Open Fading Hope

[fellowknight]

It had been two years since the servants spread across Tamriel. There was no word from the other provinces, nothing but rumors that they were barley holding out, same as them. Skyrim was in pretty horrible condition, as a simple walk from Riverwood to Whiterun was a gruesome death sentence. The war has changed the village from a once peaceful community to a bustling camp of brutal war and hard work.

They set up a new type of stone wall layout, at the northern entrance. Most of the guards were stationed there, as it was the main point of heavy assault. And while the middle part of the village remains the same, not the same can be said for it's people. The daily attacks left the people not only physically, but emotionally damaged. They are constantly having to clean up the village and recovering themselves, the guard doing the same. The once peaceful and prosperous townsfolk were now forced into monster hunters, blacksmiths, healers, scavengers and guards.

Guards are always in the face of danger, always taking risks, always dying. The people believe there is a golden line between good and evil, the one thing that separates the two.The guards walk this line, making sure the evil and darkness of the Princes stays at bay. But it is no simple task. The losses do become heavy to bear but they always must carry on, to ensure the safety of the village and it's people. They can't risk letting themselves get emotionally injured, lest the village's safety become at risk. But they do have a talented knight on their side, Baroth. He stumbled upon them from the southern entrance, promising to stay and protect them with all his might.

And so he has. But even might has it's limits.

As for the southern entrance, There was a small island, just behind the mill that had two watch to guard bridges, (Like the one you see when you first enter Riverwood), Connecting and facing the south. Not much activity was happening in the south, besides the occasional Spider or Scamp. There was this one awful experience, when the people had first seen one of Peryite's subjects.

The townsfolk were all going about their business. The Blacksmith was sharpening blades and mending armor. The healers were mending the wounds of the inflicted and hurt. The townsfolk were working hard for the days rations. The guards were patrolling and making sure all was well, within the town of course. All was fairly normal, as any other day, until they heard it. A piercing shriek, one that filled the air and froze the people in place. It couldn't have been a Dragon, it wasn't deep enough. Not a Mammoth either.No, this sounded more...deformed. Less human. There, on the Eastern hill.

They wore ragged robes and tattered clothes, their skin was a sickly green, and they hardly any muscles at all. Some were, surprisingly for undead corpses, well-built and moving at a surprisingly fast rate, show no signs of fatigue. They clashed with the guards and Baroth, taking out a good score of them out but wounding the knight. He was bitten on shoulder, but somehow, didn't turn. They lost a lot of guards that day, and were always on the lookout for the tough creatures ever since. But a fear still resides within them. A fear of the undead.

Two months later.....

The warm sunlight shone upon a nearby tree, it's leaves a dark orange. It was Autumn, and the air was cool, swift breeze that on some occasions, brought hope to the people. A leaf disconnected itself from a tree branch and slowly drifted down to the stone road. It was crushed under the boot of a Riverwood guardsman, whom was followed by several others and Baroth. They all stopped and took positions, some stringing arrows, others bringing up their shields and unsheathing their swords. On the other side of the bridge came a long howl followed by demonic yells and shrieks of the undead.

"They have found us.." The knight muttered to himself, as the guards and himself formed a line on the bridge.

Baroth and the men readied themselves, gripping their swords tightly and gritting their teeth. They watched intently as the black masses charged at them in a blur of fury. Baroth was standing in front of the Guardsmen, shield raised and sword drawn, as the first werewolf clashed into his sword. He pushed it deeper into it's chest before roughly ripping it out the right side of his chest. Then he sounded the charge and it began, as the men stood and charged towards the creatures. After killing the creatures, and sustaining heavy injuries and casulties, The Guardsmen gathered the wounded and prepared the few dead for burial. They tossed the creatures into the river, watching them float away. It was a sign to Whiterun that they had won their current battle and that they should stay alert.

Baroth was healing on of the men when he was approached by another guard. He was tapped on the shoulder, promptly taking his attention off the patient.

"Yes?" He said, with out looking away from the man he was working on.

"With all due respect, sir, we won't make it through the next week if we keep getting attacked like this. For the past two months we've been on the alert, been fighting, dying. And we're dangerously low on fighting men sir, barely thirteen of us remain. We can't keep this up forever."

The knight spoke once again, still working on the injured man. "Yes, i know we can't. No one can. But we can at least hold our ground for the time being, buy Whiterun and Winterhold some time." He said, finishing the stitches for the present guard, when the other interjected.

"But sir, the men are weak. They grow tired of this constant struggle. Why not seek refuge in White run, were it is more safe?"

This was when Baroth himself stood and turned, grabbing the soldier by his collar and pulling him in close to whisper to him.

"What would you have me do? Flee? Run in terror to die in a hole? No. I would gladly die a fool than a coward any day. You can flee if you wish, but i will remain here. These people need my help, and they will receive it. And f there is a day that we should all die in a rush, i will gladly die among these people. Now then soldier, get back to your post." He said, pointing towards the gate that lead across the bridge.

The guard nodded and headed to his post without another word, looking across the way for any reinforcments. Meanwhile, the guard who was injured spoke to the Knight.

"Is it.....true? Has Skyrim fallen to these....things? Is our struggle in vain?" He said, groaning in pain from the multiple laceration and puncture wounds that covered his body

Baroth shook his head, choosing his words carefully. "No... Not yet. The way i see it.." He said, helping the man to his feet. "It's not over until we're de-" He was cut off by the lookout whom he had spoke with earlier.

"Here they come again!" He yelled, before drawing his sword and grabbing his shield, then rushing out across the bridge, followed by the rest of the guardsmen. Baroth stood and drew his sword as his yelled over his shoulder.

"I'll get back to you if i survive this battle!"

"Talos help us all." He murmured to himself. "Talos help us all...."

Official Fading Hope OOC Thread

 

[Dustman]

The sounds of clashing steel, the moans of the fallen, and the inhumane screams of the nightmarish servants of the Princes echoed throughout the bright autumn forest. The trees bent with a sudden wind, as if bending away from the horrific combat, and a small group became aware of blood being spilled. Having come from the swamps, north of the now-ruined city of Morthal, they had themselves spilled a great deal of blood, in the desperate attempt to protect the Hjaalmarch town. Outmatched by the swarms of undead that threw themselves at the defenders of Morthal, the group had had to abandon the town to it's ultimate peril.


Marius smelled the air, and the all too familiar scent of undeath, werewolf and demon invaded his nostrils. Following his ears, he identified the sound to be coming from the northeast, where he knew the small town of Riverwood would lay, alongside the White River. He turned to his companions who, noticing him stop, looked up attentively with grim expressions. "Do you hear that, men? Do you smell that scent?" The men nodded gravely, still remembering the battle at Morthal. Marius turned back to his companions - and looked over them sternly. His son, and behind him his wife and personal Silver Blade escort; the few guards remaining from the vampire attack; Falion, a valuable asset against the undead. They were tired, he knew, and some injured, he knew. But they were loyal to his command. "Onward, to Riverwood." Marius declared, his hand pointing to the the northeast.

...​

The scene at the new southern wall of Riverwood was grim. The stinking dead of swarms of monsters defeated corrupted the ground, and soiled the White River in blood and filth. A handful of guards remained at the gate, watching, waiting, on edge; awaiting the swarm that might break them. 'We need to help them, or they will fall, as Morthal did' Marius thought, stroking his short grizzled beard. "Alesan! Come here a minute." Marius commanded over his shoulder. His adopted son, a young Redguard, trotted over. "Yes father?" Marius looked at him, then motioned with a sweep of his hand to Riverwood. The next swarm of monsters were advancing on the gate, but there was still time to act strategically. "Any ideas on how to interfere?" Marius asked, meeting his bright green eyes to his son's deep amber ones. Alesan observed the scene, then said "Perhaps I could take some men across the river, to the hills at the base of the mountain, while you approach from the side. That way we can surprise them, taking away the swarm advantage they hold now." Alesan looked back at his father, who smiled at him. "This is why you're a Dustman, my boy! Smart as an elf, and fierce as a saber cat!" The teen returned his smile with a wolfish grin, and then, unsheathing his twin silver scimitars went to carry out the plan.​

...​

As the horde passed, oblivious to the trap set, and engaged the southern gate, the Dustmen advanced in a flash of steel and silver. Rushing forth, Marius his massive silver greatsword, and the dance of death began. Letting out a savage war cry he slashed at the backs of the horde, ducking and weaving, slashing and stabbing, and moving his way through the swarm with practiced grace. A swing overhead, then a duck under a minion's greatsword. The undead fell to his blade, their wounds fatal and singed with the inherent power of the silver in the blade. Similarly, on the side, a war cry came from Alesan and his party, and they too laid waste to the horde, taking advantage of their weaknesses, undermining their numbers. The swarm, now aware of their presence fully attacked with single minded fury, but few of Marius's party fell to their disorganized frenzy. Then, out of the swarm came a large feral werewolf, hideous and scarred with previous battle. He slashed a wild claw at Marius, who weaved to the inside, and placed his greatsword between, severing the paw, receiving a mighty howl from the beast. Inside his larger reach, Marius spun, and severed the beasts head cleanly. His scarred body fell to the earth. Marius felt another enemy to his left, and swung. Only to have sword caught on a shield. As the last of the swarm was killed by his warriors, he turned to the blocker he recognized a knight he met long ago, before this cataclysmic conflict, and a smile spread across his grim face.​

​

"Baroth!"​

​

 

[fellowknight]

The battle was going ill. They had lost too many men already and were forced to get the wonded up to fight. The mass of minions, werewolves, and, zombies, moved up the bridge, giving no signs of surrender nor fatigue. He himself, had already slain a good five of their kin, all of which, he beheaded. Yet for every one he killed, it seemed, two more took it's place.

There must be a portal nearby or maybe theres just too many of them. He thought, as he sliced into the chest of an undead werewolf, finishing with an upward slash then a kick. As the creature stumbled back, he gave it no time to react, before he slammed his blade into it's throat. It gave a half roar - half gargle, before falling on it's side, lifeless. He procedded to flip around and slice off a screaming minons head, kicking it flat on it's back. He heard the Whoosh! As a Warhammer swung towards him, most likely his neck. He brought up his shield as it clashed with the stroke with a loud Bang!. Then he turned, bringing his sword up and over the fiery minion's shoulder, past it's neck, and into it's helmet. He kicked the beast back to the hard stone floor, Shhiiiinng! went his sword, as he pulled it from the creatures forehead.

Then his ears perked as he heard some type of war cry, then the sudden clash of new steel. He looked up and around to see a group of sorts, assisting with the wave. They slashed left and right, stomped on some throats, and crushed some skulls. They had nearly wiped out the horde, finishing off some of the many that remained. Then, on the other side of the bridge, came a another party of men, which, to his surprise, was lead by a boy. They too assisted in the retaking of the bridge, swiftly fighting their way to him. He then turned back to the right, seeing a familiar face, he had not seen in a long time. This man whom had, swiftly, beheaded a werewolf not a second ago, violently swung around and swung at him. He brought up his shield, blocking the stroke and noticing the battle's end. He grinned as his old friend turned around and immediatley recognized him, smiling with a grim look.

"Baroth!" He exclaimed, lowering his sword .

He smiled, lowering his shield and sheathing his sword. Then he faced the man once again, smile still firm on his face.

"Marius! Where the hell have you been, you old devil! I haven't seen you in years. It's relieving to see a friendly face for once. But come. Let us tend to the wounded and bury the dead. Dump this scum in the river, let them flow downstream as a sign for Whiterun" And with that, he grabbed a nearby werewolf, hoisted it up onto his shoulder, and tossed it into the river with a loud Splash!.

 

[Andre Marek]

Andre Marek pounded down road between Whiterun and Riverwood. His black leather boots splashed through a puddle and his breath came in great heaves as he pushed himself harder than he had done in almost 25 years. Mareks kama flapped wildly as he pumped his legs faster and faster. He fervently threw a glance over his shoulder as he came over the top of the last hill between him and Riverwood.

Chasing behind Marek were several disgusting and barely recognizable human forms, all of them shrieking and snapping with their gore covered jaws. Marek whipped his gaze back to the road. He almost stumbled as he rounded a turn that brought the small town into view. He redoubled his pace as a surge of adrenaline hit him like a fist. He had to reach the town before those tireless monsters caught up to him.

They had been chasing him since he had passed the Honningbrew Meadery outside Whiterun and he figured they were what was left of the establishments workers. Not that it mattered. No one was drinking now, not with a daily fight for survival taking place across the province. Marek had heard that an acquaintance of his was helping to defend Riverwood and that they were still holding out despite the dire situation. While it hadn't been his plan, Marek was now counting on the man to save his hide. He doubted he had the energy left to kill the undead, flesh hungry creatures that were quickly gaining ground on him. He had slain a number of the things when they first ran at him but he was tired and had decided to make a break for Riverwood.

Now that he could clearly see the village, Marek was somewhat dismayed to see fighting on the far side from the gate he was approaching. Again the distraction was almost enough to cause his exhausted legs to stop moving entirely but he somehow managed to stay vertical. Marek looked over his shoulder again and noticed that the things were getting closer.

Marek veered left and dashed across the bridge that was the last stretch between him and the village. With his last reserves of breath he looked towards the group of warriors on the other side of the town and yelled, "HO THERE! EH!! GIVE ME A HAND OVER HERE!!!" Marek snapped his mouth shut and hoped that they had heard his pleas as he focused again on propelling himself as fast as he could over the cobblestone roadway.

 

[Osiris]

The deep red sky peeked through black clouds, it wasn't natural..not during Sun's Dusk, not ever. Urzog looked into the distance, anxiety filled the young Orc's heart. His stronghold was quiet, the men stood silent, eyes restless. The women and children huddled inside the Urzog's longhouse, trying to stay quiet, an infant's cry could be softly heard from inside. Suddenly, a large figure clad in Orcish Armor galloped towards the Stronghold on a black steed, forcing it to stop and throw it's front hooves wildly in the air.

"My Chief! the horde approaches, 300 strong!" the figure said, revealed to be an Orcish Scout. "Sigh, very well. MEN! PREPARE FOR BATTLE!" Urzog yelled, getting his men's attention. The Orcs scrambled to get their armor on, swords were unsheathed, anger could be found on many faces...A wretched, black mass could be seen in the distance, a giant shadowy blob at first, but as it inched closer, the fiery red pupils, putrid smell and unquenchable moans of pain could be detailed. All the men in the stronghold were mustered, some as young as 13 years of age were lined up in front of their home, their stronghold. Urzog stood infront of his small army, only 36 strong.

"Do you hear that my brothers? their moans of pain, of agony? Let us ease their suffering!" he paced while he gave his short speech. "I will not lie, some of you WILL die, this is certain. Let us not die in vain! let us die, with swords in our hands, rage in our hearts! Cast down the demons!" he yelled, the orcs giving spine-chilling war howls. The horde grew closer, some were trolls, others were foul abominations or even zombies, but all were determined to devour the flesh of the innocent. "I have not been Chief for long, but as your leader, it will be an honor to fight at your sides, to bring glory to our names, for all Orcs!" Urzog exclaimed. "Give them nothing, but take from them, EVERYTHING!" He screamed as he led the charge into the demonic horde. The other Orc's followed, battle cries abound, war hammers ready to crush...

Trolls sent men flying through the air, axes thrown, blood splattered onto the already torched grass.. Urzog killed many of the beasts, as did his valiant men, the carnage was enough to make a lesser being insane with disgust. They just kept coming, wave after wave of Daedric infantry flowed, devouring the Orc's one by one, ripping them limb from limb, tearing the very skin off their bones. The screams of agony and rage echoed through the land. The Orcs fought bravely and slaughtered many..but alas, were outnumbered by too much. Urzog looked around him, horror in every direction he turned. The young Chief spun around, only to find a troll wielding a club connect with his head, the impact knocking him unconscious. The vile plague poured into the stronghold, leaving no survivors. Women, children, it mattered not; all were ripped apart, boiled alive, blood and flesh consumed like a meal savored after a battle. Their screams filled the Winter air of High Rock with fear and suffering.. Urzog awoke covered in a sheet of snow, freshly fallen like his brothers. the first thing he saw was his home, razed to the ground, swords and shields scattered everywhere, corpses picked dry in every direction. Urzog stood up slowly in shock, the land was eerily silent. No sooner than when he stood did he fall back to the cold ground on his knees, removing his hot helmet. "FATHER, WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN US!" he cried, letting out a sorrow filled roar. After an hour of mourning, the Orc stood up and started to walk, helmet under his arm. Malacath had abandoned his own children, fed them to the relentless hordes. With no God to give him strength, Urzog looks to himself for survival, renouncing his worship of the Demon his people had held so close..

 

[fellowknight]

The knight smiled, somewhat, relieved, that the battle was won. He continued to motion Marius to help in lifting the bodies. But he stood, frozen by a type of realization, as he stared at something on the other side of the bridge. Baroth turned around and his eyes widened in both fear and surprise. It was a mercenary, by the looks of it, whom was being chased by rotting meat sacks. Lovely

He unsheathed his sword as the man flew past him, leading the scum right into his face. He stabbed one in the stomach then brought his sword completely up and out of it's head. Then he rammed his sword into another's chest, ramming it to the ground and stabbing it many times before jumping back to his feet. Then he was rammed and bitten on the armored shoulder by one of the Zed. He grabbed it's hair (what was left of it anyways), and forcefully pulled it back. Then he raised his sword high in the air and sliced it's head off, letting the body fall to the cold earth.

Then he turned to face the oncoming Zed and smiled, he had a plan. He tossed the head up in the air, waited for it to fall some, then kicked it right into the face of another Zed. He ducked and sliced off the head of a marching Zed, then turned abruptly and did the same to the other. He now faced the Mercenary, whom looked familiar, and Marius whom now had his sword drawn. "Feel free to help anytime." He said, before half turning around and slicing into the neck of a Zed. He then turned and once again rammed his sword into a Zed, bull ramming his way to the back of the horde and stomping on the Zed's face. Then he turned around and began working his way back, slicing through the Zed like there was no tomorrow. (Srry guys, sometimes theres just gonna be posts like this. I just dont have any good ideas right now, plus im trying to let you guys respond to the situation.)

 

[Dustman]

Marius watched the showy killing, impressed by the knights fluid grace with a sword and his coordination. 'With just a little extra training, he could make a nice Silver Blade' he thought, and jumped in next to his comrade. When the last of the approaching Zed had been picked off, Marius turned to his son, who did a quick count of his men, and reported "We've lost three of the Morthal guard, but we've only injuries otherwise. A few scrapes, bruises. I think one has a caved rib. I've got a Silver Blade healing him enough to stop the bleeding, but he'll be unable to do more than minor activities for a good couple days." Marius considered this, and ordered some of the minimally injured warriors to carry in the wounded and dead. He wiped his forehead, thick with black and green blood, then turned to his troops. "Get some of our crossbowmen up on the wall. After that last attack, I doubt we'll get more that a few stragglers the rest of the day." He then turned to his son, his blades and armor also smeared with gore and filth. "Nice job today Alesan. I can tell you for sure that the ambush was just what old Baroth needed here." Alesan smiled at the comment.

...​

The gates opened, and Marius beheld a Riverwood entrenched in war and sour from months combat. The smithy was in full business, men pounding out steel for weapons and reinforcements. The mill was sawing logs for walls and spiked. A growing graveyard had been constructed in the mountain-backed section of the town. This was not the quiet town Marius had once known. It was a war camp.​

​

Baroth's men led the wounded to the Inn, where a handful of healers were stationed, doing the best they could to help the desperate soldiers. "Silver Blades! Any with Kynareth's gift, aid the healers in the Sleeping Giant." Marius called over his shoulder; a handful of soldiers obeyed his command, sheathing silver swords and walking towards the inn. With his men to work, Marius turned and faced the knight he'd not seen in a while.​

​

"It's been a while since I've been in Riverwood, and I'd like to gain as much information about this outpost as I can. Is there someplace we can talk?" Marius asked. Beside him came Falion, Marius's wife, and Alesan. "We've much to discuss." He then turned to the mercenary dressed in dark steel, who he'd seen run in. " Mercenary, come with us. I'm sure you've a story to tell." ​

​

​

​

 

[fellowknight]

Baroth watched as Marius helped finish off what was left of the stragglers. Then he firmly turned to his son, whom was covered in muck and gore, and listend to his report. He ordered that some of his crossbowmen take position on the wall and watch for any stragglers that may come along. They obeyed and rushed off towards the wall while Baroth approached Marius.

He had just finished talking with his son, by what he heard, and motioned for the knight to follow into the town. Baroth motioned for the mercenary to follow as well, figuring not to leave him out there to die. He yelled to the gate guard and the gate opened, slowly revealing the war camp laid out before them. He still wore the stone faced expression as he saw the village ravged by war, now forced as a war camp. He heard the priest was having trouble and he ordered any and all of his healers to the inn. Some left, trudging off to the inn with great paste, the rest spread out and checked the wounded and buried the dead.

He then heard Marius stop and turn back to him, a woman came over to him, his wife most likely, and the boy from the attack, his son. He annouced that he was finally ready to talk and wanted a full report on the outpost and it's condition. He nodded and gestured towards a distant house behind the inn, "My house should do. We can talk there. The inn is too packed so this'll have to do." He said before leading them towards the wooden house. When they arrived at the door, two guards put their swords criss cross infront of them, blocking their way. He gave a gesture for them to lower them and then lead them inside.

The warm, hearty air of the fire washed over their faces and relived Baroth some. The room only consisited of a table near the fire, a spit over the fire, a bed in the corner which wasn't made as he had a rude wake up, a shelf consisting of potions and wine of sorts, a command table in the center with a map pinned to it, and stairs in the corner,leading into the basement. He motioned for them to sit at the table and said, "Have a seat, i'll grab some food." He said before dissapearing into the basement. He returned shortly with a cheese wheel, some horker, a few apples and a loaf of bread. He set the food on the table, saving and apple for himself, as he motioned Marius to the command table. When he arrived, baroth tooka bit of the apple, addressing his questions.

"As far as food, we're good. Our weapons are doing fine as well as our armor. The only true problem is men. Not just men, soldiers. We are running extremely low on men and fighters. Soon enough, I'll be the only one protecting this village."

 

[Dustman]

Marius imagined that for a bit with a grim chuckle. "Hopefully my men can assist that. They're good, specialists against monsters. But there's few of them, and they're tired from past battles." He paused. "We tried our best up north but...Morthal has fallen." He admitted darkly. "We did, however, manage to bring a certain mage with us from the battle." He gestured to Falion, who was sitting quietly, gloomily, in the corner. The fall of Morthal had been tragic for him; he had lost his daughter, Agni, among the many slain by the servants of Molag Bal. Looking around the room, he remembered to introduce his companions. "Ah, yes. Baroth, allow me to introduce my wife, and my son, Alesan."

"I've heard much about your comradeship, Sir Baroth." Alesan admitted, shaking Baroth's calloused hand.

"Considering the dwindling men we have to use, I suggest we travel to Whiterun and tell the Jarl about the advance of the undead. Alesan will command my forces here and, with your permission, your forces. Don't mistake age for lack of knowledge. He's just as clever as his old man." Marius said with a sly wink. "We can plan from there."

Marius then turned to the mercenary. "So then, mercenary. What's your story?"

 

[Hale Loneshadow]

So I come raised from Hell itself, only to be greeted by it once again? What a perfectly unlucky life I lead! so thought Hale Loneshadow as he sped through the moss-covered forest, running from the group of demonic footsoldiers who had materialized from a portal not ten minutes ago. The Ranger of the Realms was fresh from an agonizing ordeal in non other than the Nine Hells, Oblivion, the Abyss, whatever one chose to call it. It was the torture to end all torture, the fear to end all fear. And Hale, despite all odds, had somehow survived. By the grace of Divinity, he kept on.

Now, somehow raised from the Void, and only having a burned imprint of a pair of hands on each of his shoulders to show for it, Hale had no idea who or what had pulled him from Damnation. Thus, the Ranger found it quite ironic that he had only come forth about two years ago and have gone from planning and nearly executing a daring rebellion with friends both old and new, and then to fighting hordes of undead, beasts, and devilish servants of their evil lords.
Then again, where would he have been had this tide of monsters had not come forth? Would the rebellion have succeeded in any case? And where were his friends, his companions?! It had been just about a year and eight months since he had last conversed with them, or really anybody. He had always been content with living in the Wilds, and after the hordes of undead, armies of demons and devils, and brutish creatures had swarmed the lands, that skill had come to a very useful fruition.


By the Divines, I pray that my friends have found safe haven! thought the worried Ranger.

Not all were your typical Dremora. Oh, no. It wouldn't be quite that simple. Hale couldn't tell if it was just his old foe, Garumn, out to ring him back in, or if it was an occurrence everywhere, but the Ranger had caught sight of pit fields, trolls, balors, dremora, werewolves, devils, and all sorts of nasty creatures roaming the land. Thus, when Hale had decided then to make his way to the Whiterun Hold, he found little surprise when, not three miles off of the main road that both Riverwood and Whiterun sat on, a party of six beady eyed Dremora Kyval, led by a pale red-skinned, broad chested, nine foot tall and goat-horned Balor (a warlord demon from the Hellish realms), somehow just happened to ambush Loneshadow via a conjured portal.

Thanks to the Ranger's decades of extensive experience, not to mention his powerful greatbow with a lighting kick, he had been able to dispatch three of the demons, though when the massive Balor had appeared, and had shrugged off five of the arrows without even a serious wound, Loneshadow felt it best to bid a hasty retreat. He had his loyal grey-wolf companion, Mael, of course, but since he had just summoned her not a day ago, a fight like would, though not kill her (as it was impossible to fully kill a being of the Other Planes on the material worlds), would severely weaken her indefinitely. And right now, she needed her rest. Hale had not doubt he would need his old friend's help soon enough.

And so he ran, taking off for Riverwood with the rest of the beasts hot on his trail. The Kynval were subservient to the Balor, and that worked to Hale's advantage, since the Balor was significantly slower than the swift Ranger, and the creature forced its minions to stay close to it, allowing Loneshadow to beat ahead of them with relative ease.

Though of course, they were demons, so the Ranger held no illusions towards totally throwing them off his trail.
As he came into sight of Riverwood, his thoughts turned to horror as he beheld what appeared to be recent slaughter of many, many creatures.
Waving his right arm above his head, Hale shouted a frantic greeting so the guards would not mistake him for a living corpse, and shoot at him out of the fear of not knowing. Definitely not making the same mistake as I did at that fort a week ago... he remembered with a slight grimace.


"Oye! Aye! Open your gates, I need to speak with your commander, and quickly! I have a pack of demons on my tail about ten or twenty minutes away! I need to speak with your commander, OPEN THE DAMNED GATES MY GOOD MAN!"

 

[The OP3RaT0R]

A figure cloaked in colorful robes ran noiselessly along a mountain path leading to Riverwood. He looked out of place; he had an ornately carved, bone-bladed staff on his back and a satchel of alchemical concoctions hanging by his side. The weapon was nearly white from years of bleaching in the sun, and the leather of the bag was light unlike most of Skyrim's fauna, as it was made from camel hide. A cool autumn wind blew through the woods; it bore the stench of rotting flesh. The figure was Bjorn the Easterner, and he had smelled this smell for the past year or so, as the affliction which caused the smell spread through Skyrim. He had witnessed the gradual fortification of Riverwood and Whiterun from his secluded cabin, spurred by fear of the virus, and now he was making the trek to Riverwood. He casted a clairvoyance spell briefly in his left hand, to assure he was on the right path, but it was ultimately unnecessary, as he knew the way like he had grown to know the desert years before.

Riverwood came into view; in the distance, Bjorn could see that the monsters which now terrorized the lands had attacked not long ago, and the entire village was abuzz. When he was at the recently-built gates, which had received a baptism in blood in the past year or two, a guard called out, "Halt! State your business."

"Only here to see someone..." Bjorn muttered. He did not consider his comings and goings to be a valid concern of the guards.

"Are you infected?" the guard asked suspiciously.

"W-" Bjorn stopped himself for a second, to keep from yelling, then sighed, "-would I be standing here if I was?"

"Alright, open the gates," said the guard to a gatesman below the wall. "You may enter."

Bjorn scowled silently as he stood, waiting.

~~~

Inside the village, Bjorn felt uncomfortable. He avoided civilization for a reason; he hated the commotion. So many aspects of eastern civilized culture were superficial and vain, to him. The only reason he would even come to Riverwood was the friend or two he had made, veterans of the Great War like himself, as well as the supplies which could not be found in the mountains. Today, he had come for one of his friends, a man named Axel. He found the man's house, and when the owner was not seated on the porch as he often had been before, Bjorn knocked. A tired-looking woman answered it, asking, "Yes?"

"You Axel's wife?"

"Axel died in the defense a week ago."

Bjorn paused. "Damn."

The woman said nothing more, and so Bjorn considered his business in Riverwood to be finished; he turned and began walking toward the gates. He followed Sakatal, and so death was treated by him as regular. He had been upset when his comrades had died in the Alik'r years ago, but now he considered it almost a blessing that he had no way of recollecting them other than his thoughts - "From the sands we come, to the sands we go," was the saying of a shaman for the Dunedweller tribe he had lived with for years - and he would not venture to recollect them in his thoughts anyway. At the gate, he simply stopped and stared at the gatesman, who seemed shocked by Bjorn's leathery-tan skin. The guard who had admitted him looked down from his perch on the wall and said, "Nobody leaves until we're sure those living dead won't be coming back for a few hours. Best find something to keep you busy."

Bjorn did not hesitate to shoot a paralysis spell at the guard and hiss angrily; as the gate guard yelped with fear and confusion and Bjorn hissed, the guard atop the wall could be heard moaning loudly as he lay precariously up against a wooden post built into the wall. He could fall with the slightest movement, and in this roundabout way, Bjorn was the only reason why he would not fall. This was a custom of the Dunedwellers, in reference to the serpent god, Sakatal.

"Open the-" Bjorn could not finish his sentence before a soldier came running behind him and yelled, "Hey! We need mo- What in Oblivion is happening here?" Bjorn did not answer. "You got potions in that bag? We need you to help heal the wounded from the last attack." Bjorn still did not answer, but this time he began walking toward the inn. Behind him, he heard the paralyzed guard yelling, with his vocal chords which had begun to loosen, "Gert me derwn frorm hur!"

 

[Andre Marek]

As Marek flew past the group of warriors and slowed to a stop he found himself so exhausted that it ended up as more of a stumble. He dropped to a knee and regained his breath for a few moments before standing and turning back to face the men he had passed. The group made short work of the walking corpses. In no time at all the entire grotesque horde was destroyed.

Marek just stood swaying on legs that felt nothing as the men worked to clear the bridge. After it was clear two of the men who seemed to be in charge yelled some orders to the warriors before turning to Marek and requesting that he follow them to a place they could talk in relative safety. Marek wasn't going to argue at this point. However he wasn't going to let his guard down even in the relative safety of Riverwood, so while he followed the pair through the gates, he also loosened his sword in its sheath and set his hand on the grip of the nine inch, straight edge dagger at his belt.

Their destination was a small house sitting behind the Sleeping Giant Inn, near the southern gate. Marek followed the small group into the house and took a moment to inspect his new surroundings before he returned his attention to his host. One of the men was familiar to Marek but it took him a few moments to put a name on him. 'Baroth Hermingfel' thought Marek. So this was Riverwoods savior as well as his own. Marek hadn't seen the powerful old knight in almost two years. The last Marek had seen him was during the early days of an attempted rebellion against Ulfric when they had both been under the employment of Simus Psyrakon.

"So then, mercenary. What's your story?"

Marek turned his head to look at the man who had addressed him. The man was equal to Marek in stature and was clad in the distinctive armor of the Dawnguard and he carried a large, silver great sword on his back along with a crossbow and pair of daggers. He wore a grim, if determined expression but his question was light enough that Marek thought he was probably a rather easy going man when not killing the walking dead.

"It's the same as anybody else's," said Marek flatly, "I've been surviving." He paused a moment, "Actually Jarl Vignar hired me to help defend the city." Marek shook his head as he spoke, "Whiterun is under constant attack from the surrounding plains. The beasts haven't made it past the drawbridge yet but it's only a matter of time before the city falls. The Jarl sent me to scout out a possible safe haven for the townsfolk if the worst should happen."

Marek threw a thumb over his shoulder, "As you can see, I haven't found one. Although I guess I owe you for saving my hide. If you hadn't been her I would have been facing those things alone, a situation I very much wanted to avoid."

He turned to look at Baroth again. The knight didn't seem to quite recognize Marek seeing as it had been almost two years. "Baroth, I see you've been keeping busy since the failure of our little rebellion."

 

[Osiris]

The bitter winter wind weathered Urzog's grim face as he made his was through steep cliffs of High Rock. He knew not where he was going, depending on fate to guide him. The Orc walked on, a collection of thoughts encircling his mind. "Why has Malacath abandoned us? we have always been loyal to him.." he thought, the tone going from sorrowful to angry, "What good is a God if he ignores your prayers? Malacath is no better than the foul abominations he has created!" the Orc muttered to himself. "We should of stopped worshiping him many ages ago, he is nothing but a demon, plaguing our race with constant war and hardship!" he thought bitterly. It was alot psychologically for Urzog to take in, the Keeper had always been a big part of his customs and life, and that all ended so suddenly. After a good day of traveling, having to slay the occasional Troll or Ogre, which he did with regret.."May you live forever in the afterlife, my brothers.." he said upon killing the foul beasts.

It was nightfall when Urzog came upon a faded sign, he barely managed to make out the words, believing it to say, "Skyrim." As he got closer, the winter snow revealed an abandoned guard tower, Urzog made his way in. After starting a fire, the orc sat back and removed his helmet, allowing his long dreadlocks to finally breath. All was quiet when Urzog heard a long creek in the floorboards above him. He stood up, taking a quick breath before unsheathing his Orcish Kitana. The tower went silent again, "Perhaps the wind?" the Orc thought, although he would find that to be a grave mistake. The ceiling shattered, the old wood going everywhere. Without hesitation, a Flesh Atronach charged the orc, using it's demonic strength to knock Urzog against the wall. The Orc threw a vicious punch, staggering the rotting creature. He followed up with a roundhouse kick and then a sweep, tripping the dazed zombie. He finally brought his kitana plunging down into the Atronach's throat, not pulling his sword out until the monster ceased to breath. The rest of the evening was cold, but peaceful.

When the morning sun peeked through the cloudy sky, Urzog headed further north into skyrim, unsure of the land..he had never been there before. The distraught Orc kept to the borderline for 3 days until he saw a river, tinted with blood. "I guess the rivers run red here," he chuckled to himself. Urzog followed the river until he came upon a small village, guards in tact. When he came to the gates, the guards stopped him, "Hold it Dremora! you will step no further!" they threatened. "Dremora? I am an Orc fools! I demand entry!" he replied angrily. The two Nords looked at each other before nodding in agreement and letting the samurai in. The exhausted warrior walked into the tavern took a seat by the fire, resting tonight...

 

[Hale Loneshadow]

The guards at Riverwood's Southern Gate quickly hurried to crank open the heavy, wood-and-iron gate to let the Ranger in. "Thank you...my friends...I was worried you may take me for one of those undead! Seems like there's been much heavy fighting recently, how are you fellows holding up?" panted a winded Hale.

"We've held the bastards off for the most part, none have passed the walls, much thanks to our very own paladin-knight whose helped us in both strategy and physical defense!" replied a guard, the admiration obvious in his tone.

"Who and where is this knight, then?? I would deign to speak with him, and with haste! I was not jesting about those demons. There's at least three dremora kynval, but the most worrisome is a particular nine or ten foot tall BALOR!"

No sooner had Hale said the name, an unearthly, demonic roar echoed through the forest and careened of the town walls.

"Eh, just as I thought, unfortunately. Those creatures are about twenty minutes away from the sounds of it!"

"By the Divines...all right, come quickly now! I'll take you to Baroth! Should be in his home just this way."

"Baroth?...no, it can't be, can it? Though if any were to survive, he'd be one I'd bet on.." muttered the Ranger under his breath as he followed the guard to a sturdy wooden home. Hale's escort quickly explained the situation to the two guards at the house's door, and Hale followed the man inside.

Hale was not one to forget a face, or even two faces in this case.

"Sir! Sir Baroth! This, er, forest-man has some ne--" started the guard. "I'll take it from here, sergeant, thank you for your help," cut off Hale. The man nodded, and ran back to his post at the southern gate.

Stepping forward, Hale flung his grey-green splotched hood off his face, and beamed down a smile at men, but wasted no time in giving the situation.
"Baroth! So you're the leader of this resistance here, aye! Good to see you! When the sergeant there told me you were the protector of this town, I could hardly believe my ears! Then I thought to myself, of course Baroth survived, he's a knight after all! And Marek! Good to see your hide's still in one piece, aye? Nevertheless, while it is good to see you, and while I see the signs of recent battle, we must ready for one more I'm afraid. There is a small group of dremora, the kynval clan I believe, as well as a nine foot tall devil warlord called a balor, about fifteen minutes away. They will be approaching from the woods near the Southern Gate, where I came from, and will hit us in that direction. I doubt they even know this town is still putting up a fight, so we may yet have the element of surprise. My suggestion is, that we have your men stay up on the wall and roofs of houses and give us covering fire, while you, Marek, myself, and any other volunteers take on the three dremora and the Balor. Working together, we should be able to take him down, what do you say?? Just like old times, eh?"

 

[Dustman]

Marius heard the terrible scream first, a howl that still caused the hair to rise on his muscled arms, and a shiver to go down his back. It was rage. It was death. A dremora lord.

Soon after, the door to the house burst open, and a guard addressed Sir Baroth only to be cut off by a new figure. He appeared to know the other men in the house, the newcomer mercenary Marek, and his old friend Sir Baroth. The man's quick report confirmed his fears. He stepped in, his mind calculating, planning. "Greetings. I'm Marius Dustman. Baroth and I have known each other. I have a few skilled crossbowmen on the wall." He turned to Alesan. "Get some men on the walls, and in the hills." Alesan nodded and ran out of the house. He turned back to the other men. "When these dremora come, we'll unleash hell. Marek, myself, this new man here and Baroth will challenge the dremora lord." He turned to the new man. "Thank you for the warning. We need every advantage we can get against these beasts. We'll save introductions for later. Let's go."

 

[Simus]

Cilla Psyrakon woke with a start, her eyes wide and her cheecks flushed. She just had a very unpleasent dream and had to take a couple of seconds to get back to reality. She was still snug in bed, she was still safe in her white one piece footy pajamas with blue raindrops and Sheogorath wasn't being mean to her. It really was just a dream.

It was the middle of the night and her room in the Hall of Attainment at the College of Winterhold was illuminated by the half-moon shining through the large window beside her. She looked over and saw her elder sister Alice still asleep in her bed a few feet away on the other side of the window. The door was across the room and each bed had a desk and chair at its head. Each of the girls had a trunk next to their bed under the window that held their personal effects. Mostly books, spellbooks, quills, ink bottles and parchment. Cilla also kept her chalk drawings here, her most recent a picture with her and her big sister with their caretaker and de facto mother, Dabiene Caristiana. Her room was at the end of the hallway, right next to Cilla and Alice's.

Cilla was thankful she didn't wake her sister. Alice's gift of seeing the future, while useful in avoiding danger, had produced some rather disturbing dreams of late so her sleep was broken on many a night. She would have to be soothed by Dabiene in order to go back to sleep but sometimes Cilla would get in bed with her and volunteer as a snuggle bunny and that worked just as well. True, unbroken rest didn't come around often enough for Alice and Cilla didn't want to disturb her.

She quietly got out of bed and walked to the door, the dotted rubber soles of her pajamas' feet providing good traction. The pajamas were closed by an old dwemer invention called a zipper that made a much better seal than buttons or leather fastnerrs. Besides her hands, the pajamas covered Cilla from her throat to her feet so she was nice and warm when the was in them. They were also fun to play in, especially with Alice when she wore her own pair. The girls had several pairs between them. They all had self-cleaning enchantments to keep them good and comfy, resize enchantments so they could sway whichever pairs they wanted and both girls looked cute in any of them, especially Cilla. She had gotten a bit of a pot belly from Dabiene's excellet cooking and it was extriemely ticklish. When she was in her pajamas, the temptation to tickle it was hard to resist.

She walked down the short hallway, guided by the magelights that were always on and creaked open Dabiene's door. She quietly walked over to Dabiene's bed, guessing that her wolf hearing had picked up on her entry and went up to her.

"Miss Dabs?" She whispered. "I had a bad dream and I didn't want to wake Alice. Can I get in bed with you?"

 

[Osiris]

Urzog was awakened from his slumber by a horrid howl from outside, cause him to immediately rise to his feet. He quickly put on his armor and grabbed his Kitana from the wall it leaned against. The loudest sound in the tavern was his footsteps as he walked passed men and women hiding in various places. A child grabbed the Orc's leg from under a table, "M-Mister, you can't go out there, the monsters will eat you..." the small nord child looked up at him, fear in his eyes. Urzog looked down at the child, towering above him, "My child..Worry not for me, but for your kinsmen." the Samurai said as softly as his deep voice would allow him. It filled the Orc's heart with hope that another being actually cared for him, most would be glad to be rid of another Orc, but not this one. Urzog took a deep breath as he exited the gloomy tavern, the sky was a dark red again, only peeking through the black clouds above. Urzog spotted several men talking by the front gates, he made his way towards them. "Who is in charge here?" he asked.

 

[Dabiene Caristiana]

At the College Dabiene Caristiana appeared to lay peacefully. Undisturbed. But deep down inside she was in turmoil. She had defied Hircine, broke her allegiance with the Prince and became on his hit-list. With that there were several more episodes with this inner demon he place upon her. They only way she could control it or not being judged about it was thanks to Alice's powers. She felt guilty she could actually see into her mind about the monster taking over from time to time... What it was thinking... But she insisted it was fine, and she loved her. The woman smiled at the thought.

However... It was a long time since she saw Soldin. One of the only men that understood her. She missed him terribly and pretty much resigned to the fact he became Hircine's puppet, or one of the undead. She shivered at the thought. The Breton swallowed back a sob at the possibility that she would never see him again. Just when the woman was about to let the flood gates of her emotions open she heard a creak, then pitter padding toward her bed. Dabiene knew it was immediately Cilla. Her suspicions were comfirmed when the small girl spoke up.

"Miss Dabs?" She whispered. "I had a bad dream and I didn't want to wake Alice. Can I get in bed with you?" Turning in bed the woman smiled at the child. "Of course you can. Let me guess... Sheogorath again?" While she wanted to chuckle at the thought she didn't. But the fact was still surprising she could keep quiet from waking up from a nightmare. Helping her get up on the bed, the werewolf mage Breton set about to make room and then cover then both up. Wrapping her arms around the girl in a protective, almost instinctual embrace and went to sleep peacefully.

--------------------------------------------------------- (A few days earlier)-----------------------

Soldin sat upon a sill in the Fort named Dawnguard. Here, it housed warriors and hunters of the same name. He was surprised they were holding out. The Canyon down below was only accessed by a narrow cave system, which helped in setting up traps since it was dark. Sure the monsters could see a little better in the dark than normal people, but they didn't see quite perfectly. Leaning his head against the glass pane he listened, hoping to hear any signs of life. There was only a few chirps occasionally. Not the beautiful choir of birds that used to fill up the Canyon. It was sad in a way. Even nature's beautiful creations didn't stand a chance. He was deep in thought that he didn't even hear someone coming in the doorway, just looking at him.

"Depressing. Isn't it?" Isran was definately still alive. His stubborness helping him triumph time and time again.

Soldin merely nodded. "I just can't sleep... Knowing that their out there. Waiting for us. Waiting for one false move." He paused the joked, "You know, for a bunch of dead or foul creatures, they're pretty smart." Isran chuckled, "You know boy, that's the first time in months you've made a joke."

Smirking Soldin lifted his head away from the window and looked at the leader of the fabled hunters. "Ha... Funny you should say that. Since you are the one acting so serious half the time. Is that actually a compliment I heard just now?" Smiling slightly Isan sat near him upon a stool and looked outside. Soldin turned his head to do the same.

"You know... Forgive me for being so... Untrustworty, but I'm a bit surprised you denied Hircine's order's." The boy looked at the leader in shock. "Oh yes. I know. I also know you have a friend who is a werewolf. Something you want to tell me about that?" The Nord on the windowsill gazed sadly out the window. "Doesn't matter. She's probably taken."

Silence followed that statement. One that was so sad, so broken. "Are you saying, that the great Soldin, the one who inspires my troops into impossible battles with a single warcry is just... Giving up?!" "Yup." Isran shook his head at the single response he got and repremended him. "If I were to have a say in this, I'd say get her. Go and get her." He looked at the boy and found Soldin staring at him in shock. "What about the--" "Forget the damned fort. You see we can hold out on our own. Besides, maybe you can find some clues. You say she was a mage? Hailed from the College?" Soldin nodded slowly, "Probably held up there, looking for answers like the book worm she is." He smiled a bit at that. "Well, if that's what your gut instinct is, go for it. From what I understand about you..." He paused as the young soldier looked at him with a raised brow. "You... Um, gifted people of Hircine, that instinct is what guides you. I know I'm from the Vigilant, and should have made you angry enough to turn into your form and skin you alive and wear your pelt as a loin cloth but... I realized, with help from one of the other lads, that you haven't done anything stupid. That you were just as much of a werewolf at you are now." The Nord looked at the veteran Redguard in amazement. But let him continue.

"So go to her. From what I've heard about this... Dabiene character maybe she's got enough smarts to help find a gods forsaken cure. For all we know maybe she has ties to Hermaeus Mora. I can't believe I'm saying this but... Maybe he's the only chance we have. That and Meridia." Soldin added, "Or Azura. But chances are, the three are probably bound and gagged with daedra cloths and rope, never to be seen or heard from. Last I heard from Hircine, he said a few Princes defied the cause. I don't know why he told me, maybe it was just to lure me into craving power. Adding Azura to the list maybe he though that would make me see that even a powerful Prince would submit. But maybe... Maybe they are out there."

They sat in slience again until Isran spoke up for the last time while standing up. "Do what you have to do Soldin. After all you've done, all the plans you made that have succeeded... I trust you. And as I said, we need more supplies. Take the fight to those damn Undead. So get moving soldier, I haven't got time to lose. None of us do."

Soldin smirked, "He's baaaack..." Grinning as he got a jab in the arm, "You better believe it kid, so get moving!"

----------------------------------------------

After days of fighting, camping, and covering his tracks he had finally made it to the College. He was exhausted beyond belief. He looked up at the fabled Institution, praying that Dabiene was alive, along with any other occupants of course. Taking a deep breath he started to climb the steps and stone slopes that led to it. Finally reaching the gate he opened it then stepped through. He walked about the courtyard and looked about in astonishment. He hadn't been here in ages. And yet it almost seemed deserted. He walked around some more, trying to find some tracks. But he doubted there would be any. With that he didn't see any, any at all.

"Hello?! Is anybody here! Hello?" The man bellowed. "Can somebody hear me?" He continued to yell for sometime before giving up. Sighing in defeat he left the College and went into the Inn of Winterhold and layed up for the night.

--------------------------------------------

She awoke again to the sounds of shouting. Raising her head a little she heard a voice. "No... It can't be..." The woman quietly got out of bed then tried to listen again. When she heard nothing she looked out a window that overlooked the courtyard. There was no one there.

She sighed then choked, "No... My mind is going crazy..." Dabiene walked back into her room, "He's gone. He's not there." Getting into bed and wrapping her arms around the girl she fell into a restless sleep.

(OOC: uh oh, will Dabiene catch him in time? Dunno...)

 

[Madrar]

Somewhere outside of Falkreath. ​

Another corpse hit the ground with a wet thump, its face scorched, eyes melted. The creatures companions, a dozen rotting, shambling corpses, surrounded a single, tall, menacing figure, clad in black and gold Thalmor robes, with customized red stitching. The Altmer had his hood down, revealing pale gold flesh, furious, red-gold eyes, and shoulder length midnight black hair. A pair of sharp fangs were bared in a threatening snarl, although these...creatures didn't seem to be affected by fear. Casting a quick spell, the vampire lord brought up a wall of flames, blocking the path of a trio of zombies. From hard experience, Salthar knew being set on fire wouldn't stop them completely.

Another spell, and the flames were held in place by an invisible telekinesis spell. The three zombies were quickly turned into torches, and pressed against the barrier, getting absolutely nowhere. Unfortunately, the spell was also draining Salthar's magical reserves at an alarming rate, and more of the undead were approaching. Finally, the three stopped by the barrier collapsed, their legs consumed by the flames. Releasing the spell, the vampire summoned yet more magic, blasting a larger group of six creatures with an uninterrupted stream of purple-white lightning. They shook and smoked, before collapsing, their brains completely and satisfyingly fried. A rasping moan drew the vampires attention to yet another zombie, this one with it's right arm gone at the shoulder, and its left covered in bite marks. "Oh for the love of..." the vampire snarled, trapping his middle finger against his thumb.


Aiming the bent finger at the creature, he released his finger, along with another telekinesis spell. The spell was the equivalent of a punch...delivered by an angry giant. The creatures head flew off, only to explode against a tall, ancient pine tree a dozen metres away. Glancing around, he noticed that the last of the zombies had fallen. 'Just in time too', the vampire realized. His reserves of magic were severely depleted, and although he had a ring on his left ring finger that contained some reserves, he wasn't sure if it was enough to have kept him alive for much longer. Closing his eyes, he let out a sigh, before turning to look back over his shoulder, into the mountains, and the way he'd come from.

His coven had fallen back to the Bloodlet Throne when this nightmare had begun. Salthar had realized that he was going to need to enlist the aid of the living to end this fight. The vampires, temporarily under the command of his brother, Vengar, had more than enough human prisoners to maintain a siege against the undead and Daedric hordes. The vampire took a moment to orient himself, before heading towards Riverwood, which, to his enormous surprise, was still not overrun by the hordes. He decided to make his way towards the village, and perhaps find someone willing and able to stand against the enemy.

However, the Altmer wasn't overly optimistic. He'd heard of the disaster on the Somerset Isles, nearly two years ago now. He'd grieved for his fallen friends in the Thalmor, who'd doubtlessly held off the Daedric hordes for as long as they were able. Sighing, the vampire kept up his pace, hoping to get to Riverwood before more of those corpses, or perhaps actual Daedra, caught onto his scent, or whatever the creatures use to track their prey.

 

[Aethalia]

Aliah Stormwind was in some sort of trouble. Or, it looked that way to an audience that didn't know how she preferred to fight. Four flesh eating zombies, their blood encrusted jaws gaping, and snarling at the female vampire. She wore a knee length leather coat, made of black material, and the same color leather boots, and pants. Her shirt, was black silk, with gold trimmings, and her hair was shoulder length, and the color of arterial blood. In each hand, she held an ebony sword, which were currently in use against her attackers.

The Altmer woman spun- no, danced, in circles, her blades working almost like living entities, rather than pieces of cold, ebony. She scored dozens of small hits, stomach, chest, legs, none of them doing any damage to her unfeeling, undead opponents. Despite the constantly tightening noose of dead limbs, no panic showed on the Altmer womans' face as she transferred her weight easily from one foot to the other, alternating her movements, making it more intense as they closed in.

Traditionally, bladesingers utilized small, easy spells, not to harm the enemy, but rather to distract them, firing the spells past or above their enemies to distract them, and make scoring fatalities easier. Aliah held off on the spells, mostly because she was fairly certain these...monsters didn't get distracted. Once they locked onto their prey, they never, ever seemed to leave stop until they'd dragged down the man or woman they were hunting. The ring of creatures closed in even more, arms stretched out to snare their 'meal'.

She decided it was time to finish off her attackers. Spinning clockwise, then counter clockwise she took a body part from each of her opponents. A couple of hands here, an arm there, a head. Now there were three, although they didn't seem discouraged in the least. Another spin, and two other zombies crumpled, headless, and Aliah's final move had both of her blades carving through dead, rotting flesh, cutting the creature completely in half. A backhand blow cutting deeply into its head. Then her blade got stuck in the things skull and she swore, stepping on the beasts head, and yanking, removing her blade with a sickly sucking noise. "Disgusting" she said, kneeling to wipe her weapons clean on what remained of her last enemies shirt.

She looked around, guessing by the tall, evergreen trees that she was somewhere near Falkreath. Which was pretty impressive, seeing as she'd made her way all the way from Solitude. She'd fed on the occasional group of travelers. Now she was in Falkreath her blades and her clothes, that was it. Her keen hearing picked up on movement through the forest. Black robes, with customized red stitching...'No...no it can't be...' "Salthar? Is that you?"