl gave him a focused look, clearly ready to discuss business.
    "I know what you are here for, you wish to discuss the new ownership of the Skyforge, correct?" New ownership? Azi had never been to Whiterun before, but it was known all across Skyrim that Eorlund Gray-Mane was it's respective owner. Confused, Aziezl tried getting a bit further in the subject.
    "If you would be so kind my Jarl, I've been absent from duty for quite the while. May I ask what has become of the forge's original smith?" He was expecting Eorlund, for he knew he would know how to operate the forge best. The Jarl, with a sly look on his face, answered his question.
    "Hmmm... for a consultant, you're not quite informed are you? Regardless, Eorlund, like all members of his family, are Nords. And having a Nord run the grandest forge in all of Skyrim would be like, appointing a skeever as my hold's Thane." He chuckled to himself. "As such, the forge is hereby off-limits until further notice."

    This had made Aziezl angry, knowing his journey was pointless, but on top of that, the Jarl's total disrespect toward the legendary Gray-Manes only fueled that rising flame within him.
    "I had no idea, in that case,we shall discuss ownership on a later date my Jarl." It was pointless. With his journey amounting to nothing, he decided to head back. But on his way out of Dragonsreach, he saw a few guards hull a woman who was crying her eyes out. In the background, he heard the Jarl faintly.
    "Stop crying, once you've pleased your Jarl for the night, you shall see your husband-to-be once more."
    Aziezl made his way out, upset not only due to being unable to access the Skyforge, but the lack of mere decency for life. He wondered if there was anyone left in the hold who would not stand for such brutality.
     
  13. solace84

    solace84 God of the Arena

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    "Damn it, Felian! That's the fourth one this week! I've had enough," Isnar said.
    "Hold your tongue," Felian said sternly, though he understood how the old man felt. "Your emotions will get you killed."
    As the troops of Imperials left the town with their slaves, the streets filled up with few children, one Felian recognized from earlier. They were lined up as a guard spoke to them about their future duties. Felian thought of the boy and how he was right earlier, how he has become the very thing he used to hate. He tried to shake the thoughts from his mind as the boy ran out of the lineup and toward the elf.
    "Stop!" the guard called out, but the boy had already reached Felian.
    "You can help us escape, I know you can!" pleaded the boy. "You have to have something to believe..."
    The guard ran up behind the boy and unsheathed his blade.
    "Get back in line child!" he demanded.
    Felian did not even realize he was holding a small axe, as the boy grabbed it from him surprisingly.
    "No!" the boy said and swung the axe at the guard, stabbing him in the leg.
    The guard shrieked in pain and then lifted his sword to kill the boy, but Felian grabbed his hand preventing him from doing so. The boy ran off.
    "Unhand me!" the guard yelled, and after a moment of hesitation he let him go.
    The boy was caught by other guards and brought out into the street in front of everyone.
    "Not so brave now are you boy?" the limping guard said as he walked up and slit the kid's throat. A shock of awe struck everyone in the town as it had happened so fast.
    Felian's eyes widened and rage filled up inside of him, 'what have I done?' he thought. The boy dropped to the floor and stared back at Felian in his last moments, lifeless.
    "Let this be a lesson to all of you!" the guard said, holding his leg. "No one is above the law!"
    The guard turned his direction toward Felian and he started limping toward the elf, a group of Imperials backing him up.
    "Isnar, whatever is about to happen let it happen," he said under his breath as they approached. "When it is dark tonight, hide my bow and katana under the gallows as I may be visiting them soon. Be careful and wise about it."
    "You," the guard said to Felian. "You stopped my hand, take him!"
    The guards rushed in. One punched Felian, another kneed him in the chest. They beat on him for awhile on the ground, then dragged him away. The guard nodded to Isnar and went off.
    Felian was thrown into the blacksmith quarters, where he was shackled to a wall.
    "Keep this one for the night," said the guard to another. "He'll have a trial tomorrow morning."
    The guard laughed at the thought of a trial, which ultimately meant 'death by the noose'; then left. Felian thought of the boy as he looked up to a Nord, Crengar, working on steel.
     
  14. Lucas76020

    Lucas76020 Prisoner of the mind

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    "Katana and bow, got it." Isnar said. The guard then grabbed Felian and told him to kill the boy. One minute the elf was standing, the next minute the elf was being kicked and beaten. Isnar leaned on his walking stick until the crowd was done beating the man. Felian was taken away. The guard nodded to Isnar, and the old man nodded back while pulling his hood over his head. Isnar hobbled over to the butcher's shop. He opened the doors to his shop and home. The floor of the building was covered in a faint, red and yellow mist. The smell was difficult to bear, but once you got used to it it was almost... comforting. Isnar went to Felian's room and opened his chest. Bow, arrows, and his sword. Isnar thought. He took the items out of the chest and laid them out on a rug. He rolled up the man and tied it to his back with some leather straps. Isnar walked out of the building and looked at the town sundial. 7:45 and it's already getting dark. That's why I love this town. The mountains surrounding this beautiful place make it so that I can see the sunset early, sleep in, and still enjoy the sunrise while enjoying a nice drink, but that should be the last thing I think of. This was not the time to think of calming sunrises and beautiful sunsets, this was a time to save Felian. The wood elf and the old breton were basically brothers for the bast couple of years, even with the age difference of about 65. Isnar approached the gallows. They were made of wood, wooden base, wooden ramp, wooden lever to release the trapdoors, and sending people to their deaths. Fire magicka is not an option. Electricity could travel all over the place. Frost magic will be my best choice. When it is activated, the executioner's hand will be frozen to the lever, and the lever will be caught in place. It will give me enough time to cut Felian down and give him his weapons. Isnar's plan was almost perfect. The area around the gallows was completely empty. Isnar walked up to the lever and placed a few frost runes on the handle. Isnar sat with Felian's weapons, in a nearby chair and waited for the 'execution' to commence.
     
  15. GuardianCren1812

    GuardianCren1812 The guy with the axe

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    Crengar continued his usual work, his backside and legs now slightly running with blood from his whip scars. He looked out to the commotion, seeing the child speak to a bosmer through the view of the open door, pleading at him. This was something strange, if only because children rarely caused trouble with their imperial masters.

    Crengar smiled at the child as he heard the imperial shriek, seeing the axe slice his leg, a sudden light flaring through his rage-scorched mind.

    'Run....run....run...' He kept thinking as he watched the imperials chase the boy up the road, even though he knew well it was no use.

    His heart sank as his fears were confirmed, seeing the guard drag the boy back to the village. He sighed as his heart tightened at the thought of the boy's punishment. Possibly beatings as agonising as Crengar's.

    But what he bore witness to was more horrific to him than any other, watching the child fall with blood pouring from his freshly slit throat.

    The barbarian softness caught him again, it was too much to bear. Looking away from anyone around him as bitter tears fell from the proud warrior's eyes.

    Then the bosmer came in shackles. Crengar looked at him, the recent event registering more into his mind as he smiled.

    'You hold a noble soul, wood elf..." he spoke after several moments of contemplation, remembering how Falian held the imperial back when the boy made his attempt to escape.
     
  16. solace84

    solace84 God of the Arena

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    "You hold a noble soul, wood elf..." the Nord said to him.
    "In a world where it does not matter," Felian replied. "I am to be hung tomorrow for my actions of today, actions that spawned from instinct. Perhaps my death was always going to be this, I was just avoiding it by staying neutral in your war. Death comes to us all."
     
  17. GuardianCren1812

    GuardianCren1812 The guy with the axe

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    "Death comes to us all"

    Crengar looked down to his anvil a moment, absorbing those words. "It does matter...you showed a courage not seen in the last few, dreadful years. However small it was, it was something." He let the blade in the water barrel before working on a last one. "Courage breeds hope." He said stoically, finding that hope kindling in his own weary soul.

    He suddenly smiled as his hammer strikes softened a bit more, strangely. But not enough for the overseer to notice. "Be proud of it, Bosmer. It's a courage even I could not see through." He hid it the best he could, but kept it in good sight of Falian: A new determination in his eyes.
     
  18. solace84

    solace84 God of the Arena

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    Felian sat in silence for awhile as the Nord continued his work. He thought of the boy and what would have happened if he had let the boy stay in his field. He probably would have been killed by some wild beast. Either way he thought of it death was involved. Always death.

    -----

    The next morning came rather quickly. The guards came into the blacksmith quarters and took Felian out, chained by the hands. The air was cooled and the sky was still slightly dark, showing off a dark blue hue throughout the town. The people of the town were just coming out of their houses to witness the event, lining on the sides of the road. Felian noticed that only one guard was in a watch tower at this time of day, as he was brought up onto the gallows.
    "Felian the Bosmer," said a man clad in black, he spoke with diction in his voice. "You are hereby sentenced to death by the noose, for crimes of assault on an officer. How do you plea?"
    "Guilty."
    Felian scoped the crowd as the man talked on. Few of the townsfolk were up this early to witness it, and also few outside were the number of guards. They have done this sort of thing so many times before that they deemed it not to be a threat. Most of the guards were probably asleep in the barracks, or gone from this town.
    "...if you have anything to say, say it now," the man said.
    Felian stood silent as they wrapped the rope around his neck. He had hoped Isnar would be there, but then thought 'what would it matter? We would take out a few but then surely get taken down.' He smiled at the thought. 'A few is better than nothing.'
    The man in black pulled a leaver and Felian dropped, as the noose tightened. His neck did not break upon the fall, causing him to dangle. His face was turning red as he felt the life slip out of his body.
     
  19. GuardianCren1812

    GuardianCren1812 The guy with the axe

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    Crengar was lead out to view the gallows that morning, chained by his neck, wrists and ankles with a man on each chain.
    He watched grimly as he saw the brave bosmer step up the gallows, the noose wrapping his neck. He felt no surprise when the elf called "Guilty".

    His body tense, he knew his chain bearers would not let him stop watching this. His breath gave a silent heave, waiting. Waiting.

    The noose dropped.

    "FAH PAAZ KEIZAAL!!!" He grabbed at the chain on his right wrist and hurled the imperial on the other end right off like a meager stone, whipping it around ball and chain style at the other chain holders, causing them to drop and flinch in a startled surprise.

    The few other guards there drew their swords to attempt to subdue or kill the crazed blacksmith...
     
  20. Skyrimosity

    Skyrimosity Fine Southern Gentleman

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    The members of the Resistance outside Rorikstead, or Freedom's Crusaders as this group called themselves, were up an hour before dawn. They always awoke so early for fear the Oppressors may find them by daylight so by now they were used to going to sleep late and awaking so very early. Edwyn rolled out of his bedroll and yawned. He looked around at the others. 40 men, 9 others out on their daily scouting routine. The scouts were the backbone of their operation. They had scouts hidden along the road to Rorikstead and they had scouts that monitored Rorikstead. Yesterday they received news that a young boy was killed and a Bosmer unfairly arrested. That is the unjustice Freedom's Crusaders were fighting far. Jarl Balgruuf stood before them. Even after losing his throne and his official power, he still had a strong aura of leadership about them. That is why they followed him. They all knew there were stronger resistance forces throughout Skyrim, ones that would make a greater difference, but they would only serve by Balgruuf's side. Edwyn approached Balgruuf. "Sire, do we have anything planned for today? I am ready to fight back." "Patience Breton. We must not strike too hastily and reveal our positions. No, we will continue to ambush patrols and raid caravans until we are ready."

    Just then, a scout came running in. Panting, he said. "Balgruuf, large weapons caravan... approaching on the road to Rorikstead. 8 Thalmor Guards, 2 Slaves." "Edwyn, take 3 other men and attempt to take the caravan. We cannot let this opportunity pass. We need the weapons. "Edwyn took 3 men and they prepared themselves by the road to ambush. They were well hidden when they could hear the whips cracking at the horses pulling the carts. "Okay men, ready your weapons. Charge when I yell... well... charge." Edwyn bound a bow and arrows and readied. As it came around, he fired an arrow at the Altmer leading the group. It hit him in the head and he fell dead. The 7 other troops were looking around for the killer. It was amongst the confusion when Edwyn yelled charge and the 4 of them jumped up and began their assault. Edwyn had bound a sword to his hand and prepared to fight the 2 Imperials at the back of the Caravan while the other Crusaders took the rest.

    Edwyn attacked the men initially with a few quick strikes. They blocked each easily and went on the offensive. Edwyn managed to evade the strikes with his quick feet, light from having no weight of weapons. After a few minutes, he managed to dodge a blow with time to spare and sent his sword through one of the Imperials throats. The man fell on the ground, no longer able to fight. It was 1 vs 1 now, not counting the others who were still fighting. Edwyn was a bit tired and was slow to dodge, the Imperials sword cutting his side causing blood to drop out. Edwyn retaliated by bringing his sword around strongly through the man's neck, decapitating him. The man's head landed on the other Imperial who was struggling to breath. Edwyn saw the other Crusaders had won their fights as well. "Its a wonder we ever lost the war, isn't it?"

    They loaded all the weapons onto the caravan. They freed the 2 Nord slaves that were with the Oppressor's, and no surprise, they wanted to join up. The others got onto the wagons but Edwyn decided he'd do something different. He donned the armor of a fallen Breton, a fool who had joined the Oppressors. It was a simple light armor, which was good for Edwyn, and it would make him look like a soldier. He began stealthily walking to Rorikstead.

    When he got near Rorikstead, he saw one guard and one guard only patrolling the road. It was a surprise as it was so close to Rorikstead. The oppressors must not like waking up so early. Not noticing anyone in the watch towers looking that direction, Edwyn bound a sword, snuck up behind him, and slit his throat. He dragged the man's body to some very tall glass and put him in, being careful as to not allow the grass to appear as if it had something on top of it by any who should glance upon it. Edwyn then got to where the man was patrolling and acted like one of the Oppressor soldiers. He could get a close view of Rorikstead from here, it'd be good for intel.

    The scouts couldn't get this close or they would be noticed so Edwyn knew this would be valuable intel for Balgruuf. It was dawn now, and he saw a few citizens gathered around something. There were also soldiers there so Edwyn knew it must have been an execution. Talos bless the man, who shall be executed unjustly by those who Oppress the people. Wait.. what is happening? The soldier's have unsheathed their swords... someone must be trying to escape. I will have to monitor it closely.

    (OOC: All that took place within an hour so it ends at the same time as the last posts events started)
     

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