A gentle breeze rolled through the forests of Falkreath, causing the branches to rustle and sway, sounding as if they were whispering secrets to each other that no mortal would ever get to hear. Breathing in a deep inhalation of his pipe, the Breton closed his eyes as he sat back in his wooden chair which overlooked Lake Ilnalta. At times like this he would realize how tired he felt, every muscle in his body aching to its very core. If only he could just stay like this, just never open his eyes again.
‘One such as you doesn’t deserve to know any semblance of peace, Oathbreaker.’
His face visible flinched at the voice that spoke to him, falling into a deep frown.
‘You think I don’t know that? I’ll never know peace in my lifetime, you don’t need to remind me of it ya prick.’
‘If the Divines have any sense of justice, then your soul will be damned to Oblivion when it ends.’
Icy blue eyes shot open, only to find himself completely alone, the rustling trees the only voices speaking to him now.
“You may be right on that account old friend.” Taking another draw from his pipe, he let it out in a shaky exhale. Perhaps this was why he was so tired. Whenever he took a moment to rest, they came back…
“Rol!” The darkness of his thoughts seemed to drain away, now laughing lightly to himself, Rolard turned to see a young child running up to him. She had flowing blonde hair much like her mother, trailing behind her as she raced towards him. Getting up from his chair he knelt down to capture her, pretending to be knocked back by the force of her.
“Oof, knocked me down again Snowflake. I swear you hit like a Minotaur.” The Breton laughed in amusement as she was picked by Rolard, her blue eyes showing now, nearly identical to Rolards asides from the glow of his.
“Hehe, or your as flimsy as a Goblin!" She shot back, sticking her tongue out at him, causing a genuine smile to form on his face.
“Brother said dinner is ready, will you be able to eat with us this time.” At this his smile faded somewhat, sighing as he began walking towards their homestead.
“You know I can’t little sister. Business in Whiterun, somebodies gotta bring home the bacon.”
His sister crossed her arms and pouted at the large Breton, clearly displeased with his answer.
“But your always gone Rol, and every time you come back you’re bleeding. I don’t want the bad men to hurt you. To…” Her voice broke and eyes began to water before pressing her head against, staining his clothes tears, poking at his heart like hot irons. Gently kissing the top of her head, he held her tight, stopping for a moment to try and comfort her.
“Shush now Snowflake. They might get a few knicks in but I always end up on top. I’m just too good to lose.” This seemed to at least stop the tears, although she still clutched onto him as if he’d slip away into the Void. She had seen too much for one her age, lost too much. The last thing she needed to worry about was her eldest brother dying to.
Eventually the woods gave way to a small clearing where his family’s manor lie. The great hall was still under construction, largely delayed due to Rolard’s consistent absence, but slowly progress was being made. Really the only livable portion of the house was the entrance hall where the three siblings crammed in together. A far cry from the sprawling grounds of Akaire, but it was theirs. Two torches lit the front of the homestead, showing off its smooth white stone walls and yellow tiled roof. Upon entering it became clear just how cramped their living. A bunk bed was squeezed into the corner, a fire pit with a large kettle hanging over it where another Breton stood over it, attempting to make something edible, although by the grey, watery look of the soup he had made it clearly wasn’t working out. He wasn’t as tall as Rolard but had a powerful build nonetheless, with long, brown hair and a clean shaven face. His blue eyes looked up when the door opened.
“Heading out already then are ya?” There was an air of disinterest in his voice as he asked the question. He already knew the answer to it, and though he tried to hide it was clear that he resented Rolard for it. Keeping him boxed up in the middle of nowhere while he adventured throughout Skyrim. To him it must have truly seemed glorious. How wrong he was.
“Well I was thinking of staying brother, but after smelling whatever concoction your brewing think I’d rather walk all the way to Whiterun on an empty stomach.” Vaynar glared at him for a moment before, an uncomfortable silence filling the small room before all three broke out into laughter.
“I miss Old Nan, she always made the best stews.” Ellia hopped out of Rolards arms before running over to grab a bowl of the greyish soup, making a scrunched up face at smelling the food.
“Blegh, only you could turn chicken stew into this Vaynar.”
“Hey now, least I don’t chasing you round the house trying to smack you with a wooden spoon if you stole a sweetroll like Old Nan! That woman was more vicious than a troll.” The two siblings laughed as they reminisced, Rolard only rolling his eyes as he moved to a locked dresser, opening it to reveal masterfully forged set of armor. It was well kept, superbly polished, inlaid with arctic wolf fur. The most noticeable aspect of the armor however were the lightly glowing runes that were etched around the edges, making it a truly enchanting sight to behold. It didn’t take long to armor himself, the process having long ago become second nature to him.
Saphfire was sheathed at its side, the ancient and enchanted blade looking as if it was fresh from the forge, the passage of time seeming to have no effect on it. The next weapon he picked up made him grimace however, a sleek steel dagger which looked to belong more to a thief or assassin than a knight.
Heh, or an ex-knight at least. He recalled when his little sister Ellia had gifted him the blade. Something that he could use to kill all the bad men with. She had a perturbing obsession with these men, and no matter what he said to console her, she always feared they would come to take her and her brother, just like they took her home. Her parents. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do for her besides pray to the Divines that her fragile psyche stay intact.
Hmm, I wonder if the Divines listen to prayers from the damned? He simply shook his head as he sheathed the blade on the back of his waist, before picking up the final piece of his ensemble. The Ember Crown itself, a silver circlet inlaid with runes to protect against the bitter cold or blistering flame, with three sapphire gems inlaid in the center. It was the only thing they had that still connected them to Akaire, to show that even now his family were the rightful rulers. And if it painted a larger target on his back so be it.
After finishing arming himself he took to packing some other essential in his satchel, a few skins of water, dried beef, clothes, a sleeping bag and some other mundane supplies. With everything gathered the siblings in a group hug.
“Be careful out there Rol, and make sure to wear your wolf skin so you don’t catch cold!” Rolard cocked an eyebrow at the little Breton, not a hint of joking in her voice.
“And try to mind the bandits and giants as well. Hear they’re not great for your health.” This look then turned to Vaynar, who clearly enjoyed seeing Ellia trying to mother their eldest brother.
“Why thank you mum and dad, I’ll try not to stub my tow as I walk out.” Opening the door, the young noble began the trek to Whiterun, turning back for a moment to see his siblings standing in the door frame. Trying to force a confident and unconcerned smile, he waved at them before wandering into the dark trails of Falkreaths woodlands. While most would think twice about travelling so late into the night, but Rolard wasn’t particularly concerned with any bandits or beasts that would dare try to cross his path. As he walked he pulled out a strange note that had been bothering him ever since it managed to find its way to his homestead, a place he made sure few knew existed, so how some anonymous merchant found it was beyond him. But even more concerning than that was the contents of it. Dragons attacking the Holds, and now some Dragonborn who can absorb their souls to use as they see fit. All of it spelled danger and chaos, things he didn’t care to have near his family. He needed answers, and it was clear those would be in Whiterun. Finding some new jobs would just be a bonus. Wrapping the arctic wolf cloak right around himself, he quickened his pace, eager to find answers.
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It was a rather uneventful journey to Whiterun as far as Rolard was concerned. The odd bandit here and there, a couple of wolves he got to skin and hopefully make a few Septims off of. His eyes had light bags beneath them, an evident sign that he had walked non-stop from his home towards Whiterun. When he finally approached the gates the two guards on duty laughed at the sight.
“Well well, the Prince of Rags returns? To what do we owe the honor your grace?” One of the larger Nordic guards he came to call Dull-F***. He had heard his true name before, but found this one suited him so much better.
“Well from what I heard the good guardsmen of Whiterun are having some issues with dragons and other nasty beasts Dull-F***, so I’ve come to lend aid. Unless you prefer me to sit back and watch your town burn to the ground cause you’re a stubborn jack ass with just enough cognitive ability to know what end of the sword is the pointy one.” Neither Dull-F*** or his fellow gate guard had anything to say back to the Breton warrior after then, the large nod simply scowling as he gave a nod for him to pass. Giving a mocking bow towards the Nord, he entered the city, not before turning to the other guardsmen.
“Try not to let this guy rub off on you lad. Gives the good folk of Whiterun a bad name.” Not waiting for him to respond he walked into the bustling Plains District of Whiterun. Stopping at the entrance, he took a moment to listen to the wondrous noises of a lively city. Adrienne seemed to be bartering with a quite knowledgeable customer, further up in the square he could hear the yammering of many deals being made, and the occasional yell to accompany it. He even managed to catch Carlotta tossing a very stale loaf of bread into Mikael after another one of his pathetic advances, sending him reeling back and stepping into a pale of water. How such a fool ever managed to become a bard was inconceivable.
“Hmph, old Leodias would such his lute up the boys ass if he ever met him I’d bet.”
It was all quite the spectacle, and it was something that made the bitter noble relax somewhat, letting himself be reminded of what it was like to live a normal life.
“Fine day to you Adrianne, getting screwed out your full pay I see, not the best way to start the day now is it.” The blacksmith, glared at him for a moment, her grimy and soot covered face looking like she was about to say ‘piss off’ before she simply sighed and turned back to her forge.
“In all honesty it was better than I could have hoped for. Supplies are getting scarce. Was bad enough with bandits and highwaymen taking control of the roads with the civil war, but now with dragon attacks. Ulfberth and I are lucky to break even as is.” While her voice didn’t give any sign of anger or frustration, it came through quite clearly in her work as she began beating on a super-heated blade perhaps a bit too hard, but likely was helping her to not beat in someone else’s head so he kept quiet.
“Forgive me, I knew things were tight but… Is there any way I may assist.”
“If you’re asking if we have the Septims to pay you to clear out the roads or guide in some supplies I’d think you’d know the answer Lord Seton. We have none to spare.” She stated coldly, her eyes not even leaving her work as she went back to the forge to get to making a new blade, sweat dripping from her brow due to the blistering heat.
“Hmm, a fine point, though I’ll keep an eye out for anything that may help you and your War-Bear with this. A fine day to you mi’lady.” Bowing slightly towards the Imperial, Rolard left Warmaiden’s to enter the Drunken Huntsmen, which generally was a bit quieter this time a day than the overcrowded bannered Mare, and allowed him to sell some of his supplies as well. Upon entering he was immediately hit with the aroma a freshly cooked meats, still roasting over the fire pit with delicious spices, and more importantly strong booze.
His entrance was sure to draw eyes as he was a rather eccentric sight, though familiar to some there. Even in the rather dimly lit tavern his armor still shined with a pristine glimmer, its runes in particular glowing an azure blue.
His face held a clear nobility to it, from his strong chin to well kept hair and stubble, though the most striking thing about his countenance were his eyes, which clearly glowed an icy blue, causing a couple of Nordic patrons to become disgruntled at the sight, likely taking it as a sign of sorcery. And despite his lean build he was powerfully built, something not regularly seen amongst Bretons.
A broad smile on his face, he completely disregarded the looks of contempt he received so often, brushing it off with an easy going attitude.
“And a fine morning to all you lovely folks, and to you as well Elrindir you glorious Bosmer you. Your brother manage to shove another arrow up your ass since I’ve been gone?” While perhaps not the best way to make an entrance, he just couldn't help himself at times.
Elrindir was clearly not amused with the entrance or introductions by any means, trying his best not to acknowledge the Bretons appearance.
“I’m dealing with a client right now Rolard, why don’t you just take a seat somewhere and bother the waitress, we can speak later.”
“Touchy now aren’t we, and this that any way to talk to a customer my friend?” He didn’t press the issue however, knowing if he pissed off Elrindir to much he’d never get a decent price for the fresh wolf pelts he had acquired. So instead he turned to the auburn haired Nord who evidently had the faintest looks of an Imperial about her,
“Forgive me the interruption mi’lady. And lovely dagger might I add.” He added with a wink before walking over to a table close to the fire, attempting to hail down the waitress. As he waited to place an order his attention turned to a heavily armored woman who sat on a bench, engrossed in a book which he couldn’t quite see the title of. Her hair looked to be as white as freshly fallen snow, and despite her battle ready appearance appeared almost genuinely friendly. A tough act to pull off.
“Well now, how could I have possibly missed you when I entered? A fine morning to you mi’lady, and may I say that is some superbly crafted armor you have there. Haven’t seen anything of such craftsmanship since last I was in…” His voice trailed off into uncertainty, unsure if revealing who he was to this stranger was such a good idea. Granted it wasn’t a well-kept secret (something he had made sure off), but something about that armor reminded him a bit too much about home. Unfortunately that only spelled danger.
“Heh, well, it’s been quite some time to say the least. Rolard Seton, at your service.” He stood to give a small bow before returning to his seat, the waitress finally coming over to drop off his usual order of Solstheim Spiced Wine and roasted pheasant. Taking a deep drink of the wine, he let out a sigh as he let the alcohol relax his body and numb his mind, an award winning combination if there ever was one. If only he could afford to be inebriated more often.
@Zelda @Hart and whoever else joins!