18+ The War of the Holds [OPEN]

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    Hale Loneshadow

    Well-Known Member
    4th Era: Year 248. Summer.
    Whether or not Hale Loneshadow was, at times, a procrastinator and a holds-his-eggs-in-one-basket kind of person, he always strove to keep his word. Unfortunately, such good intentions did not always hold up in his favor.

    Today found Hale in a situation he had been finding himself tied up in progressively more often within the past few years. Unfortunate too, because if only these high lords and ladies would listen to a lowly templar from High Rock then all might very well be made right in the world. Of course, he could have perhaps taken a rather more diplomatic approach to garner their more kindly gazes, rather than barge in to Falkreath proper with the head of a striga in a bag.

    Eh, something something, hindsight, Hale thought with an external grimace. Wonderful. Now, he'd have to take the hard way to Whiterun.

    Some might say that what one who is chained and locked in a keep's cellar has to say is irrelevant, but then those people had never been forced to live the life of Hale Loneshadow.

    Two lockpicks and a small handful of gold to the bored guards later, Hale quietly slipped out of the curiously militarized Falkreath, and once having recovered his horse Eagle-Runs from outside of the city lines, made all haste back to Riverwood.

    Once within the more friendly town, Hale swung his weapons and pack onto his person, hurrying into The Sleeping Giant Inn. While most of Riverwood had changed little in the past half-century - excepting more private households and farms (and the militarized fortress walls now guarding its main town borders) - the Sleeping Giant had expanded. Growing both in length and height, having added more area to the main kitchen, inn, bar and hearth areas as well as adding two floors of rooms to rent, the Sleeping Giant was itself a giant of the innkeeping industry, even in this time of war.

    "Two brandy's, whatever food you've got, and a room for a week if you would, please, miss," said Hale to the striking barkeeper-ess, taking a seat each for himself and his gear. "You know, give me a third brandy. For the horse, you see," he added with a wink.

    Though he wasn't sure she'd gotten the joke, that mattered less than both the liquor he was now gulping down in front of him, and more importantly, taking a deep glance throughout the bar where he indicated he'd wished to meet any willing companions. Hoping to see some of those potential companions already here, Hale turned around on his seat at the edge of the bar, and looked out to see who may be here, or may be entering...
     

    Thesius

    The Imperial Paladin
    Kallus Briarhand entered the walled town of Riverwood several hours after dawn, allowed entrance by wary sentries who watched him with more than a little suspicion. Apparently, the symbol of Arkay on his gear did not absolve him from scrutiny. But there was a war on, he remembered. The guards continued to watch him as he strode down the main street.

    His heavy gear attracted a few curious stares. Full plate was not usual in these parts, except for a few soldiers. One of the braver citizens scurried closer, peering at the symbol of Arkay on his breastplate. Kallus nodded to the man "may Arkay bless you and keep you, my son." The paladin murmured, the nord murmured something that may have been thanks, before heading on his way. As he made his way through the city, the interest in the paladin waned and he made his way through the town, towards the Sleeping Giant.

    The inn dominated the surrounding town, being taller even than the walls that protected Riverwood. Kallus assumed that the man who'd sent out the pamphlet a harried looking courier had shoved into his hand would be there. He shoved the door open, drawing the stares of several patrons, and a man that was very obviously not a regular. Armour protected his torso with a faded crest of some sort on the breastplate.A cavaliers' hat sat atop his head.

    The paladin approached and set the parchment on the bar between them. "I presume this is your doing. Or at least, that we are here for the same purpose." His pale blue eyes bored into the other man, awaiting his response. He had no reason to suspect treachery but blindly trusting strangers was far too naive for his tastes.
     

    Screeching Spasmodically

    Spasmodic Screecher
    Selena Barnet made her way through wilds of Whiterun hold, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to herself. It was wartime, after all and strangers had never been welcome in Skyrim. She dipped a hand into her satchel, feeling the folded parchment there. Maybe times were changing. Her father had told her stories of the last war, when Skyrim had attempted to secede from the empire. This is something altogether different. She thought, brushing a low hanging branch out of her way. As she did, she glanced up at the sky, wondering what time it was. She had set out from Falkreath hold several hours ago, headed towards the village of Riverwood. She judged it to be late morning, almost noon. But then, she rarely spent time traipsing through the underbrush.

    The weather was more pleasant now, at least. Falkreath, apparently was foggy and raining year round. This morning had been no exception to the rule, with a deluge soaking her cloak barely ten minutes after she'd left the walls behind. Which was typical, for her situation. Usually, when things went wrong, they went wrong right after Selena had committed to doing that thing. "Could be worse," she muttered, shrugging her still damp cloak up around her shoulders. She winced, half expecting to fall into some so far undiscovered trap.

    When she put her foot down without incident, she let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. Pausing to get her bearings, she realized she could hear a river rushing by, off to her right. Stepping out through the trees, she saw it moving quickly, towards a walled town in the distance. "Riverwood, I'd guess." Glad that she hadn't just walked right past the place, she left the woods, stepping onto the cobblestone road. She was vulnerable, out here but she'd look far less suspicious to any guards if they saw her walking up the road instead of stumbling from the woods.

    It did not take long to reach the walled town and her approach did not go unnoticed. A pair of guards on the walls stopped to watch her and she watched them, very much aware of the longbows they held. "Halt!" One of the men at the gate ordered, hand up, palm towards her. "State your business." She reached into her satchel again, careful to keep her hand away from the hilt of her scimitar, Summers' Song.

    "I'm here to meet with a Hale Loneshadow. Do you know him?"

    The man glanced at the parchment she held, then nodded "aye, the breton. Holed up in the Sleeping Giant. Probably waiting for you."

    "The Sleeping GIant?" She asked, wondering how she was supposed to know where that was. The town was bigger than she expected, that was for sure.

    The guard turned and pointed "go down the road a bit, then take a right. Biggest building in Riverwood. Can't miss it."

    Selena nodded her thanks, put the parchment away, and followed the mans' directions. He hadn't lied, the redguard admitted. The building really did tower over the surrounding houses and businesses. The sign swinging from a post outside left little doubt. She started to make her way towards the inn, then thought better of it, instead hanging back near the smithy, wanting to get a look at whoever would be her companions on this venture.
     

    Nascent

    Member
    As a general rule, Khajit were not allowed in any of the settled places of Skyrim. But Khajit, you see, can be rather good at breaking rules...

    Undead were not one of Kassom's favorite things -- not by a long shot. So the idea of a job that would put coin in his pocket and lead to far fewer rotty bastards wandering the lands struck him as an opportunity if ever there was one. Having picked a job notice from the pocket of an unlucky drunk a few nights back (and a few Holds away), it didn't seem the kind of thing he could rightly ignore. He knew the old saying about cats and curiosity, of course... but it had never stopped him before, so why stop taking chances now? Concealed under a hooded dark brown cloak, he seemed to melt out of the shadows of the room and silently "appear" behind the Arkayian paladin, taking a seat uninvited before placing his own copy of the parchment note next to Kallus'. "If that purpose includes gold and a decline in shambling corpses, I'd venture we're all here for the same cause." He glanced between the two Bretons, gauging their reactions. If this went sideways, at least he only had to worry about himself -- Iris was holed up back at camp, far enough past the walls that she should be able to avoid trouble. "So... let's keep our voices down and discuss this like the professionals we all clearly are, hm?" A bit of flattery would hopefully smooth things over, at least until he worked out which way this situation was going to go...
     

    Morbidbread

    Fight for the lost
    Ferron Varl wasn't generally one for throwing in to some fool or anothers' cause. Especially not when it involved fighting undead. Most men, mer, and beastfolk, a blade through the heart or a slashed throat put them down. Even a good beating could take the fight out of someone. Not so much with the dead. Couldn't slash the throat of skeleton and good luck getting near a vampire without having your own throat torn out. Probably before the one doing the hunting even knew the target was there. "Varl, you idiot" he muttered to himself, as he rested his back against one of the large wooden beams that held up the balcony of the Riverwood Trader. The general store with a name so unimaginative, a skooma-brained khajiit could have come up with better.

    He knew the notice he'd had shoved into his hand mentioned everyone meeting up at the Sleeping Giant inn, but he liked to know just what he was getting into before he committed. Walking into a building without knowing who or what was waiting on the other side of a door was an amateur mistake. Ferron had set up a small camp a half hours' walk to the east of Riverwood a full day ago, when he'd first arrived. Since then he'd been watching folk come and go. Most had been travelers or merchants. Some soldiers. A few mercenary types, either signed on with the army or running some errand for a thane or two.

    It was the last category of folk that interested Varl. He didn't imagine this 'Loneshadow' fellow to be some jarls' son or traveling noble. If anything, he was a do-gooder that wanted to make a difference. The most dangerous type of adventurer, more likely to get themselves and everyone with them killed in their pursuit of justice. He could be wrong, of course. After all, the note had mentioned money, which was why Ferron had taken the job in the first place.

    After several hours, two prospective matches entered the inn. One was a man in clear adventuring gear, with a crossbow over his shoulder and a sword on his hip. The other was a man in heavy plate armour, who paused to speak to one of the staring peasants before making his way inside. He was about to follow suit and introduce himself when movement caught his eye. A redguard woman was going up the steps of the inn. Then she hesitated, doubled back, and crossed the road to the blacksmiths shop. Where she mirrored his pose, watching the inn carefully.

    With a start, Ferron realized he knew that woman. "No." He said flatly, "no bloody way is it her." But the similarities with the bumbling blacksmiths' daughter he'd run into years ago were all there. With a groan that might have given him away, had anyone heard it, he slipped back, into the alley between the store and the inn. He circled around to the back of the building, then passed a few houses until he estimated he was well past the blacksmith, and out of the girls' line of sight.

    Nonchalantly, he crossed the road and looped around until he was at the house directly beside the smithy. He turned the corner, walking up behind the oblivious redguard. Since he'd seen her, she hadn't looked over her shoulder once. Well, that was about to change. Rolling his eyes, he got as close as he dared, out of swords range, of course, and loudly exclaimed "godssake, girl. Haven't you learned anything since the last time we met?"
     

    Hale Loneshadow

    Well-Known Member
    Setting his waning glass of brandy down, Hale glanced at each of those who were his newest compatriots. Though they were a bit fewer in number than he would have hoped for, the Breton nobleman knew from his experience as a knight of High Rock - which entailed intelligence gathering and other fieldwork as well as one's work on the battlefield - that there were more than likely a few more awaiting them outside. Holding their cards close, as it were.

    Hale couldn't blame them. He probably would have done the same after all. Indeed, he found himself more surprised that these others had so openly greeted him in these perilous times.

    All of a sudden, Hale went just a bit colder than usual for the adroit man.

    Oh, well damn. Maybe I've offered my own life up to an assassin being so open with those notices...then again, it's not like I'm bloody well infamous...ah, feck.

    With a sigh that belied his acceptance of whatever situation he had now found himself in of his own pre-design, Hale Loneshadow hopped off the barstool, quickly packed a pipefull of pipeweed and lit the material, and gathered up some faux confidence to address the small group sitting before him, awaiting answers.

    "Yes, yes, my name is indeed Hale Loneshadow, and this is indeed my doing mister armored hero man," he said, giving the massively armored warrior a thwack on his shoulder pauldron. Taking a draw from his pipe and a quick dash of brandy, Hale tried to put on a serious, mysterious stare to draw them all in just a bit more.

    "Come, follow me outside all. This stale air is getting into my lungs," said Hale. The group cautiously but curiously walked with him to the outside deck. They were all the more visible (and hearable!) now, but, all within the rider's plan. "Now, I'm sure you astute individuals have noticed that there's been no small manner of insidious feckery going on in these lands. Feckery caused by the undead. Undead caused, as some of you may know or may have guessed, by vampire sorcerers. Technically vampire necromancers, I guess. Either way, they're causing more and more trouble and will only get worse, but pretty much every hold besides our good old Whiterun here is more concerned with the great Unification War, as they're calling it on either side. So, vis a vie some intelligence gathered over the past some months by myself and several other compatriots, I've found what gives great indication of being the stronghold of the vampire queen."

    Hale puffed thrice more on his pipe, leaned against one of the tree-like posts of the inn, and took in the myriad individuals, duos, and groups along the towns road, trying his best to soak in each face.

    "Only out of the ordinary thing about this place is - besides being a vampire necromancer's stronghold - that it's a castle alright...rather, it's a castle built upside-down underground. Meaning of course, that the tippy top of the vampire harlequin's keep is somewhat deep underground." He scratched his angular, dark beard in a sudden state of rapid thought.

    "Think a Dwemer stronghold, if the Dwemer built in the style of gothic-Imperial. Well, whose ready to do this? We can grab some supplies here at the inn, and leave quickly for the outskirts of the area." He somewhat-but-not-very subtly raised the timber of his voice a few notches, almost as if to alert any droppers of eaves.

    "This main fortress is just northeast of - he deftly unfolded part of the map in his pack and peeked at it - "Peak's Shade Tower Ruins. Just east of Falkreath...trust me. If we make haste, we can get to the outskirts to make camp and recon before nightfall. Or, if we can even poke around a bit if we have enough strength in both stamina and numbers. Either way, does anyone need to get any supplies before we take off?"
     
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    Nascent

    Member
    Vampire. Necromancer. Queen.

    Kassom would be lying if he didn't feel a pulse of hesitation at those three words. He held no love for either of the first two, and the third made it all just that much worse. Your lock-standard vamp could live for divines-know how long, which meant that was a bloody (in more ways than one) long time to be studying necromancy. Add to that the kind of resources and following that a title like 'queen' implied and... yeah, his mind was dancing in dark places among images of zombie hordes and ebony-clad blood-knights. Not encouraging.

    Still... the fact remained that the surge of undead across the Holds was a serious problem. For one thing, it damnably complicated the prospects of looking for a way back to his (and his sister's) own time -- Dwemer ruins were bad enough without the increased risk of them being used as staging grounds for all manner of necrotic unpleasantness, a fact he'd had to discover the hard way. This was not a problem that would abide sneaking past for very long, no. A more permanent solution was needed.

    "So..." He fell into step behind their "fearless leader", making sure his hood was pulled up to conceal his face. "Why random mercenaries, Loneshadow? Seems to me this is the kind of thing you'd enlist the Dawnguard for, maybe the Vigilants?" Hopefully those two groups were still operating -- fifty-odd years forward in time meant Kassom's knowledge risked being badly out of date, but it was a question worth asking. His voice dropped a bit further as he added "Or, say... the Dark Brotherhood? Not that I'm complaining about doing a good deed and getting paid for it... it's just that I like to know what's expected of me before I commit to a job. You understand, I'm sure."

    No way was he dragging Iris into this until he knew the full picture, after all...
     

    Thesius

    The Imperial Paladin
    Kallus glanced down at the shoulder where the man, Loneshadow, had struck it. The paladin was mildly impressed that no flicker of pain showed up on the mans' face, though his fingers must surely have been stinging. Before he could introduce himself, a second voice spoke up; a khajiit that he had not noticed before. The furred humanoid didn't offer his name, or didn't have time to, before Loneshadow was ushering them all outside. Kallus gave the interior of the taverns' common room one more sweep, but if any of the assembled people were looking to join their group, he could not tell in the brief glance that he got. He followed the man outside, where the adventurer, for that's what he seemed like to the paladin, was describing what he knew about the vampire menace and their stronghold. When he paused to take a breath, Kallus spoke up.

    "You have done well to discover this much," he deadpanned, with no change to his tone or expression, "but traveling anywhere near a vampires' lair, especially if the creature is as powerful as it seems to be, is a fools errand, unless we have the means and the manpower to root the beast out. If we leave so much as one of them alive, they will rebuild elsewhere, and be alerted to our intentions." He glanced over at the khajiit as he questioned why they had been chosen for this task, rather than the vigilants of Stendarr, the Dawnguard, or the Dark Brotherhood. He said nothing, instead turning to examine the street, wondering if it would be the three of them against an entire covens' worth of vampires.
     

    Aspen

    Member
    Marwen glanced up at the sudden flurry of movement off to her right, her keen elven ears giving her a few moments warning before...something burst from the thick underbrush off the road. Faster than most would have thought possible, the aldmeri axe was out of its' holster and in her hands, at the ready. She took a cautious step further into the road as the rustling increased before stopping. The elven woman cocked an eyebrow, starting to wonder if whatever lurked within had thought better of revealing itself, when an orange blur shot forth. She choked a cry of surprise and started to bring the axe down in a lethal arc when she realized what she was about to cut in twain.

    A young fox stood in the road, head tilted to one side as it watched the elf standing before it. Marwen chuckled and lowered her weapon as the little beast gave a huff as if to say: 'what's her problem' before it trotted away. "Yeah, you'd better run" she called after it, willing her heart to slow. She cast a speculative glance at the brush it had leapt from, wondering what prompted such behaviour, before deciding she'd rather not find out. She continued moving but kept her axe propped against her shoulder, ready to swing down on any less benign surprises.

    The walled town of Riverwood waited ahead of her and she could see the guards patrolling along the stone walls. She could also see the pair of guards at the gate, eyeing her, or more accurately, her axe, as she came around the bend in the road. Both men on the ground appeared to be having some sort of conversation as she approached, before one of them advanced a sort ways towards her. "Hold there. What's your business in Riverwood?"

    Fighting the urge to roll her eyes- there was only really one reason someone like her would bother coming to the town, fortified and ready for war or not. "Well," she started, "I've been hired by the thalmor to conquer Skyrim, and I've decided to start with Riverwood. Would you like to surrender now, or shall we have a bit of scuffle first?" Whatever answer the guard had been expecting, that was not it. He started to form several responses, before he turned to look back at his comrade, shrugging hopelessly.

    The other guard, probably a little more experienced, made an annoyed 'get on with it' gesture. "Uh...right. Are you- are you here to join that Loneshadow fellows' group?"

    "Clever boy. Through here, yes?" Without waiting for a proper response from the sputtering guardsman, she passed the older, exasperated looking man, and entered Riverwood itself. She allowed herself a small smile as she heard the guard giving his comrade a full dressing down as he returned to his post. Ahead of her, she saw a trio of figures, two armoured and one looking to be wearing rather ragged gear. Two others, a redguard and a human that was either breton or imperial, were standing near what she guessed was a blacksmiths' shop.

    She joined the trio in the street in time to hear the one in the middle finish describing some impossible sounding fortress. "Oh, and we're just going to march into the mouth of this doom fortress, kill the necromancer...vampire...empress, and call it a day?" She placed one hand on her hip as she considered. "Well, so long as we can come back here for drinks by dawn, I'm on board. Marwen Allionthar." She didn't bow, but she did glance over the others expectantly.
     

    Snoball

    23rd President of the United States of America
    The Sleeping Giant's Inn most senior barmaid just finishes teaching a couple of the new hires how to navigate the cellar below the main floor. She then takes note of the many footsteps above her and figures its time to go back to work. Upon climbing the creaky wooden steps, she peers out and sees three interesting adventurer looking types, two well armored humans and a khajiit in rags as they leave the inn. It was a gut feeling but she knew this was the job that old, bumbling orc had been waiting on the past couple days. She proceeds to grab the nearest broom and marches to the orc's rented room. The loud, bellowing snoring made it clear he slept through the meeting of the adventurers. She grabs the blunt end of the broom and starts jabbing him in the stomach to wake the "sleeping giant".

    "Wake up! Wake up you drunken, old oaf!" The sudden jabs immediately wake Sir Brokk, he adjusts himself into an upright sitting position. His breath weighs heavily of ale as his head is pounding. He scratches his bald scalp and then wipes a bit of dried drool from the corner of his mouth.

    "I'm up woman, I'm up! Just put the damned broom away, for divine's sake." She scoffs and leans the broom against the wall as the orc attempts to recollect himself. He was in fact a regular at the inn and had been staying at the room since the night before in anticipation for the man named Loneshadow and his call to adventurers he had issued. However, he got a tad impatient last night and used his remaining coin to enjoy himself by getting absolutely hammered. As such, he accidentally slept in most of the day and completely missed the gathering of the adventurers.

    "Saw an interesting bunch'a travelers just leaving the inn, probably still nearby. I'll take it they were the group you planned on meeting here. Or WOULD have met here if you hadn't drank yourself halfway to the grave." Her complaints were not unwarranted however. The inn has never taken too kindly to Brokk's drinking as he becomes quite loud and rowdy after a few bottles of ale. He's aided them in protecting some of their supplies on the road however, as such they feel guilty at times for wanting to kick the old orc to the curb. He is coming to understand however that his constant presence here may not be the best for business.

    "Damn. Wouldn't have killed ya to wake me a bit sooner, hmm?" Sir Brokk swiftly begins to suit up, much faster than he was doing so a moment ago. He knew he had to hurry and meet with the others as jobs were becoming far and few between. Unsurprisingly, most people would rather hire a younger, grizzled mercenary in their prime than a drunk, greying ex-knight to take their contracts.

    "Oh, apologies m'lord. Didn't want to wake the sleeping princess from her beauty sleep." Brokk laughs in an obvious sarcastic tone, as he finishes strapping himself into his armor and takes his warhammer from the wall. After getting all his supplies together, he prepares to step out of into Riverwood. "And be sure to not get yourself killed out there, yeah?"

    "No worries. If I join the dead I'll be sure to come back and haunt the inn. If I already do it while I live, why stop then?" The barmaid lets out a small chuckle as her eyes roll. She leaves him to continue her work as Brokk prepares to set foot ouside. With his hand on the handle of the door, he can hear a few people discussing a job out on the terrace, he correctly assumes this is the job he is meant to take. Before opening however he waits and hears the details of the job. The mention of vampires, and wars, and fortresses put second thoughts of joining into the Orc's head. However he looks to his near empty coinpurse as motivation to take this job anyway. He steps out to see the three adventurers were joined by a fourth, an Altmer who just concluded introducing herself to everyone. He proceeds to do the same by placing one arm behind his back and correcting his posture.

    "And I would be Sir Brokk of Wayrest, a pleasure I'm certain. Whether I'm simply going senile or I just have a deathwish is uncertain, what I am certain of is heeding the call of coin wherever it may take me. And it would seem it guides me to your cause, friends." Brokk wipes the bead of sweat from his brow from having to get ready so quick. He lightly coughs into his clenched fist and proceeds. "So if you lot need a seasoned former knight or simply a meat shield for the vampires we will likely piss off, I suppose you have my hammer as well."
     
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    Signus

    Well-Known Member
    Dareth Cauldrus stared after the trio of adventurers; a pair of humans who had the look of warriors about them, and a khajiit that looked more like a beggar than any type of soldier the dark elf had ever seen. He'd heard the man, breton, he guessed by the accent, confirm that he was indeed Hale Loneshadow. Before the former legionnary could work up the will to set down his drink and introduced himself, the man stood up, announced his intention to go outside and lead the two others with him. A moment later, a rushed looking orc stumbled his way out of one of the rooms, headed out the door after them.

    "Well, that was interesting." The dunmer said to no one in particular. He snapped his fingers at a passing serving girl, indicating his near empty tankard. With a muttered curse, the woman came over, jug of ale in tow. He shot her a wink as she shuffled off, having topped up his drink. The fact that the courier hadn't been willing or able to identify Loneshadow was also interesting. Was the man modest, or did he just not want to be found? In the forty years or so since Dareth had ditched the legion and gone onto 'independent' work, he'd learned that people who didn't want to be identified usually weren't the most dependable. Usually, they were up to something shady, or they needed the protection because they'd done something shady and wanted to escape justice.

    "Which are you, then, I wonder?"
    He murmured quietly.

    Not nearly quietly enough, he learned, when the drunk at the table beside, who'd been drifting in and out of conciousness for the past half hour suddenly jerked awake. He stared at Dareth for a few seconds before declaring, shouting really, "that was Hale Loneshadow! Knight-champion of High Rock!" The nord swayed dangerous in his seat, squinting at the dark elf. "Say, w'as wrong witchu, fren'? Yer all...fuzzy."

    "Shut up, fool" Dareth hissed, but the drunks' declaration had several pairs of eyes on him. Far too many for his liking. With a muttered curse, he drained his tankard and stood. Scooping his shield up from where he'd leaned it against the table, he slung it over one shoulder by its' strap and made for the door. He hadn't trudged all the way from Dawnstar just to sit around at the inn drinking, after all. Besides, it was hard to drink when there was no coin to pay for it.

    He shoved open the door and noticed that the man had drawn a fifth individual, altmer, by the looks of her. Muttering something about high strung arsehats, he clumped his way down the stairs, making no secret of his approach. He got into earshot just in time to hear the man detailing the vampire stronghold. Loneshadow glanced around, apparently set to head out and dispense justice posthaste. "Now wait just a minute, Loneshadow. Sounds to me, like you're setting us up for a suicide mission. Now, I'm not unused to bad odds, but I charge double for jobs where exsanguination and zombification are possibilities."
     

    Rafen

    Well-Known Member
    Djor Blackmane was ill at ease. Not because he feared whatever lurked in the wilds around the town of Riverwood, though the larger creatures could of course be more than a little dangerous. He had spent more time in the wilds of Skyrim than he had among the more 'civilized' parts of the individual holds. Besides, fathers' mistake still haunted clan Blackmane, and it wasn't as if the survivors of the massacre during the civil war had forgotten the atrocity. He glanced down at the parchment he'd removed from the folds of his cloak, signed by an apparent knight of High Rock.

    Djor had not met many bretons in his time, nor could he figure why the man was in Skyrim now. That didn't matter now, of course. The vamprie threat was just as bad as the current, second civil war that had come about in less than a century. As far as Djor was convinced, the people of Skyrim needed help, even if most of them wouldn't willingly admit it. The vampires could not be allowed to operate with impunity in the land, and Djor was willing to ally with any who was looking to remove them.

    The problem was, he wasn't about to attempt walking into Riverwood. Not with the atmosphere like it was. With little other options, he stepped off the road, making himself harder to see by the random passerby. He assumed the knight and any blades he managed to hire or talk into assisting him.With little more to do, he leaned against one of the tall pine trees, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited.
     

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