Private A Storm of Blood

[Madrar]

This roleplay takes place after the civil war. Ulfric and his Stormcloaks have won the civil war. However, in the dark places of Skyrim, there are supernatural forces at work. While the Stormcloaks flaunt their victory, and force those that are not Nords, or convenient and cheap labour, such as the Argonians and Dunmer out of Skyrim, these forces are preparing to reap a toll of blood from the arrogant Nords.

RULES

1: No Dragonborn. Is the Dovahkiin interesting, but....no.
2: No Godmodding, or controlling other players. If you don't know what this means, see the official Roleplaying rules.
3: No fast travel. It's not realistic if people can just teleport anywhere they'd like.
4: Please have detailed threads and characters. If your characters and threads are too dull, no one will enjoy the Roleplay.

5: Enjoy yourself! If your moping about and not having fun, it ruins it for the others.

 

[Madrar]

Falkreath, Fridas, Nightfall. 4E 211​

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The Stormcloak soldier fell without a sound. Well, it was rather hard for him to make any sound, as his head had been removed a moment before. His two companions didn't fare much better, as the hooded and cloaked figure moved between them, seeming like a blur. The only evidence that there was an attacker at was the second Stormcloak soldier trying in vain to keep his entrails where they belonged. Another blur, and the final soldier went down, her windpipe ripped out. The blur in question stood among the human remains, a bloodied ebony sword in one hand, gore covered talons in the other. "Too easy" Salthar Vivarian said, his voice cold and emotionless. He stooped to clean his blade on the uniform of one corpse, before moving into the local inn, Dead Mans' Drink. "What an accurate name" Salthar muttered to himself, taking a seat in the corner, and ordering a glass of wine. The Nords in the bar glared at him, but the aura of fear that hung around him like a second robe stopped them from acting against him. ​

 

[The_Madgod]

A Nord sat in Dead Mans Drink, eyeing everyone and anyone inside. The door opened. A High Elf with an odd aura about him entered the room. One of his hands was bloodied. The man said something to himself and sat down in a corner seat. "He seems rather odd...", thought Fultheim as he stared at him. He averted his gaze and left to go get some fresh air. Outside he noticed a group of dead Stormcloaks. "Hm. I bet that elf did this. I was hunting this particular group, but as long as they end up dead or captured...", he said with a gruff tone. "He seemed like the kind who wouldn't exactly enjoy Nord opression.", said Fultheim as he looked around at the carnage. One soldier was missing a head. Another had her throat slit. One was still barely alive, clutching at his entrails. Fultheim finished the job silently and effectively. In other words, he smashed the soldiers skull in with his hammer, Avalanche. "This is nice work. No signs of magic. Odd, usually Altmer prefer magic. To every man himself, I guess.", thought Fultheim as he took any valuables from the soldiers to help the resistance. He walked back to the inn, feeling the need to compliment the man on a job well done, maybe buy him a couple of drinks. Fultheim opened the door and sat down across from the Elf. "Pretty pale. Odd eye color to.", thought the burly Nord. "Hey. Saw what you did out there. Nice job. Names Fultheim. What's yours?", he said to the High Elf.

 

[Madrar]

Salthar looked up to see a typically large Nord warrior sit across from him. "Hey. Saw what you did out there. Nice job. Names Fultheim. What's yours?"
Salthar met his gaze with one that would have made lesser men die of fright. This particular Nord only stared back with a mixture of curiosity and interest. " My name, is Salthar Vivarian... also known as the Terror of Falkreath. You may have heard of me...your race ruined my life" Salthar was trying hard not to be rude. He knew this particular Nord had not been among the Nords that had raped and murdered his wife. Still, it had been ten years since her death...not nearly long enough to forget about Virani's death. Sipping his wine, he warned "It's probably dangerous for you to be seen talking to me, as I'm an Altmer"

 

[The_Madgod]

"My name is Salthar Vivarian... Also known as the Terror of Falkreath. You may have heard of me. Your race ruined my life.", said the man somberly. He took a sip of wine and finished with, "It's probably dangerous for you to be seen talking to me, as I'm an Altmer.", said the Elf. "Hello, Salthar. I'm sorry about what Nords have done to you. I was raised by two Argonians. A group of Nords murdered them. I've been fighting with the resistance since Ulfric took over. If not, I probably would've called some other guards instead of complimenting you on those kills. And I don't care if these other Nords see me talking to an Elf. Many of them fear me, and the ones who don't will soon!", saying the last part rather loudly. "Barkeep, get me some nord mead and some spiced wine for my friend here.", he shouted to a rather short Nord at the counter. The High Elf regarded him curiously, most likely wondering why this stranger had approached him. Fultheim looked into his eyes for a second and then pulled away, finally realizing what the man was. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I see you're a vampire. It might not be best to go strolling around Falkreath. I don't care, but the residents of this dreary town do.", he said queitly. The barkeep came over with Fultheims drinks. He took the mead and downed it in one large gulp, and slid the wine over to Salthar.

 

[Madrar]

Salthar now knew why the man had joined the highly secretive, mostly non-Nord resistance. Losing your parents must hurt as much as losing your wife. Maybe. He nodded his appreciation when the man slid the wine towards him, and asked "So, Fultheim, what brings the resistance to this 'dreary little town'?" He had no fear of those that might recognize him as a vampire. He decided to tell his Nord companion this. "As for my...unique, bloodline, if any of these pitiful humans were to find out...let's just say it may take a while for the bar to be returned to normal" however, he did appreciate the Nords' concern, especially since they'd just met.

 

[The_Madgod]

Fultheim laughed heartily at the Salthars last comment. "Actually, we were hunting the Stormcloak group that had been passing through. I see you took care of that for us.", he said jovially. Other Nords turned his way, but decided that taking on the two of them was not worth it. "If you don't mind, may I ask what my race did to ruin your life? And, on behalf of the Nord people, at least the decent ones, I am sorry.", said Fultheim as he finished off another bottle. "I wonder if this man would consider helping us? A vampire could be quite useful for assassinating a king.", thought the Nord as he waited for a reply.

 

[Madrar]

Salthar smiled grinned when the man told him that they'd been hunting the StormCloaks. He quickly turned sober however when Fultheim asked his question. He was aware of his hand trembling as he reached for his wine glass. Taking a sip, he said, his voice rasping with raw emotion. "You really want to know how they ruined my life? Fine...they raped and murdered my wife. The only woman I've ever loved" he said bitterly, and he left out what he'd done to said rapists and murderers.

 

[The_Madgod]

The Elves hand trembled as he reached for his wine. "You really want to know how they ruined my life? Fine...they raped and murdered my wife. The only woman I've ever loved" he said bitterly. "That is terrible... I'm truly sorry for your loss. Did you avenge her death? Or did those murderes get away with it...", said Fultheim solemnly.

 

[Madrar]

Salthar smiled at the Nord " I certainly avenged her...I only wish that their deaths could have been slower and ...more painful" he said. He sipped his wine again, wondering why the Nord looked like he a question on his mind. " Is there something I can help you with?"

 

[The_Madgod]

"Maybe you could... My organization requires some help. We are going to assassinate Ulfric Stormcloak and all his generals one by one. If you were to help, you would be paid generously...", said Fultheim very queitly. He then shouted, "Another couple of Nord Meads and some wine over here. And be quick about it!" He turned back to the vampire, who appeared to be thinking about Fultheims offer.

 

[Madrar]

Salthar thought over the mans' request. Killing Ulfric would certainly please many people, but then, Salthar didn't particularly care what other people wanted. But, joining the resistance and using them to his own purposes, and eventually giving the Pretender the death he deserved appealed to the vampire.
"Very well, consider me a member of your merry band" he said, glancing around to make sure the others didn't hear.

 

[Minstrel]

The air was thick with the scent of another of her kind as Circe walked slowly through the streets of Falkreath and clung to the shadows, or maybe the shadows clung to her. Who really knew how such a dark being could manipulate the world around her. Circe's crimson eyes scanned the area, making sure not a soul could be following her and her ears listened to sounds happening out of view. Finally she stopped outside of the local inn. Dead man's drink. After taking a moment to focus and allowing her eyes to change to a hazel colour she opened the door and walked in.

Mostly the inn was filled with Nords. All of them were carrying heavy weaponry on their person while wearing thick iron armour, but there was one person that sat in the corner of the room that caught Circe's eye. Just the person she was looking for. She approached the table he sat at and immediately pulled up a chair.

"It's been a while since I have seen one of my own out in the open." Circe said cutting the man off just as he was about to speak. "Can I just take this opportunity to mention how easy you were to track."

 

[The_Madgod]

"That's wonderful! Our headquarters are under the smoldering ruins of Helgen. Meet me there whenever.", said Fultheim. He grabbed his mead, slid the wine to the vampire and left, riding his horse in the direction of Helgen. "What an odd Elf. I do hope he actually arrives.", thought the Nord.

 

[Madrar]

Salthar watched the man leave. Not a moment later, the door opened again. One look confirmed that she was a vampire. She made a bee-line for his table, pulled up a seat that the Nord had recently vacated, and stated bluntly "It's been a while since I have seen one of my own out in the open." Before Salthar could speak, she cut him off. "Can I just take this opportunity to mention how easy you were to track."

He smiled coldly at her. " I don't take kindly to strangers on my hunting grounds" he said, his voice as cold as his smile. "And for anyone who isn't a vampire, how would they track me? Unless you're planning to start a fight in this establishment?" He didn't know this vampire, which automatically assured him that she wasn't of his coven. Her scent and accent were wrong, for one, and Salthar would have recognized her if he'd seen her before. He readied himself discreetly for a fight.

 

[Minstrel]

"My friend, You misunderstand me. We both know that even the two of us together couldn't take on all of these Nords. They are stupid, but they outnumber us greatly."

Circe looked around her to make sure no one was listening to their conversation and then turned back to the Vampire. Leaning in, she spoke so quietly that only another Vampire could hear.

"I only trust two types of people in this world. Vampires who aren't lurking in underground caves, and myself. Coincidently you fall into the first. It is rare to find Vampires living on the surface, especially in Skyrim. I assume you are here for a reason, I only wish to know what that reason is."

 

[Madrar]

Salthar relaxed slightly, but was still ready for anything. "Simply reminding the Nords that they're not safe in the dark" he said pleasantly, smiling again.
"The real question is this: what are you doing here?" He was genuinely curious as to the female vampire's reasons for being in Falkreath. It was hardly the most exciting hold in Skyrim.

 

[The_Madgod]

Fultheim noticed an odd woman with pale skin and orange eyes walking the streets of Falkreath. He discreetly turned around and followed her, tying up his horse. She entered the Dead Mans Drink. While everyone was distracted he cast the only two spells he knew, Muffle and Invisibility. He snuck inside and watched as she spoke with Salthar. He scoffed when the woman, who he realized was a vampire, said that they couldn't take on all these Nords. Luckily, the other patrons were all too drunk to notice. "I wonder if she could be a threat...", thought the Nord as he continued to eavesdrop. "The real question is this: What are you doing here?", said Salthar. Fultheim stiffened, feeling as if someone had notcied him...

 

[Minstrel]

Circe saw the man relaxing slightly and she did the same. She knew this man wouldn't make a move.

"Just passing through. I was on my way to meet a friend in the mountains... But he'll know that I'm not coming should I choose to stay here for a bit longer.

 

[Star Gazer]

The Jester sat watching silently, ever so silently, at the dead stormcloaks outside of the bar. Patiently, silently, stealthily waiting. Waiting for the right moment to... strike. The dead bodies of the stormcloak soldiers would soon attract more soldiers, repeating this cycle until the entire stormcloak army is wiped out. For the murder of a king, comes the vengeance on thousands. A man barked out orders to other men. They ran to the three bodies that lie in the street. Two sliced throats and one smashed skull. There were four men this time, crowding around the deceased trio. The Jester emerged from the darkness under the stairs of the bar. He strode over to the men. "Did you see the man that did this?" He asked The Jester. As he walked closer to them, he let his bells jingle and the group of four soldiers realized who he was. "I was wondering when you would die, Jester. Apparently it's now. You'll be joining these bodies." He said, pointing at the dead.

"Hahaha, and hehehe! The coming of The Jester you shall never foresee! If you want me to join these dead, this cobble-stone street shall become your death bed!" He rhymed. The men looked at each other with a worried glance at first, but steadied themselves and drew their swords. These men were arrogant, and walked not cautiously, but flauntingly. One charged, but found a knife in his throat before he could swing. The others backed up, only to see the one to their right fall to his back, a colorful throwing-knife sticking out of his chest. One pulled out a bow, pulling back the string. The Jester winked, turning invisible. The man fired his bow, only to find it soar straight down the street, meeting the stones many yards away. The bowman's throat was cut cleanly. The Jester had trouble cutting the back of the neck, where the bones and cartilage were, so he just left the man's head dangling by the back of his neck.

The last man stared in fright. It was the man who had so arrogantly spoke to The Jester in a mocking tone. "Don't kill me! Please!" He said, falling to his knees, begging. "I... I can help you!" He muttered. He watched as The Jester bent down on one knee with him. "Alas, the stormcloak's skill in fighting has not gotten better. Can you do me a favor and deliver this letter?" he asked, giving the man a joker card. The man turned and ran down the road, heading north.

A man opened his door to see what all the noise was. He saw the six dead bodies and applauded. "For the empire!" He said. "You handle yourself well, let me buy you a drink." He led The Jester into the bar. There were a few shady characters hanging around. "A drink for me and my friend here!"