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    Blackdoom59

    BATMAN!
    High Hrothgar was filled with refugees, Oliver didn't see it as the peaceful place of meditation it once was. Some refugees chose to be helpful, trying to learn and become future blades, while others were too wounded to move around. There was not enough food to go around, and they all knew that, but there was no other place they could go. Due to the civil war the remaining cities refused to let anyone in, and events in Cyrodil made it harder for a refugee to find a peaceful home. Oliver knew most refugees that now resided in the monastery, for he spent most of his time there, reviewing intelligence he gathered from his various sources around Tamriel. But it was time for the test, to finally form the Sons of Sword.

    In the courtyard of the monastery, the venerable warriors of Tamriel gathered to join into The Sons of Sword. Some waited outside for days, others had just climbed the 7 thousand steps. Some came alone, others came accompanied, their story is their own. Oliver spoke loudly to gather everyone's attention. "Listen up, recruits!"

    Everyone turned their head to Oliver as the graybeards all went in different directions, Arngier stood in the middle of the courtyard. "It is time for your test. To see if you're worthy of joining the sons." he sighed, looking at the sheer number of recruits. There were over 30, and they all looked capable. "Gather Around Arngier, and do whatever he asks you too." he turned around, walking back into the monastery "Have faith in yourselves!"

    All the recruits gathered in a circle around Arngeir. "Do not have fear, for what is to come will show me if your intentions are true." the old man said with a slight smirk on his face. His cold breath turned to Thu'um as he spoke

    "Yah Vahzah Bahlaan!"

    And so his shout echoed through the nearby mountains, scaring away flocks of crows and entertaining the drunken fools from nearby villages. The men that were to become sons were now encircled with strange auras. The auras were to show if they were worthy of undertaking such a task. The red aura shows that the person is lacking in both ambition and strength, a yellow aura shows that the person lacks in ambition, but revels itself in strength, a blue aura shows that the person is ambitious, but lacks the required strength. Then it was the green aura, for the person with both ambition, and strength. Arngeir quickly cast aside those with the red auras, for those had no purpose and no future in The Sons.

    "Those who now only see green in front of their eyes, know that you are capable, and that your soul is strong. You are accepted to join the Sons of Sword. Those who are now rooted by Akatosh's yellow light, know that you are capable of joining the sons, and you can do much good to Nirn by doing so. But ask yourselves, do you wish to join the sons in order to save Tamriel, or to save yourselves? Those with the blue aura, that Kynereth smiles upon - your intentions are true and your ambition is greater than you might think. But you might need more then ambition, if you are to defeat the dragons. You can join the Sons of Sword, but only if you wish to learn how to wield that sword!"

    Arngeir gave the future sons a minute to acknowledge what just happened, he slowly walked away from the circle. Some with their aura red, came to him to rework things, thinking what happened wasn't fair, but the shout showed nothing but truth.
     

    Wolfbane

    Why change the past when you can own this day?
    "Why does it seem like I traveled those steps before. What a miserable journey. Wouldn't want to be the guy who had to mark every single step. This better be bloody worth it," He pulled his travel coat closer and his hood lower as soon as the chilly wind picked up around him. The land was around him was an ocean of chilly white. 7,000 never seemed so damn long until now. As the wind calmed down, the monastery in the mountain was in view, much to the pleasure of the sell-sword, "Finally. Now lets see what this is all about," He subtly pushed the giant, iron doors to be welcomed by the avalanche of noise, fire, desperation, voices, and now thu'ums.

    "Those who now only see green in front of their eyes, know that you are capable, and that your soul is strong. You are accepted to join the Sons of Sword. Those who are now rooted by Akatosh's yellow light, know that you are capable of joining the sons, and you can do much good to Nirn by doing so. But ask yourselves, do you wish to join the sons in order to save Tamriel, or to save yourselves? Those with the blue aura, that Kynereth smiles upon - your intentions are true and your ambition is greater than you might think. But you might need more then ambition, if you are to defeat the dragons. You can join the Sons of Sword, but only if you wish to learn how to wield that sword!"

    Green rushed towards him while other colors did the same to the other like minded people and stuck to them like an arrow sticks into a person. Mance swatted the green as if it were an irritating fly. He's seen all sorts of magic, so he wasn't enthralled like the villagers were. That's not to say that he didn't appreciate magic or dragon magic. He just wasn't all too surprised. Mance eventually found a place to sit, waiting for the 'future sons' to arrive. He was now apart of a group of dragonslayers. Isn't that such fun? He suppose it's better than running away with no hope of outrunning the damned flying lizards. For now, he is intrigued.
     

    shadowkitty

    Mistress of Shadows
    The figure in a long heavy hooded cloak made its way up the Throat of the World, towards the temple of the Greybeards. It was only by the grace of her movements could you tell that the traveller was a woman. A tall woman. Under the cloak she was athletic. She was also heavily armed. She wore tight leather that was smooth in places and then woven into an intricate chainmail like form over other parts of her body. Her armour was light and supple, perfect for moving silently in the shadows and for climbing. She had bought if off a group of Khajiit caravaners for cheap after she had provided them with an extra bit of muscle at one time.

    The Nord woman sighed with relief when she saw the temple looming out of the swirling snow like a great grey animal, hunkering down in a storm. The relief was not born from a desire to get out of the weather, for the blonde favoured the chill. Nor was she exhausted from her journey up the 7000 steps. For she was as fit as a mountain goat. Her relief came from the feeling that finally, after all this time, she had found something worthwhile. Something to be a part of, and that, most of all, her father would be avenged.

    Her heavy boots left deep ruts in the freshly fallen snow and her leather-bound hands reached up and pulled the fur-lined hood back. A great mass of blonde hair, curls, dreds, plaits and long straight bits seemed to have a life of its own as it was released from the confines of the furred hood. It framed a slightly tanned face with stunning deep blue eyes. Indari turned to scan the horizon before pushing her way into the temple. She was hit by more warmth than she expected and immediately found out why. High Hrothgar was now a refuge for displaced citizens. No longer a place of peace and quiet meditation, it now throbbed with energy and a cacophony of voices, squealing children, barking pets and the moans of the sick and injured filled the silent void.

    Indari wrinkled her nose and followed a group of people through the throng to the outside courtyard. This was why she was here. The gathering of the Sons of Sword. A man who seemed to be in charge raised his voice and spoke to the crowd. Indari leant against a rock; her arms folded, and listened.

    "Listen up, recruits!” he waited while the crowd quietened down then continued "It is time for your test. To see if you're worthy of joining the sons." he sighed "Gather Around Arngier, and do whatever he asks you too." Indari watched as men and women gathered around the old man in grey robes. One of the famous Greybeards. She joined the circle and waited with keen eyes.

    "Do not have fear, for what is to come will show me if your intentions are true." the old man said."Yah Vahzah Bahlaan!" Immediately after the Greybeard spoke the ancient words, glowing lights appeared, startling the crowd. Some of them protested and stepped back, others, like Indari, stood waiting patiently. Like the man had said, this was going to be some sort of test. The Greybeards would not hurt anyone intentionally. The orbs hovered in front of their chosen suitors. Indari smiled at the pretty green light that bobbed before her eyes. She reached out and touched it and it almost seemed to play between her fingers. She glanced around at the others. Some had red orbs, others yellow, and a few blue. A few had green like her.

    "Those who now only see green in front of their eyes, know that you are capable, and that your soul is strong. You are accepted to join the Sons of Sword. Those who are now rooted by Akatosh's yellow light, know that you are capable of joining the sons, and you can do much good to Nirn by doing so. But ask yourselves, do you wish to join the sons in order to save Tamriel, or to save yourselves? Those with the blue aura, that Kynereth smiles upon - your intentions are true and your ambition is greater than you might think. But you might need more then ambition, if you are to defeat the dragons. You can join the Sons of Sword, but only if you wish to learn how to wield that sword!"
    Indari stared at her green light. Yes she was happy with her colour but really, when it came down to it, she knew why she was here. She didn’t need a pretty magic trick to tell her that. Those who were unlucky enough to get the red orb trudged back inside the temple. No-one protested too vehemently. No-one would dare against a Greybeard. They’d probably Fus them off the mountain Indari chuckled to herself. As the glowing green orb faded, Indari waited to see what would happen next.
     
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    Andre Marek

    You can run, but you'll only die tired...
    A gust of wind from the large doors that protected the interior of High Hrothgar from the biting temperatures that surrounded the mountain stronghold attracted Mareks attention, making the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end as it briefly whipped through the interior. The cause, a tall blond woman who had seemingly just arrived at the monastery, closed the door and looked around, swiveling her head like an owl as her eyes adjusted to the dim light cast by the numerous torches hung in sconces on the walls. Once she had gotten her bearings, she quickly made her way through the throng of refugees that crowded the large room. Marek followed her with his eyes for a moment, Another one... That makes two anyway. He thought as he brought his attention back to the wetstone in his hand. Slow and precise, he ran the stone down the length of the longswords edge before flipping the blade over and repeating the process.

    Marek had arrived at High Hrothgar the day before and instead of immediately going to the blades and offering his help, he had chosen to keep a low profile and see who else turned up. So far the Sons of Sword hopefuls were a mixed bag of amateur mercenaries, town guards who'd been run out of their villages by the dragons, as well as haggard refugees looking to lend a hand. However, the last two to arrive, a man in leather armor with midnight black hair and the woman from only moments earlier, both looked like they might actually know their way around a fight.
    If a few more like them showed up then the Sons might actually be worthwhile. He had seen other mercenary parties formed before and nearly all of them had been composed of fools too drunk off of their own self importance, or by farm boys who had barely held a sword before and were just looking for adventure. Without fail, groups such as that were killed or scattered in short order. If the dragons were to be stopped then this group would have to be more than that. Each individual would have to be of the best sort. The top of their game. Killers without equal but not total rogues. If they fought among themselves then the whole plan would go to hell before it got off the ground.

    Just then, all of the would be members of the Sons of Sword started moving towards the back of the room where a man in black plate armor stood at the top of a broad set of stairs. Once he was sure everybody knew where they were going, the man turned and headed outside into the monasteries rear courtyard. With a sigh, Marek stood as well, dropping the wetstone into a pocket, his sword back into its sheath, and followed silently behind the main group, grabbing his heavy fur lined cloak and threw it over his shoulders.

    The temperatures outside were exactly as they'd been on the climb up the mountain; nothing short of bone chilling. Several of the refugees were clad in nothing but thin tunics with blankets tied around themselves in an attempt to ward off the biting wind. They wouldn't make the cut, Marek knew. Marek himself pulled the hood of his cloak up and crossed his arms as he eyed the man and the woman that had just arrived. He didn't pay much attention to the short speech given by the man in the black armor but he did pay attention when the greybeards voice suddenly shook with power. He couldn't understand what was said but he definitely understood the mist that suddenly encircled him, casting a green tint to the snowscape of the courtyard. Although his usual neutral expression didn't change, the sudden magical aura raised the hairs on the back of his neck and he was thankful for the hood and cloak, least one of the more perceptive people notice.

    As he looked around at the other recruits he spotted all of the three colors that the greybeard, Arngier, explained. For the most part the crowd glowed red but interspersed throughout them were a few yellows and blues. The ones Marek was most interested in though was the green ones. The ones that, like himself, were both capable and committed.
     

    Valin Oakthorn

    Vagabond Extraordinaire
    The wind beats hard against the throat of the world. It's midday and still colder than any other place in Tamriel. A lone man trudges up the mountain. His name is Issac, and he is enduring this terrible weather only on a whim, on a rumor heard at some inn. He heard that there's a group forming in the monastery on top of the mountain that's gonna stop the dragons.

    The wind is tearing at every inch of exposed skin like a rusty knife grazing his flesh over and over again. Ice covers his short beard and every hair on his head. His plate armor get's heavier by the moment despite the cover of his fur cloak.

    He wants to give up. He wants to lay down and let the cold wind.

    You'd think years of sailing in the icy waters north of Skyrim would have prepared him for this, but there is more than just the cold at play here.

    There is doubt.

    He worries that he may have made this journey for no reason, that he left his mercenary group for nothing, or worse his chance at redemption is just a myth.

    Then he turned a corner.

    Jagged rocks peel away from his view, revealing a large stone monastery. Issac's face turns from despair to joy as he beings to sprint towards the gray structure. His feet speed along despite having hardly enough energy to breath.

    He reaches the door and pushed hard.

    The warmth of the monastery is like a refreshing shower. His joy reaches another level as he steps out into the courtyard to see various warriors.

    He was right. His journey had a purpose. He had a purpose.

    “Listen up, recruits!” a voice called out, interrupting Issacs thoughts.

    “It is time for your test. To see if you are worthy of joining the sons.” The man said, looking at all of the recruits.

    “Gather around Arngier, and do whatever he asks you too.” He said turning around and adding on a “Have faith in yourselves” This made Issac nervous. What if he wasn't good enough. What if he didn't have a purpose?

    “Do not have fear, for what is to come will show me if your intentions are true.” The man said. Issac assumed he was the previously mentioned Arngier.

    "Yah Vahzah Bahlaan!" The man said, startling Issac a bit. Was that the legendary voice?

    His voice echoed, and all of a sudden a light appeared before Issac. Green. Issac reached out towards it, mesmerized. He hadn't seen much magic before, and always was interested in it. The light gave no warmth but it made him feel content for some reason.

    "Those who now only see green in front of their eyes, know that you are capable, and that your soul is strong. You are accepted to join the Sons of Sword. Those who are now rooted by Akatosh's yellow light, know that you are capable of joining the sons, and you can do much good to Nirn by doing so. But ask yourselves, do you wish to join the sons in order to save Tamriel, or to save yourselves? Those with the blue aura, that Kynereth smiles upon - your intentions are true and your ambition is greater than you might think. But you might need more then ambition, if you are to defeat the dragons. You can join the Sons of Sword, but only if you wish to learn how to wield that sword!"

    Joy completely and utterly overtook Issac. It was final now. He had a chance. He was a son of the sword.
     

    Toxius

    Frost Wolf
    Two days in this forbidden cold. That is how long I had been waiting at the monastery and though it offered significant protection, I could not bring myself to stay inside the monastery. Any monastery could be considered a holy place, even one as old as this and now more than ever. It was one of the last safe places in Skyrim, and it should not be corrupted by something as evil as what is inside me. I had found a spot a small while down the path from the monastery, pitched a small hide tent and considered myself some sort of watch. I often watched as travelers and refugees of all kind climbed the 7000 steps, young and the old, the weak and the strong. There was one thing I could say it was surely peaceful up here, even though I could use a nice warm bed with venison chops and a nice cup of mead to wash it down. I guess I had to settle with bread and heated water. I stayed at my tent, and overlooked the passage, or read a book for most of the day and if I was not there I was usually fetching my bread from the monastery, which was the only time I entered it. There was other food offered to me, but I refused as there were those who were worse off than me and then food was scarce as it is. To only think I was in Hammerfell a few days ago, and even though it was at the border it still counts, at least I think so. Hammerfell is the opposite of this frozen mountain, or even Skyrim for that matter. Dry, arid and sandy, a combination which I liked. I guess I just was not use to Skyrim’s harsh climate anymore; after all it was two long years of hunting bandits and dreaming for a nice piece of shade, maybe water to quench your thirst and your dry throat. I hated the old, and the cold. One of the reasons I mainly stayed down in The Rift, the warmest place in Skyrim in my opinion. Then it got old seeing the same faces and doing the same old ends, so Hammerfell seemed like the next best option. Then it got old again, it was the same bandits but just a change in scenery although I did manage to collect a whole bunch of exotic weapons. So I returned to Skyrim, to put my collection on display and to rest, only to find it in the state of chaos and war. That’s when I heard the rumours of The Son of Swords, and what they were going to stand against. This time it was not just a chance to help somebody in need, but possibly to save Tamriel and I did not care if anybody knew my name or not by doing this. So I trekked the mountain in search of the tales, I found them and waited until I was needed.

    My stomach growled, urging for its feast of the day. I had caught a hare earlier and quickly poked at the fire, which contained the last of my dwindling firewood, which had long before gave its last crackle and its Embers were barely glowing at all now. I passed the monastery’s elegant stone doors and into the courtyard, I was going to collect my food when something intrigued me. A group of refugee formed had formed a circle around somebody. “Do not have fear, for what is to come will show me if your intention are true,” he spoke, not even hiding the slight smirk on his face.

    Yah Vahzah Bahlaan!” The words erupted throughout the land and danced over every mountain, there was a certain elegance to the Thu’um, as I had read. My interests peaked from intrigued to absorbed, as the midst of a light green aura startlingly surrounded me. I looked around and watched as similar auras had surrounded a great many of people yet in four different hues of green, blue, yellow, red. Most were confused, and some were in a panic. I guess they were not used to magic. This was even a first for me and so I walked closer to the man, my blades jingled in tune with each step.

    "Those who now only see green in front of their eyes know that you are capable, and that your soul is strong. You are accepted to join the Sons of Sword. Those who are now rooted by Akatosh's yellow light know that you are capable of joining the sons, and you can do much good to Nirn by doing so. But ask yourselves, do you wish to join the sons in order to save Tamriel, or to save yourselves? Those with the blue aura, that Kynereth smiles upon - your intentions are true and your ambition is greater than you might think. But you might need more then ambition, if you are to defeat the dragons. You can join the Sons of Sword, but only if you wish to learn how to wield that sword!" The man finished off with and as he did the aura which once surrounded me and the others had faded.

    So now I was a part of the order of The Son of Swords, along with every other person that had possessed a green aura, and those with the blue or yellow auras if they so dared to continue on and better themselves in what they are lacking. There were a few that all approached the man, and those that simple waited. My guess, not everybody that journeyed up the mountain were cut out for this type of work. Maybe, this was just fate and those who were not accepted had another purpose, a purpose they just had not found yet. The way I thought about it though, why not let everybody join and prove themselves in battle rather than letting a fancy magic trick decide even though it was part of the tongue of dragons, the very enemy we seemed to have to face. If there were an oath, I would honour it to my death, or until I lost control...permanently.
     

    Hlíf 'Ulfr

    Nothing but a lyre
    Staff member
    “Listen up recruits,”


    The voice rolled over the court yard, drawing eyes towards the man who had spoken. Faces and bodies turned to him, giving him their attention, their time. Listening. Talion turned his head lazily towards the man, exhaling into the brisk, cold air. His arms hadn’t moved from their position across his chest, and his companion hadn’t moved from her position next to him, her lack of interest seemed to show in her body language, as her eyes were shut, and body faced away. She breathed, she heard, and was present but was not quite doing as was asked. She had heard the words echoing, and could feel the responses of the bodies around her, hear the movements, hear the breathing of her companion, and feel the hush in her bones. However, hearing was the extent of her dedication.



    “It is time for your test. To see if you are worth of joining the sons.”


    Feeling the warmth of the heavy fur around her shoulders and the gentle tickle it lovingly gave to her bare neck, Tauriel was in bliss. Her closed eyes hidden within the shadows of her cowl allowed her to ignore the social convention of looking at those that spoke, as well as to purely enjoy the bite of the cold. It was one of the things that she most enjoyed. With Talion standing next to her, she had the benefit of ignoring the snowy breeze that seemed to flow constantly on the peak of the monastery. This was something that Talion had enjoyed doing for his companion, as he had never found much of a problem with the cold. He attributed this to his size, and his Nordic heritage, however his Tauriel often teased him of being a “closet cryomancer”.


    “Gather around Arngier, and do what he asks you too.”


    She breathed in deeply as he spoke, feeling the sting of cold in her lungs. It did not last long and with one strong exhale she left behind a cloud of vapour and opened her eyes. Talion shot a quick glance her way, surprised at her sudden change in disposition. There was nothing of note, nothing of particular interest, or anything that was incredibly impressive or different to look at. She nudged her companion with an armor elbow and looked up at him, his face showing a bit of annoyance at her sudden interruption. She allowed some light to hit her face as she rolled her eyes mockingly.


    “Are you WORTHY, Li? Hmm?” she said batting her eyelashes, uncrossing her arms and dipping her shoulder slightly as she emphasized the word worthy. Her incredibly sarcastic tone was but a tinge to the questioning, exaggerated, innocent tone and face. Talion nudged her back jokingly, with a gentle smile, and a subtle chuckle. It was incredibly condescending in the same way adults often rudely addressed children but was not meant to mock Li but rather the speaker’s request, implications. She gripped his arm, still acting with the same disdainful behaviour. “You think you can, prove yourself? Huh?”


    Talion shook his head in a poor attempt to look fearful, matching her sarcasm. Perhaps it was arrogance but neither of the two had found the need, nor the want, to prove themselves to anyone in some time. Talion pulled at her shoulder, starting in the direction of the elder. Tauriel turned to indignantly follow her companion, toward Arngier, huffing a vaporous breath in aggravation as she did so. The pair had become accustom to having their reputation known, more often than not, it alone would gain them access to whatever they wanted without any trouble. Yet this time they had trudged up all 7’000 of those bloody steps to be tested. This was a change for the both of them.


    Tauriel could barely remember the morning they had risen to make the journey, most likely due to the fact that Talion had been forced to drag her from her bed. Even if it was her who had always woken to the light of the morn first, she only did so to ceremoniously send her pillow whipping at Talion’s head. Violently waking him from his hibernation like resting. This was their way, and as it most often went, she immediately proceeded to return to the land of dreams.



    Swaddled in warm blankets and furs the groggy Mer had moaned and whined dismissively, putting off the event as long as she could. When food was brought to her, a slender arm would appear only to seize the breakfast, immediately retreating back into the burrow with its prize. It was not until Talion had seized her from her bed that she had fought. Half-heartedly and mostly asleep she still appeared as vicious and wild as a saber cat to the patrons of the inn, as she was thrown over the
    Bear’s shoulder. He had dropped her onto a bench with caution, as she quickly wrapped her cloak around her body moodily, and drew her cowl over her eyes. She had sat back with arms crossed like this, “waking up” as she had called it, for at least 20 minutes. Talion had already been awake, and simply threw his sword around in practice, after which the both of them began to plod about. The bags had been packed days before, out of anticipation for this Early Morning behaviour, and so the Mer and the Nord had only to ready themselves before they were on their way. Needless to say the patrons felt much more at ease with the pair once again journeying on.


    “Carry me why don’t you” Tauriel had moaned to Talion. She could remember that. She could also remember snarling:


    “I’d be more useful asleep than you’ve been in your entire life. Want to bet I can’t still spill his innards and stuff them in that smug mouth of his? That’s right a*shole. Look away. Yeah that’s right.” at some man who had regarded her in a self-righteous manner sometime before their departure. Talion only chuckled, and continued with his duties, as this was a regular occurance, and Tauriel knew that he was perfectly fine with it.


    That had been sometime during her second cup of hot cider. Other than this, however there was not much that broke the fog that morning. It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to climb the mountain, but she was not a fan of being woken and could make it incredibly difficult for those that tried. All, with the exeption of the Bear, of course.


    Along their way they had kept to themselves, not for fear of trouble but for general lack of interest in the people they passed. And even if they had wanted the company of others, nobody would oblige to join them. This was the affect that they had commonly had on other travelers, with Talion presenting the same fear a Troll brought. He wasn’t at all comparable to a Troll in looks, but rather in size. He was a giant who dwarfed most he came into contact with, and accompanied by a Mer woman who could be half his size, most wouldn’t give them the time of day. And they didn’t.


    Regardless of Talion’s wish to reach the top as soon as they could, the companions had taken rest when they saw fit to eat, each meticulously packed by Tauriel to suit the taste of her companion. They walked their own pace in no particular hurry. There had been but one attack when ascending the mountain, which had fallen on Talion as Tauriel attempted to pelt him with balls of snow. For someone who could so skillfully kill with her aim, her skill in throwing snow was extraordinarily awful, and so the one renegade ball of snow that had hit its target, did not really bother but instead surprise Talion. Tauriel had then triumphantly smiled deciding to quit while she was ahead, even if her companion harshly criticized her throwing skills, as they made rest of the climb unbothered and alone.


    Breaking from a view of stone and snowdrifts to the snowdrifts and stone they had been searching for, Talion seemed possessed by disappointment. Having had imagined large stone dragon statues, or shrines for Talos the lack of grandeur left him wanting. What he had gotten instead, was a rather plain stone path leading to ice covered stairs transitioning to the lager doors of the monastery. The original feeling of disappointment soon melted along with the snow that clung to the pair as they entered the crowded monastery. While a mix of excitement and pity hung over Talion, Tauriel found herself in a mix of the same pity a leery watchfulness. The incredible amount of refugees was overwhelming for them both.


    It was amidst that same throng where they had laid there mats to rest, and had found that with time their surroundings were no less unsettling. Yet they had waited for the time when they would be called to rise, and that time had clearly come. Now standing in the court yard, the unlikely duo faced the man Arngier. Though Talion stood tall, Tauriel had attached herself to the Nord’s arm and had her head rested on the well-muscled pillow. Finding himself used to being used as a pillow and not taking issue with it, the Nord relinquished his arm willingly. He did so not without small jest however, and he began to flex as she took hold, eliciting a small disgruntled noise from underneath the Mer’s hood.


    “Wake me when I’m needed” she mumbled jokingly as she shut her eyes and nuzzled his arm slightly, as if making it more comfortable. Her body, although seeming relaxed, was ready for whatever need be and each of her other senses compensating for the lack of visual input.

    "Do not have fear, for what is to come will show me if your intentions are true." Said the Greybeard before a shout was sent forth, causing ripples and waves within the crowd. Talion, as it was, remained as unwavering and stoic as ever, the perfect pillow. He wasn’t one to jump nor frighten easily.


    After the man shouted, Talion felt the warmth of a most comforting flame cover his body, then evaporate to rest, hovering before him. A ball of green energy, an aura of pure heat, and strength burned bright, bobbing in front of him, reflecting into his eyes. He looked to his companion for but a moment, still buried into his arm. A smaller bobbing aura, matching in both color and heat, floated in front of her.


    Then turning his head on a swivel he began to cast his gaze to those around him. Each glowing with their own stroke of colour added to the plethora of light. It both amazed and startled him. This vast mass show of magicka, in such a large group of people, was something that he had never seen before unlike his tiny companion. Who would have felt no surprise, if she had felt the inclination to cast about her gaze, which she did not. Tauriel could feel and hear the reactions well enough but still found no need to open her eyes. Though her curiosity drove her to peak but for a short moment beyond her hood, her body told her everything else she needed to know thus far. Green. She smiled slightly.


    "Those who now only see green in front of their eyes, know that you are capable, and that your soul is strong. You are accepted to join the Sons of Sword. Those who are now rooted by Akatosh's yellow light, know that you are capable of joining the sons, and you can do much good to Nirn by doing so. But ask yourselves, do you wish to join the sons in order to save Tamriel, or to save yourselves? Those with the blue aura, that Kynereth smiles upon - your intentions are true and your ambition is greater than you might think. But you might need more then ambition, if you are to defeat the dragons. You can join the Sons of Sword, but only if you wish to learn how to wield that sword!"



    “Hm, right then Bear. Did I make the cut?” Though she had peaked for her own sake, disinterested as something she often feigned. The question itself may have come across rude, but she could justify that it was not so important to her to have seen her colour, but rather to know if her skill was required. For once she was employed to do a job then her true colour would come out in the full dedication and force of her skill and self.


    Talion shifted in his stance for a moment, looking down at his disinterested friend. He patted her head playfully before speaking in a joyful, joking tone. “Didn’t you hear, Re? Red means you gotta leave. I’ll help you pack when we can get back insi-“ He was interrupted by the sharp glance of Tauriel’s dagger like eyes, and the pain of a kick in the shin.


    “Oh, shove off” she grumbled


    He looked to the sky, laughing heartily at her slight annoyance, something that he had come to enjoy quite a lot.


    Having removed herself from her friends arm Tauriel sent a pouty look his way, then swinging her hip she bumped him with a surprising amount of force, not that it did her any good. Trying to unbalance him while he was standing so made as much sense as trying to move a mountain. Talion knew this, accustom to her bumps and chuckled. Before she turned her attention elsewhere the mer relaxed her face, giving Talion a familiar crooked smile. They had the job, now they needed the details. Crosse armed and waiting the mer stood, leaving her weight on one leg. The man likewise stood awaiting orders, tall and strong.
     

    CapObvious

    A Rotten Scroungeral
    A brooding Falco made his way up the mountain. He had just left his makeshift camp, which was a generous title for the small patch of melted snow he made into resting place. It was one of the few times his trapping runes had proved useful outside of combat. It wrapped him in a solid light encasement, kept the snow and such off of him as he slept.

    Nothing worse than being angry enough to shout the mountain apart, coupled with snow in your trousers. The humor of such a sight nearly took him out of his small mental brooding.

    Almost.

    As he continued to make his way upward, he noticed the footsteps that made their way before him, making a clear path for him to follow, while some actually looked to stop and loop backward, heading back down the mountain. Maybe some weren't cut out for it, and left before they took the risk. He wouldn't blame them. This was a great challenge they faced in these times. They we're risking their very lives against a threat that seems near impossible to defeat without their 'magic dragon slayer' who had rose to fight this very menace, only to fail in the end. No, he didn't blame them for turning back.

    But he wouldn't be joining them. He had the drive to make his way up to the sanctuary, he had the reasons he needed to trudge along, his mind fogged by a deep fury that he had suppressed for weeks. That has gnawed at him, sometimes sending him in a near frenzied state at night.

    It frightened him.

    His mind returned to the trail ahead.

    I swear...this path just doesn't end, does it?

    Finally, as if answering his silent prayers, the sanctuary came into view. He felt a grin form on his lips, his brooding at the past subsiding for a moment.

    As he made his way to the gathering of people, a voice rang out amongst them, speaking loud and proud. “Listen up, recruits!” His eyes traced the crowd for the source, but he couldn't find him from the spot her currently stood. The voice continued regardless.

    “It is time for your test. To see if you are worthy of joining the sons.” The voice continued, as Falco continued to search, finally setting on the man who had spoke.

    “Gather around Arngier, and do whatever he asks you too.” He finished, turning away from the group. “Have faith in yourselves” He stated, still turned away, heading away. Falco, seemed confused by his words. A test? A test of their worth? He planted his feet firm, his eyes settling on this Arngier, or at least, who he believed to be.

    He was certain his purpose was enough. But was his battle prowess? Would his techniques be enough for a creature as large as those dragons could be? His bow would strike true, that was certain...but how could someone trap something as large as a dragon?

    The old man spoke, quieting his mind. “Do not have fear, for what is to come will show me if your intentions are true.” Before he had time to think, a great shout came from the old man.

    "Yah Vahzah Bahlaan!"

    Falco felt himself lose balance a bit, but what caught his attention was the light that surrounded him. The old man spoke.

    "Those who now only see green in front of their eyes, know that you are capable, and that your soul is strong. You are accepted to join the Sons of Sword. Those who are now rooted by Akatosh's yellow light, know that you are capable of joining the sons, and you can do much good to Nirn by doing so. But ask yourselves, do you wish to join the sons in order to save Tamriel, or to save yourselves? Those with the blue aura, that Kynereth smiles upon - your intentions are true and your ambition is greater than you might think. But you might need more then ambition, if you are to defeat the dragons. You can join the Sons of Sword, but only if you wish to learn how to wield that sword!"

    The color of the light soon made sense to him, causing him to smile.

    Green. So he really was worthy, after all.

    He looked around to the few others with Green auras, while the rest had the other assortment of colors. Some had made their way toward the Sanctuary, and he followed after, ready to really get started.

    Ready to join these Sons and avenge those he loved that he could no longer see.
     

    Blackdoom59

    BATMAN!
    The test had ended, and with that, many dreams and aspirations as well. The recruits were different from one another, not only because of their aura color, but also because of their reaction to the whole situation. They were different to one another just like the clouds above them, whom blocked morning's sunlight from reaching the snowy mountain.

    Most recruits failed the test, some with yellow or blue auras backed down on their own, thinking they were not good enough to join such a powerful group, while those under the red auras shamefully walked away from the courtyard. But, not all of them were peaceful...

    3 Recruits kept their pride with them as they walked towards Arngeir, their loud words almost begging for an avalanche. "What was that, old man? You're trying to tell us we're not worthy? How do we know your magic works, and this isn't some trick?" one of them said. The man was young, but he wore expensive elven armor on him. His two companions were much like him. "The sons are the finest warriors of Tamriel. My shout revealed your potential, and you would just get in their way by the looks of it." Arngier spoke calmly, clearly not meaning to offend anyone. "So you're giving up free soldiers, that it? You haven't even seen us fight yet, you decrepit bastard!" the man spoke just as angrily as before. Annoyed, Arngier approached him "I'm giving up weaklings who will do more harm than good, like the three of you! Swallow your pride and walk away befor-"

    The man unsheathed his sword with haste as the old graybeard stepped back. The two behind him also readied themselves. Wulfgar sighed and stepped forward from the monastery gates, his voice so loud that the very stones trembled "Arngier, govey mey zu'u miin!"
    The three turned to see the other graybeard, scared by the sheer volume of his voice. "You will leave now, or your remains will learn to fly from the top of High Hrothgar!"

    One by one, they all started running away. The man that first spoke sheathed his sword and walked off the courtyard, cursing through his teeth.

    "Follow me, recruits, it is time you meet the leader of the Graybeards, the one who leads the sons from shadow. He will see if you're truly worth." Arngier started walking up the mountain to the Throat of the World, expecting the sons to follow him.
     

    shadowkitty

    Mistress of Shadows
    As if to prove her wrong, three foolish young men began to pester the Greybeard. Their argument got heated and suddenly another Greybeard stepped in from his position up on the balcony. His voice rumbled across the mountain top, causing everyone to stare. Soon the three protesters lost their nerve and quickly departed the court yard.

    Indari found the whole scene quite amusing. She would have loved to have seen them flying off the mountain. It would have gone down as one of the most hilarious things she had ever seen in an otherwise depressing life. What a pity they saw reason she sighed. Then Arngier spoke again to the Sons that were left behind.

    "Follow me, recruits, it is time you meet the leader of the Graybeards, the one who leads the sons from shadow. He will see if you're truly worth." He started to trudge up the mountain, expecting everyone else to follow. Indari looked around at those who were left. Most of them she had noticed had had green lights but there were a few that had blue and yellow. She studied a few of her companions.

    A man of mixed race, with light brown hair and worn armour; a long sword and small axe strapped to him. He looked capable enough. There was a tall, muscular nord with a large scar. Indari saw he wore light leather armour like she did, only he had a chainmail shirt over the top. He certainly looked capable. She observed the mismatched pair that seemed to know each other. A large mountain of a man and his tiny companion who seemed to be more interested in sleeping than anything else. Indari was not so sure about that one.

    A flash of blue had her swinging her eyes to another Nord. He had black hair with a smattering of a beard. He looked to be a few years older than her. Indari frowned, searching for the origins of the blue flash. A movement of his hands to his longsword produced the flash again. Indari noticed he wore a number of rings on his fingers. Odd she thought. Who wears jewelry to a sword fight? She moved closer to his footsteps and followed him up the mountain. But she was so intrigued that she had to say something.

    "Pretty rocks you have there." it wasn't particularly intelligent, but she wanted to get to know at least one person in this group of mismatched but like minded people.
     

    Wolfbane

    Why change the past when you can own this day?
    "Pretty rocks you have there," a soft voice shook him out of his idle walk and to a pretty blonde girl only a few years younger. She had obviously seen a glimmer from the stones when he gripped his longsword. Typical warriors would say that he was to boastful, or that only women wear jewelry. For one ring, there is a story.

    "Aren't they? I got one from a noble's son who thought he could best me due to having a costly tutor. Always seems like the richest are the most naïve, don't you think? As for the other rings, You'll have to wait to hear about those. That's if you're even interested," he gave a friendly smile and a nod while idly walking to the grey wards ragging on about whatever they rag on about. It would seem like he met someone that was interesting. That was enough for him to continue talking to her. The company made the wind less chilly in a way. Maybe it was due to all these people being bundled up and continuously moving. Could be either or, or it could be both. The sheer boredom was weighing heavily on him like the chill at his back.
     

    Orien Terrik

    "Arik tree'ac te kek."
    "Falkreath can not be lost. It is the only other hold besides Whiterun to still support the Empire. The city is still standing, and the hold hasn't had many incursions as of yet by the Dominion. If what your information from Oliver is true, we can not afford to loose it. That being said, Dominion forces have stepped up there raids in the Whiterun area. We fear they may be preparing to strike there. I can only offer you thirty soldiers at the most. However, the city's guards should still be active, and you can conscript people if you need, too. I will tell you one more time... Falkreath can NOT be lost. Now go, gather Thirty of your best soldiers, and get moving. The fate of the Empire rests in the Fourth Legions hands, son. Lets make our Emperor proud. Long live the Empire!" That was the last thing Tullius had said to him. Orien kept repeating Tullius's words in his head as he galloped on his horse full speed. Four Legionnaires followed right behind him on horseback as well. They looked like a small Calvary unit. As he arrived at Fort Neugrad, he saw a few guards approaching towards him. He slowed down, bringing his horse to a slow trot. He nodded curtly at them, his full-faced helmet covering up any expressions he made. "Get back to the city. Hurry." Then He kicked his horse, and rode on down the road, his fellow legionnaires following behind him. He thought he heard the guard yell something, but he didn't have time to turn back. He had to get back to the city.

    As he approached the Falkreath City's gate, which oddly never had an actual gate on it until now, he noticed even more tents pitched up all over the place. He knew that many refugees had come here, but he hadn't realized how many there would be. He assumed there were a bunch from Whiterun that had recently arrived due to the increased Dominion presence there. 'The Dominion is going to get us all killed. Its like they don't realize how big a threat the Dragons are.' He thought to himself. The city was over populated. He had to figure out something to do, some kind of battle plan. He knew the Forsworn would be arriving soon. The city was in pretty good shape. He had his men and women increase the wall size by adding wood to the smaller fences. Breastworks had been implemented. 'This city is on its way to being defensible. I still can't believe the Jarl abandoned the place just before I arrived. The coward ran away.' Orien sighed. He knew what to do. It was the only sensible thing to do. Terin, his second-in-command, approached him.
    "Terin, gather everyone up at the gate. And I mean everyone." He said. Terin nodded. Orien hopped off his horse, and walked forward, standing opposite of the crowd that was already gathering. Orien's shield was tied to his Horse's saddle. As everyone filled in, Orien drew his mace. He walked to one side of the dirt road, and slammed his mace into the ground, and drew a line across to the other side. The crowd, who had been mumbling to themselves, instantly shut up, and watched him. Orien walked back to the center of the line, took a few steps back, and faced the crowd as his remaining legionnaires filed in behind him. "We are in a dire situation. For those of you who have recently arrived, we have received intel that the forsworn are on there way here as we speak. I know Falkreath hasn't had much to do with this war, but you all are about to get a first hand introduction into it." He began. "The Legion is going to stay put, and defend this land. My goal is to protect you people, and I will die before anything happens to you. I want you to know that. Now, I know what I am about to ask is going to sound crazy, but do any of you fine men and women want to help defend this town? I was given permission to conscript, but I will not. I will only accept volunteers. The rest of you will be escorted by some soldiers, and will cross the border into Cyrodiil. Now then, if you are willing to stay behind and defend this City, cross this line, and stand behind me." He finished up. Almost as one, most of the people, men and women, stepped across the line. Orien grinned. Good old Nord people. Always looking for a fight, to defend there home and families. He was proud to call himself one, even if he was only half Nord. A few women and children had stayed behind the line. "Very well. Terin, pick five other soldiers, and take this group to Cyrodiil. And hurry." He ordered. Terin sighed, and saluted. He picked his soldiers, and just like that, they were off with the small refugee group, heading to Hammerfel. Orien turned back to the remaining people. "We brought armor and weapons along with us in those three carts over there. Olaf, Jonai, and Horak will get each of you situated and suited out in armor. We took what we could from Imperial stock, but not all of it is Imperial. Luckily Adrianne Avenicci and her Husband, who own Warmaiden's in Whiterun, had increased their output of weapons and armor recently. They even hired people. I asked if they would donate, and they said yes, so we should have enough gear for all of you. We got shields, maces, axes, swords, and even a few Warhammers. I will ask that if you already have a decent weapon, or some good armor, that you go ahead and use that. Long live the Empire and her people!" Orien finished his speech, and the crowd gave a rousing cheer. He didn't know it, but many of them were glad and relieved to have the Champion here leading them. As they moved past him, heading towards the carts in the city, Orien motioned his men inside the gate. As the new recruit, Fela, walked past, he grabbed her on the shoulder. The Bosmer woman turned to look at him, and he put a note and a map in her hand. "Take a horse, and deliver this note to Oliver at High Hrothgar. I have marked out the path you need to take to get there. Give it to him, and tell him it is from Orien. It should be about a three day ride, unless you gallop harder than you ever have. Now go!" He said to her. She saluted, and ran, hopping on a horse very agilely. The Female rode off down the road as fast as she could get her horse to go. Orien sighed, and walked back into the city as the makeshift gate closed behind him.
     
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    Valin Oakthorn

    Vagabond Extraordinaire
    Shortly after the light had covered the people in the courtyard and odd incident occurred. Some others who had received red confronted Arngier. Arngier forced them to leave, but Issac felt sympathy for them. He imagined how terrible he would feel had that been him. He felt even more relieved that he had been accepted.

    "Follow me, recruits, it is time you meet the leader of the Graybeards, the one who leads the sons from shadow. He will see if you're truly worth."

    Issac began his trek up the mountain as he observed the group of people that made it though initiation. There was around a dozen people making there way up the mountain. Each person seemed different from every other. This was, at it's core, a group of different people fighting for the same cause.

    Issac pulled his hood closer down over his face as he climbed farther. He wondered just who this leader of the sons of the swords was.
     

    shadowkitty

    Mistress of Shadows
    "Aren't they?" the handsome Nord answered her brightly "I got one from a noble's son who thought he could best me due to having a costly tutor. Always seems like the richest are the most naïve, don't you think? As for the other rings, You'll have to wait to hear about those. That's if you're even interested," Indari glanced at the man, wondering if he was being friendly or not. Sometimes she couldn't tell either way.

    "I never bothered with trinkets myself" she said then "Nor have I known many nobles" she shrugged brushing a lock of golden hair from her eyes. She turned her blue eyes up towards the peak of the mountain. "I Wonder why the Greybeard's leader lives alone up there?" she mused out aloud.

    "We will all soon find out, that is for certain" said a soft male voice from behind her. A tall man in leather and steal armour strode past her. He wore a helmet with the visor closed. Indari frowned at his back as he strode on up the mountain purposefully, his weapons clanging nosily against his armour. He wasn't exactly what you would call stealthy. She remembered seeing him during the test. His light had been blue. What had the Greybeard said about blue? she couldn't remember. She turned her attention back to her companion.

    "An odd bunch of people the Sons of Sword are" she remarked, not really expecting an answer.
     

    Specter of Death

    Omnipresent Moderator
    Staff member
    The two companions shifted in there stances as the large crowd that surrounded them, started to dissipate into nothing. Most of the people who had left the snowy court-yard, had been emanating Red. However, there were some who had emanated a pure blue, or a bright yellow, that had considered themselves unworthy, and joined the others in their exit. This left the yard empty and cold, aside from the 9 that still stood, encircling Arngier.

    Talion stood strong and tall, and Tauriel with her weight on one hip, both with their arms crossed patient and stern. As stoic as the very mountain on which they stood, they were left waiting and contemplating. Seemingly judging those left around them, all of which with similar expressions. Then, as fast as things went silent and calm, their thoughts were interrupted by the outburst of 3 young men.

    “What was that, old man? You’re trying to tell us that we’re not worthy? How do we know your magic works, and this isn’t some trick?” One of them questioned, focusing his anger, as well as his friends at the greybeard. Talion placed an arm of restraint across Tauriels chest, as she attempted to step towards 3 aggressors. They shared some more loud words, before the three drew their weapons from rest. Talion quickly lifted Ferbraun off of the ground at his side in preparation, while releasing Tauriel in the process, who too drew her bow. Before they stepped into the progressing confrontation, a voice that shook the ground beneath their feet interrupted them.

    “You will leave now, or your remains will learn to fly from the top of High Hrothgar!” Immidiately, the 3 angry men retreated from their spot in the court yard, sheathing their weapons and muttering harsh words as they did. Talion was left slightly dizzy from the shaking words of the Thu’um. He glanced at the man for a moment, before turning back to Arngier, and the rest of the accepted warriors. Tauriel had her bow placed at her back, and was intently staring at the greybeard, seemingly more focused than before.

    “Follow me recruits, it is time you meet the leader of the Greybeards, the one who leads the Sons from shadow. He will see if you are truly worthy,” the greybeard spoke, oddly calm for following the aggressive confrontation. Talion elbowed Tauriels shoulder lightly, with a crooked grin. “The Leader in the Shadows, huh?” He joked sarcastically to his companion, as he threw his axe up to sit atop shoulder.

    The two of them waited as the other warriors followed behind Arngier, so that they could remain at the back of the crowd. Talion nudged his partner once again, in gesture to the 9 in front of them, specifically to the Nord who’s hands were glimmering with jewels. “Fool thinks the enemy will respect his taste in jewels,” He chuckled quietly, as he watched his companion’s eyes. She looked ahead towards the man, letting out a chuckle of agreement, raising an eyebrow in mockery as she did so.

    “Now, now Li, we have to remember that some people draw pride from such trinkets. Now I've not known many that feel like they need to display all of their jewels at once.... But look, it seems to impress the ladies,” She said in a quieter voice, nodding towards the blond. “Or at least draws her attention, those shiny bobbles.” Talion grinned in response to his companion’s equally sarcastic tone. She had not been wrong, the jewels seemed to have made an affect on the blonde woman who had now approached him.

    Talion looked the woman up and down for a moment, a natural impulse that he had grown accustom to as a male. She was an attractive woman, of Nordic decent like himself. Obviously strong enough to handle herself in battle. However, the crossbow that was strapped to her back put him off a bit. He had never been a fan of ranged weapons, or those who had used them. However, he had made exceptions before, such as his companion. He shook his thoughts off, and looked back up to the group at his front, all of which had obvious fighting capability, but none totally interested him at the moment. He looked to Tauriel, and noticed the look that she had shared with him. They continued up the mountain, behind their peers in search of glory, silent and calm.
     

    Orien Terrik

    "Arik tree'ac te kek."
    Three days had passed since Orien had sent Fela on her little quest. The two days after she had left, it looked like things were getting better. More locals from the Hold had shown up, willing to fight and help out the defenders of the City. They had a decent sized Militia now. Orien had gotten a letter from Tullius that he would be able to send a few more legionnaires to Falkreath, and that by the time he had gotten this letter, they should be a day away. Not a whole lot, but every last man would count, and having a few more experienced soldiers would definitely be a step in the right direction. Things were starting to look good. Of course, that was before the third day. Today, things have gone from bad, to worse. To start things of, it started raining, and it wasn't a gentle rain, it was a downpour. A thunderstorm had apparently brewed over night, and moral instantly became low. On top of that, early in the morning, the former Jarl's longhouse, the place Orien had set up his HQ at, with all of his maps and documents, had been struck by lightning. The middle of the building collapsed in on itself. The fire was eventually able to be put out, but Orien's big map and all of his documents had been caught in the fire. As Orien looked through the rubble of the longhouse, there was an audible crack behind him. He visibly sagged his shoulders, and turned around. All of the rain had soaked the ground into a soupy mud. The western wall had collapsed in on itself, and the makeshift gate was sliding down the hillside. Orien was glad that his helmet was a full-faced variant, because he had very sour look on his face. Everyone, including Orien himself, went to work rebuilding the wall, and got it up by nighttime.

    Later, in the middle of the night, one of his Patrols returned to him with news. They had encountered the Legionnaire platoon that was to link up with us. Orien sighed in visible relief before the report was finished. At least there was some good...
    "Sir, they were all dead. A few of them had arrows in them. But the rest.... they were, roasted alive. The attack must have been fresh, because there was still a few fires burning around there. The arrows, the looked like the ones the Forsworn use, and the fire, well." The scout didn't finish the
    sentence, he didn't need to. They were all thinking the same thing. Orien sighed, this time, from dismay. The Forsworn were closer than he thought they had been.
    "Good report, and good job in the field. Get some food and rest." Orien said to the scouts. They saluted him, and walked out of his new makeshift Headquarters, in Lod the Blacksmith's house. Lod was kind enough to offer his house for the HQ. He sought Orien out while he was searching through the rubble of the Longhouse, and offered his home up. Orien had gratefully accepted the offer. Word would get out about the lose of the Legion troops that were coming to help. He needed to tell the villagers, so they would trust him.

    Early in the morning, the next day, he gathered everyone up. Removing his helmet, he began his speech.
    "I know we have had a rough time this past day. It burdens me to tell you this, but I have more bad news. We are all in this together, and so, it is with great dismay that I tell you this. The Imperial Platoon that was on its way to reinforce us... has been lost. As far as we know, there were no survivors. We are all alone. The enemy is closer than we realize. The caravan that was sent to use was burned by fire. Our best case scenario is that the enemy has Magicians. Some my wonder why this is the best case, however, if you truly think about it, you will understand why." Orien didn't want to say it, but he had his suspicions. The worst case scenario... was that the enemy was being lead by a Dragon. He continued; "I know the past day has been tough, and I fear that this is just the beginning. I was pulled from the front lines of the war with the Dominion to defend this city. War is brutal, and it is not pretty. The Dominion wants us destroyed. They believe in the Supremacy of Mer over Man. And now, to top it off, the Dragons and their army think that they are better than us as well. Well, let me tell you right now..." His voice began to rise in volume, "They have under estimated us. They believe that they are SUPERIOR! But look at us! WE are Nords, the bravest, and biggest warriors in the land! And we are Redguard, the finest sword wielders in all of Tamriel! We are Brentons, who's Magic knows no bounds. And we are Imperials, tacticians and warriors, bred and born. Not even all Elves believe that Mer are superior! We are the Empire, made up of many different races and talents. We are an Empire that has lasted Thousands of Generations. Our Emperor's may have changed, but our allegiances have not. They believe they are Superior, but they are wrong! And we WILL SHOW THEM HOW WRONG THEY ARE! We make our stand here, and we will prove our worth, no matter what happens, we hold this line! Long live the Empire, and all of her brave citizens!" Orien finished up. The crowd was eerily silent. Orien frowned, putting his helmet back on, and as he did so, a rousing cheer went up from the crowd. He smiled under his helmet, as everyone set to work fortifying the walls more, to make sure that there wasn't any other "accidents". Orien chuckled, and joined with the others, to help fortify the city. Orien may have been oblivious to it, but having the Champion leading them boosted their Moral Ten fold. When Orien got worked up, so did they. Orien set about working, smiling to himself. 'There were rough times ahead, that was for sure. But with good leadership, this small band of warriors, this ragtag militia, we may be able to survive this.' He thought. As he worked, he sent out a prayer to the Divines under his breath. Specifically, to Talos. "Talos, watch over us all as we go through this time. I pray to you that you give me the ability to lead these people in battle correctly. Guide me, Talos. Help me to be the kind of leader that you were." He finished up the prayer. It felt like a visible weight had been removed from his shoulders, and now he felt like he had more energy. He buried himself in the work to fortify the city.
     
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    Toxius

    Frost Wolf
    Zuriel watched as three of the so called unworthy, red aura’ed people approached the one called Arngier. It had appeared that not everybody was on the same level, not everybody would be peaceful.

    "The sons are the finest warriors of Tamriel. My shout revealed your potential, and you would just get in their way by the looks of it.” The grey beard said, not giving in to the three men. Who in turn just got more annoyed, angrier and by the looks of it wouldn’t stop harassing the old man.

    One of the men, gripped on his sword and pulled it out. He was going to threaten the old man, it didn’t seem like we needed him anyway. It was a gesture of arrogance and it showed his egotistic behavior. Sudden a thu’um echoed once again,

    "You will leave now, or your remains will learn to fly from the top of High Hrothgar!" he said politely before everybody watched as the men sheathed their swords just as quickly as they had rushed to Arngier’s side, to threaten him. Once that was over, Arngier turned back before the party, whom were a part of the Son of Swords now.

    "Follow me, recruits, it is time you meet the leader of the Graybeards, the one who leads the sons from shadow. He will see if you're truly worth." Arngier spoke over the murmur which had settled in the courtyard, obviously about those who had Green auras and those who were blue and yellow but still decided to join the Son of Swords. It was a fraction of those who had come to join, but Zuriel guessed it was something to start with. After all, he didn’t know how many more there were.

    Arngier starting walking to the throat of the world, all of us were to meet the leader of the Son of Swords. Zuriel could not help but to think who it might be. Was there another greybeard living at the top of the mountain? How did he or possibly she survive the cruel winds and cold temperatures that followed? Zuriel looked at the rest of the group as he slowly followed Arngier to the mountain peak. It was a mixed group, but they were all probably mercenaries such as himself. The two at the back, the odd couple. He didn’t see anything quite like it. The two seemed like the opposite of each other but those with similar minds do attract each other. The man was the biggest of the group, Zuriel wouldn’t want to mess with him or the girl with him.

    He looked to those in front of him, the probable flirting of the one women and the one with the shiny rings. Another one pulled his hood down, either hiding his face from people or from the bitter cold that ensued. Yes, a big group of different, yet alike people all brought together for a similar cause. It was almost a natural response in which he found himself playing with one of the his favourite blades, slowly swinging it side to side before testing the sharpness of the blade against his finger. The peak of the mountain was getting close, soon they all would met the leader behind this. Somehow he should gain the trust of the group but he liked the silence.
    However he soon slowed down, and was close enough to the pair at the back of the group.

    "So what brings the both of you here?" He opened with. Hoping for some sort of polite response.
     
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    Andre Marek

    You can run, but you'll only die tired...
    Marek watched the exchange between Arngier and the three men, silently grinning to himself at their own stupidity. They didn't see how their own reactions to not getting picked illustrated the exact reason behind their failure. As the rest of the recruits began following Arngier up the steps on the other side of the courtyard, Marek took a moment to take a closer look at some of the others in the group.

    All twelve of them looked to be very capable, judging from their armor and armament. A few of them looked young enough to be just starting out in the mercenary life. The blond girl that had arrived only moments earlier, as well as the young man wearing a worn out set of plate armor. Both looked to be rather new to the business, the girl more so judging by her overly friendly attitude towards the others. Most mercs were quiet and withdrawn, keeping to themselves out of fear of being double crossed. Although, based on the fact that her colour had been green, Marek decided that she probably wasn't entirely new to the dangerous games that these people played and could likely take care of herself. The crossbow on her back and longsword at her hip served to reinforce that idea. The young man in the plate armor seemed likewise capable. Although his armor was worn out and probably wouldn't have stopped Mareks fist, his sword was taken care of well enough to serve its purpose, as was his shield, which was actually rather fine. He also carried a small hatchet with an engraving on the blade. Marek was too far away to see what it said. Likely a keepsake from a loved one. His father perhaps?

    Mareks grey eyes moved on to the next man as he passed by. The man wore very expensive ebony plate armor of the finest make accompanied by more than one sword on his belt and back along with several daggers shoved into sheathes all over his person. He was probably the most heavily armed of the group. His obviously expensive attire, combined with the weapons made Marek think that the man was either a noble of some sort, although he couldn't recall hearing of him, or he was likely a very successful mercenary who had a knack for staying anonymous. It was a valuable skill to have in their trade and only served to make Marek more curious.

    One more man wearing a neat set of leather armor over a black jacket and looking to be of similar age to the young man in the worn plate armor, passed him before Marek stepped into line behind the rest of the group. Marek made sure no one else was following behind him as he brought up the rear of the group, which was mostly blocked from his view by the giant of a man striding up the snow covered slope next to the slight elven woman who seemed to never leave his side. Marek had noticed them several times during the last couple days in the monastery. Standing over six and a half feet tall, it was hard not to notice such a man, especially when his size was as contrasted as it was by his companion who couldn't have been more than five and a half feet at the most. Despite their apparent youth, Marek knew who they were. The Bird and the Bear. Could have guessed they would survive but I didn't expect to see them up here, joining the Swords. He thought grimly. Those two were usually found wherever the best coin was to be made. They had quite the reputation as the go-to pair if you wanted a bothersome group of bandits taken care of and had made a name for themselves as soldiers of fortune. Although they, like himself, had probably figured that the dragons wouldn't be good for business in the long run.

    Grimly pulling his cloak closer around his shoulders to ward off the biting wind, Marek trudged forward in the wake left by The Bear which made the climb considerably easier. He filed his observations about the group away in the back of his mind as they made their way towards the peak and the mysterious leader of the Greybeards. He didn't commit too much energy to speculating over who that leader was at the moment. They would find out soon enough who it was. However, out of a desire for some form of insurance, he still pulled a small glass vial out of a pouch on his belt, the contents of which would create a stinging white smoke when exposed to the air that would blind anyone unfortunate enough to wander into it. It made for an easy way to dispatch an enemy or quickly get out of trouble should he have to. He tucked the vial under his gauntlet where he could easily get at it and continued on.
     

    Blackdoom59

    BATMAN!
    As the recruits made their way up the mountain, Arngier suddenly sighed and stopped walking. Everyone behind instantly stopped all the same. He turned around with a concerned look on his face as he examined each and every recruit, his eyes jumping from one to another like a startled spider.

    He nodded, stroking his beard. "From now on, you will walk without me until you reach the top. I have faith that you will succeed in whatever test Paarthurnax will have prepared for you. You are all strong individuals, driven to the same goal. Your willpower, your faith, your hate... will hurt Alduin more than any blade, if used correctly."
    He started to walk among them, slowly going back the way he came as the snowflakes stopped pouring from the sky. As he left the group, he turned his head around, his face now completely hidden by his cloak. "Parthuurnax may seem strange to you, but don't let his appearance startle you..." most recruits peered at him questioningly, but he only climbed down the mountain, paying no mind to his surroundings.

    After a minute's walk, they finally reached it. The Throat of the World. The cold air felt like boiling water in comparison to the temperature below. For a little while they sat there, knowing where their future leader might be. Suddenly, a screeching sound could be heard from the sky, as a figure clouded the skies above the recruits, reaching an incredible speed while traversing the horzion. The dragon descended from the clouds, and into the snow, a house length away from the recruits. As he reached ground, the snow was blasted off, blinding the recruits with the immaculate color. He retracted his wings back to his body, and rose his head higher. "Drem Yol Lok, Sons of Sword! I greet you, to the Throat of the World!"

    ----

    The recruits all had different reactions, but instantly after the dragon landed, Richard unsheathed his axe and charged at him before Paarthuurnax could finish talking. From behind, Skyler managed to touch him with enough alteration magic to visibly strengthen his armor. Paarthuurnax waited patiently, not moving a muscle as the lad was rushing to him.
     

    shadowkitty

    Mistress of Shadows
    As they all waited on the Throat of the World even Indari was uncomfortable with the biting cold. The frozen air made it harder to breath and she used all her concentration to just take in shallow breaths and warm her body slightly with some heat magic. Her blue eyes scanned the horizon but nothing much could be seen that high up.. just a blue expanse with fluffy white clouds that spread out like a rug over the whole world. Then there was a loud rumbling roar and the beating of leathery wings and suddenly there was a dragon landing right in front of them. The force of it's landing shook the ground and sent a spray of snow their way.

    . "Drem Yol Lok, Sons of Sword! I greet you, to the Throat of the World!" A deep voice reverberated inside her. Dragon-fear gripped at Indari's stomach as she processed what she was seeing in front of her. Before the dragon had finished it's greeting however, the armored man who had spoken to her before rushed forward, a war cry leaving his lips. His armour glowed for a second as he continued to charge, his war axe raised above his head. Indari's quick mind put two and two together and she realised that the dragon was the leader the Greybeard had meant them to meet. Her mind reeled at that revelation. She had only an instant to react. She had her crossbow loaded and drawn in a heartbeat and she pointed it.

    Not at the dragon, but at the charging man. Her arm shook as she aimed at her fellow Son of Sword. She was torn between shooting him and letting him attack the dragon. She had to at least warn him as she saw others reacting similar to her.

    "Stay your hand!" she shouted.
     

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