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18+ Conquer with Fire

Discussion in 'Active Stories' started by Blackdoom59, Dec 17, 2013.

  1. Blackdoom59

    Blackdoom59 BATMAN!

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    Skyrim is a shadow of its former self. The Dragonborn died in Sovngarde, and his soul was devoured by Alduin. He is now unstoppable, as his army of dragons clouds the sky of Tamriel. The Reach has fallen. Markarth, the Forsworn, the Orcs, they are now venerating the dragons. According the local rumors, Falkreath is next, and yet the Nords are fighting each other in Civil War. But, there is still hope for humanity. To stop the horde of dragons, Orcs, Forsworn and Draugr, The Blades and The Graybeads joined together, creating the dragonslayer pack named The Sons of Sword. A group of handpicked warriors that are willing to save Tamriel, and end the plague of the Dragons. That group takes the name of The Sons of Sword, and their leader Jason

    Those strong, brave and curious enough to join the Sons of Sword, must walk the 7 000 steps and reach The Throat of the World, where Jason will instruct them further. Paarthurnax is flying back to his snow capped peak, his left wing wounded, and some of his large teeth missing. The morning's warm embrace discharged him of the cold snowflakes that fall on his old scales like a swarm of bees upon their hive. He expects worthy champions to join the Sons of Sword, capable warriors that can help him in his task of ending Alduin.
     
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  2. Andre Marek

    Andre Marek You can run, but you'll only die tired...

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    With a flick of his thumb, Andre Marek sent the single golden septim spinning towards the ceiling only to reach its zenith before falling back down to land in his gloved hand. The flashing gold disappeared as his fingers closed around it, "What have you got for me Rarnis? You mentioned the Blades when we spoke last." Marek stood in one of the dim alcoves in the ragged flagon, idly tossing a septim into the air as he carefully eyed the thief, Etienne Rarnis, who stood opposite him. He could vaguely make out the mumblings of some of the Flagons' patrons across the cistern which filled the middle of the room. He kept his left hand on the pommel of his dagger as he swept his gaze across the large room and then settled them on Rarnis again. The dim torchlight glinted off the thiefs eyes as they tracked the coin on its path through the air. Even when he spoke, his attention stayed on the gold piece, "Ah, I wondered if you'd be interested in that." Rarnis said quietly. Marek had met Rarnis about a year ago now, before news of the Dragonborns demise had reached Skyrim. Since then, he had often gone to Rarnis when he needed information on someone, be it a single person or a group of people, or when he wanted some discrete recon done on a location. The thief was usually happy to comply with Mareks requests. The bag of gold that accompanied such request probably did a lot to that end but Marek suspected that Rarnis would have been forthcoming even if he didn't get payed. After all, he shared a common enemy with Marek; The Thalmor. Having once been imprisoned in the Thalmor embassy, Rarnis had no love for the Dominions Agents. It hadn't taken him long to discover Mareks own hatred of the Thalmor and the two had come to a mutual understanding.

    At Rarnis' words, Marek simply nodded for the thief to continue. "Well then, where to start? You've heard about the Dragonborn I assume? Most have, but what most don't know is that he wasn't actually alone in his fight. The Blades are a group of dragon slayers dedicated to aiding the Dragonborn. Together they hunt down and kill some of the more minor dragons in the land. Now, don't get me wrong, they're good, but they aren't quite the match of the Dragonborn and now that he's dead the Dragons have no challenger amongst mortals that can equal them. No single challenger that is. I've heard that the Blades have been amassing a group of warriors, champions," Rarnis scoffed a little at that, "... in the hopes that together they can push back the dragons."

    So its true then. The Blades still hope to stopping the dragons... No small task, nor an easy one. Although, if the tales are true, then it is supposedly possible. Thought Marek. He let the edge of his hood obscure his eyes as he thought on the matter. Killing dragons wasn't exactly his area of expertise but he wasn't about to sit back and allow the dragons to overrun Skyrim and the rest of Nirn. A world run by those lizards wasn't good for anyone, no matter what you did for a living. Well... with the exception of any dragon worshipers anyway. Tilting his head up again he said, "Ambitious aren't they? Where are they basing their operations then? I've heard mutterings of an ancient stronghold in the Reach but that whole area is crawling with Dragons now."

    Rarnis shook his head, "No, no, they've moved shop from the Reach. Apparently they have joined their forces with the Greybeards believe it or not. The Blades know that they'll need their wisdom if they are to succeed. Besides, the throat of the world is a stronghold with few equals." Marek raised an eyebrow. The Throat of the World was the tallest mountain in all of Skyrim and near its peak was the fortress of the Greybeards, known as High Hrothgar. It made sense for the Blades to seek the help of the Greybeards. After all, they were colloquially know as 'Masters of the Way of the Voice'.

    The path to High Hrothgar started in Ivarstead, a small village whose only real reason for existence was as a place to of rest for pilgrims before they attempted the climb up the nine thousand steps. Ivarstead wasn't very far away either. As the crow flew, it might have been a day's ride but Marek had no horse and, so far as he knew, no carriages could take him there so it would probably take him at least twice that to arrive. Add on another day to for the climb. Perhaps two if there's a storm. At most, three days to reach High Hrothgar. He nodded to Rarnis, "Thanks for information Etienne. I'll be seeing you." Marek reached into a pocket on his thigh and tossed a leather pouch at the thief who caught it backhand with a jingle of coins against coins. With a quick glance at the other patrons in the subterranean tavern, Marek pushed the door open and disappeared into the Riften ratways.
     
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  3. shadowkitty

    shadowkitty Mistress of Shadows

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    Indari was tired from her exertions.

    As she wiped the beads of sweat from her brow, she reflected on the days past that had lead up to this final quintessential event. This was what she had waited for. All her carefully laid out plans had gone off without a hitch. She was amazed that not one thing had gone wrong to set her back from reaching her ultimate goal.
    It was just all so predictable....

    A smile came to her lips as she remembered some of the things she had put herself through to come to this moment.

    This moment....

    She briefly wondered how she would feel about it later on. When the adrenalin wore off and her frantically beating heart had calmed down. Right now she felt nothing but pure joy and relief. It was done. Weeks of planning and scheming had finally come to an end. The bastard had finally got what he deserved.

    She looked down at the body, lying on the bed, a fine trickle of darkened blood spreading out on the linen. Her eyes travelled up his bloodied clothes to rest on his face. She knew this face so well. Every line, every wrinkle. There was a time when those blue eyes had looked at her with desire, as she worked her way into his small fold of associates and eventually to him. She always got to know her target before she took them out. One way or another. She would not feel sorry for him. The years of cruelty this man had dealt upon innocents had swept all feelings of sympathy away.

    Now his eyes were shocked, pleading. His perfect face screwed up in pain. She lowered her body down onto his, leaning forward so she could see into those eyes. Deep blue eyes stared into light blue ones. She traced a fingernail down his cheek, gave him one final malicious wink as she savagely pulled out the knife from between his ribs. The last ebb of life in his eyes faded, and then went out completely.

    She rummaged around in his pockets for whatever valuables she could find and quietly slipped out of the window, down to the street below. She pulled her heavy travellers cloak around her and let the hood fall over her blonde hair. She made her way through the frozen street of Windhelm and turned into the Gray Quarter, heading straight for the New Gnisis Cornerclub.

    It was relatively quiet inside the Inn and Indari, keeping her hood up, ordered a tankard of mead and made her way up the stairs to a dark table in the corner to meet her client. As usual, the client was robed and Indari couldn’t see who (or what) he was. She sat down in front of him and waited. He always spoke first.

    “Is it done?”
    “As you wanted” she answered. The robed figure nodded and pushed a fat brown leather pouch towards her. He then stood and left the Inn.

    Well that was short and not so sweet. Indari shrugged and pocketed all of the coins except for four. She went back down stairs to the bar, pushing back her hood as she descended.

    “Two bottles of mead” she asked the bar tender, who handed them over, eyeing Indari suspiciously. Indari frowned and then looked down at what had caught the Dunmer’s attention. Blood! I still have blood on my hands. Dammit Indari! how could you be so careless? She withdrew her hands and sat there drinking her mead calmly while inside she was a turmoil of emotions. Keep it together. Don’t look so guilty. She stood and covered her face with her hood again, leaving the Inn and making her way to Windhelm’s gates. She couldn’t be sure if the Dunmer would tell anyone what he had seen, but she wanted to take no chances. Jobs had become scarcer as city after city fell to Alduin and his dragons. She could not afford to burn any bridges.


    She just needed to do this one last job before she started for Ivarstead. Now she had the coin in her pocket she was free to leave Windhelm behind and start her journey to the small village who’s one and only claim to fame was it being the starting point of the Seven Thousand Steps that took you to High Hrothgar. That was her true destination. It was only luck that she was in the right place at the right time (the job she had just concluded in fact) when she overheard two highly ranked soldiers talking about a group of people re-forming the legendary Blades. And that they were joining forces with the Greybeards no less. Indari couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This was what she had been waiting for. She would finally find a place to belong amongst liked-minded people and her father would finally be avenged. She slipped quietly through the gates and began her journey to The Throat of the World.
     
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  4. Kimrisvik

    Kimrisvik King of Scandinavia

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    Farlyyn walked quietly trough Iverstead, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. His silvery hair hung in front of his face, and he kept his eyes focused on the ground just a few feet in front of himself. There was a cold feel to the air, and Farlyyn’s arms was filled with goose bumps.

    He stopped in front of the bridge leading to the 7,000 steps leading the way up to the Throat of the World, to take a look up on the huge mountain. A few hawks could be spotted flying in circles close to towering mountain walls. Farlyyn got a slight smile looking at the birds. He had always liked birds, ever since he was just a young elf still living in Valenwood with his tribe.

    Farlyyn shook his head trying to get rid of the memories, before he started to walk again. The first 200 steps went relatively quick, and then the exhaustion started to kick in. His legs got more and more numb for each step he took. But he kept going. He knew he had to reach the top and help fight back the dragons. The dragons that had started to burn down the forests, killing countless of innocent animals.

    As he reached the 6th emblem, he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. The view was extraordinary from this altitude. But he knew he still had a long way to climb if he was to reach the top. He fetched a small bottle of water from a bag he carried, and took a drink. After a few minutes he started to walk again, still exhausted and still determined to keep going.


    When he got to the temple known as High Hrothgar, he had to take another break. He went over to the temple stairs to sit down and wait for another traveler who he could walk the rest of he path with.
     
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  5. EpicVakarian

    EpicVakarian Calibration-Master General

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    Faervel's black fur cloak flapped in the strong winds of north Cyrodiil. Her hood was raised and her head lowered against the wind, her arms gripping the cloak and wrapping it round herself. All that could be seen of her was the black cloak reaching down to the frosty ground, and a shadowed face; only her mouth and chin were visible. Her sword and bow caused a hump on her back, giving the effect that she was simply an old crone, trying to reach Skyrim. This, naturally, meant she was either left alone or, if she was attacked, she was underestimated.

    Faervel was a half-breed; a cross between a Bosmer and an Imperial. She had parts of the elven delayed aging; she was seven and forty, but she was equivalent to a one and twenty year old pure human. This, combined with her weapon skills, meant she could easily overpower anyone expecting to fight a decrepit old woman.
    It had been almost a month since she had been thrown out of Silvenar, and told of the dragons attacking Skyrim. A month sleeping rough, camping out, defending herself with no-one to talk to. Not that she minded; after what had happened in Silvenar, she had no urge to be around people.

    Faervel carried on walking, her cloak dragging along the ground. She stepped forward slowly, resisted by the wind, breathing heavily. The pressure didn't do wonders for her lungs; she needed clear, open air to breathe properly. She was forced to breathe through her mouth, causing white clouds to emerge from under her hood. This caused a lot of people to circle around her; she looked so ominous that people tried to avoid her.

    But the peace didn't last long. She heard someone breathing, standing still in front of her. She stopped, still looking down at the ground, noticing the person's feet. They were faced right towards Faervel, and clearly waiting for a response. She looked up slightly, looking at the man from under her hood.

    He was short; maybe five feet and six inches. He was quite chunky, and his face was contorted in a smug smirk. He wasn't alone, either; there was a group of tall, much stronger men behind him, wielding swords, maces, axes and other weapons.

    "Can I help you?" Faervel asked, almost hoping they were looking for a fight.
    "Yes, I believe you can." His smirk turned into a grin. "I am told you have something of value."
    Faervel didn't know what on Nirn he might be talking about; the only thing she had of worth was only of worth to the Parikh back in Silvenar.
    "I think you must be mistaken, I have nothing, not even coin." This was a lie; she had a small purse full of gold, but they didn't need to know that. She tried to push past the short man, but one of the stronger ones pushed her back roughly. Surprised, she staggered, falling to the ground and slowly looking up.
    "Oh, I'm fairly sure you are the one." He looked back, gesturing to his cronies. "Kill the girl. Take it, and then back. No complications." The men behind him advanced past the short one, surrounding Faervel and raising their weapons.

    Faervel stood up slowly, then dropped her cloak and drew her sword from its sheath on her back. She glanced round at the men, waiting for one of them to make a move. Suddenly, one of them lunged forward clumsily, swinging his mace haphazardly.

    Faervel ducked quickly, hamstringing the man in one swift move, blocking an axe swing from another as she kicked the ankles of the first man, knocking him heavily to the ground. She flourished the short sword, stabbing through the man's throat and withdrawing, spinning round like a viper about to lunge, and slashing twice in quick succession; once to swat aside a man's sword, and again to slash across his chest, jumping aside as a man behind her tried to stab through her belly. Instead of stabbing her, he ended up finishing off his friend, his eyes widening as he realised what had happened.

    There were four men left, and one of them was standing still, staring down at the friend he'd just killed. Ignoring him, she focused on the three that were still after her. Flipping backwards to avoid a heavy smash from a mace, she drew her bow and shot an arrow through his throat, so quick they hadn't a clue what had happened. She slid the bow back onto her back, slicing through the leg of another crony and stabbing through his chest, then turning, hesitating, and throwing her sword, letting it fly into the throat of the last man. She walked toward him slowly as he fell, grabbing the hilt and yanking it out.

    She looked to the short man, who looked absolutely terrified. She walked to him, grabbing his throat and pressing her forehead to his as he whimpered.
    "You send anyone else after me, I'll come back for you." She moved back and swiftly jabbed her fist into his throat, knocking him unconscious and giving him an easily understood message. Faervel gritted her teeth, wrapping her cloak back around herself and resuming her journey north to the mountain she could see in the distance, where she would hopefully find the life she was searching for.
     
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  6. Jo'rak Vandeni

    Jo'rak Vandeni Jurrrl o' Sweden

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    "Warrior Jason, you are needed." the spokesman of the Greybeards said, his voice crackling from old age and exhaustion, none other Greybeard had spoken since the death of the Dovahkiin, a sad day.

    Jason opened his eyes to face the old cloaked man, face hidden behind a thick forest of gray, long beard. Ever since the monastery opened for refugees, the Greybeards relied on him to communicate with them, Jason didn't know if this was because the Greybeards saw themselves too important to bother with common rabble and their bitter rivals, The Blades, or if they simply were busy with other things, they were often in council with Paarthurnax, away from the monastery.

    Jason rose from the cold stone floor, his robes making the slightest of sounds as it dragged onto the floor. He began walking to the entry of the monastery, grabbing his Greatsword and strapping it onto his back as he moved. Hay piles and ramshackle fireplaces littered the sides of the monastery, and scared faces stalked his every movement as he walked past them, these were the few survivors from the Reach, after Alduin returned, claiming the City of Stone for his own. Many had already fled to Sky Haven Temple, to seek refuge with the Blades present there, but not long after the fall of Markarth, Sky Haven Temple fell as well, to the onslaught of draugr, the newly allied Forsworn and dragons, rumours even spoke of that Orcs from the mountain settlements had joined forces with Alduin, could it be true?

    He swung open the massive doors to the monastery with both arms, and the whipping snowstorm outside struck him instantly, as it filled the monastery with chill and snow streamed in, melting as it met the large braziers inside the monastery. He looked down to the large group of men and women massed at the staircase below him and one of them walked out of the group, a young man, short curly hair, wearing a large fur coat and a poorly managed antique iron sword at his side.



    "Greybeard! We come from the Reach, please, let us inside the monastery!" The man said, trying to sound as noble as he could, but his voice cracked, and the fear in him revealed.

    Jason looked down upon his grey robes, and realized he truly did look as a Greybeard, his bushy brown beard helped with the look immensely. He turned his gaze upon the refugees again, many were badly injured, scars from fire as well as blade, they all seemed exhausted, and someone sobbed quietly, some would not survive the night.

    "Welcome to High Hrothgar, come inside, place your belongings were there is space, others will care of you once you are inside." the stream of refugees walked in, many whispering blessings upon him as they walked past, some simply cried, and one seemed to have gone insane even, walking carelessly, speaking of fire and dragons in a monotone voice.
    Jason sighed as he shut the doors after the last of them, and as he turned, he saw others already helping the newcomers set up their cooking pots and bed rolls, while a few Blades as well as some rag-tag militias helped the injured ones with their wounds, the monastery seemed more a hospital than a religious sanctuary, a year ago none but the Dragonborn were allowed inside, now there were more than forty peasants of no dragonblood calling the monastery home.
    The situation was desperate, food supplies were more or less only what the refugees brought themselves, the Greybeards only kept small storage of salt meat and fish for themselves in High Hrothgar. And if Alduin decided vengeance upon Paarthurnax, they had no way of stopping him.

    They needed to fight back, strike against the dragons, the word was spreading through Skyrim, maybe even all of Tamriel, that the "Greaybeards" (It had been Jason that spread the word, while the Greybeards held onto their belief that the end of the world was unstoppable, but they received the credit for his work.) sought any experienced warriors prepared to fight the dragons, anyone prepared to make a stand.

    And so all they could do, was wait.
     
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  7. Specter of Death

    Specter of Death Omnipresent Moderator
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    I crossed the bitter cold water. The Karth River, it has risen since I was here last. Slowly, I pulled my body out of the river, on the western bank. Perched on a rock, I started to look around the dark, starless, cloudless sky. Though I was aware of the current Dragon Crisis, I wasn't all to worried about them. My only foolish thoughts made this okay. I can communicate with them. I speak the language of Dovah, they won't hurt me.

    After recovering from the frigid, flowing, water, I started up the hill. Towards the enterance of my old home. Master used to call it 'The Retreat'. Now it has crowned the name 'Liar's Retreat'. Such nonsense. I have never known why, but almost every time I return to Skyrim, I visit the resting place of the only family I had. I would like to call them my father and brothers. But that was just to... forgiving. I reached the dark hole in the mountainside. The dim light of distant torches reached my eyes. Please no trouble, I thought bitterly, entering the cave.

    I stayed low as I reached the first torch. The loud chatter and clicking of soulless creatures filled my ears. Unmistakably Falmer. I grabbed my bow handle, and with a shake of my arm, it unfolded into the power house of a weapon it is. As I reached for the arrow, I also reached for my modified Smoke Bomb arrowhead. Attaching it silently, intently watching the actions of the 3 beasts. They were arguing over eggs of some sort. Fowl, disgusting creatures, I thought stringing the arrow.

    With an almost silent *snap*, the arrow was released, and I was perfectly aware of what was to happen. I could see the falmer's faces turn as they wastched the arrow hurling toward them. My bow on my belt, I then reached for my staff. As the Smoke was released around them, I pulled my mask and cowl onto my face, and launched myself into the cloud, my staff unfolding. With 3 quick swipes, the falmer were out, and were awaiting my dispatching. Slowly, I pulled my sword from my back, as my staff was stored on my belt once more. I slit the throats of the creatures one by one. Watching the life drain from their eyes, and the blood flow from their throats. Then, like an expert craftsman, I carved the ears off of them, and filled some viles of their blood up. I was ready for more of my poisons.

    As I could sense no more Falmer would be returning from the depths any time soon, I decided that it would be a good chance to remember. Like I always do. Why? Because I am fluffing insane. They tortured me here! I thought over and over. It was not training, it was brutality. I resent them for that, and I thank them for it. Does that make me any more of a beast than these damn cave dwellers? Waiting for any life to creep upon me, only to snatch it up, and selfishly take whatever I please from it when it is gone. I sighed out of frustation. That is what they trained me for. I am no more than a husk of a body with the bloodthirsty instinct to kill.

    Then I came into the room. filled with bloody and vivid memories. They would strap me to a chair, that was bolted through the floor. Then beat me until I passed out from my loss of blood. Then when I awoke, they would do it again. An endless cycle, until blood was nothing to my body, and pain became virtually absent. A vivid memory that I would care to forget.

    I continued through the halls, until I came to the room. 3 identical stone coffins, with the markings Faas Dinok. 'Fear Death'. A term universal in most Northern tongues. I looked over the 3 coffins. 1 dead flower, layed on all 3 of them. And on top of the middle one layed a small leather journal. I don't remember placing that there, I thought removing it from the top in curiousity.

    I opened the first page to reveal a signature. It read "The Journal of Valaith 'Tolan". My master. It started on the 1st of Rain's Hand, of 4E 26. About the 4 of them traveling away from Morrowind, as ex Morag Tong. Four of them? I only knew three. This fourth was called Braend 'On Dinok. Who is this man?

    The earth shook above my head, with a loud crash. Dragons, damn. I slipped the journal into my belt pouch, and put my hood back on, ready to head out. I was hoping to get to Whiterun by tomorrow morning. One of the last untouched cities.
     
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  8. Wolfbane

    Wolfbane Why change the past when you can own this day?

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    The tavern was loud and filled with patrons talking about their daily dealings. Orange and Yellow flames dance upon the rough wooden walls. Every table had at least two people, all except his. Most of the time he likes to drink alone, enjoying the silence in his personal space. The only times he would share a table is with a friend, a client, or a woman; a woman like the one that was flirtatiously eyeing him while he drank his mead and stared back. The woman had flowing brown hair, sultry eyes, and a body that was very pleasing. While off in a fantasy, he felt a pat and a tug on his shoulder.
    “Time you keep your wondering eyes to yourself and get out of here, Sell-sword” A big Nordic man put his hand on Mance’s shoulder as he finished his drink.

    “Don’t get at me, friend. She was staring first. I personally think the feeling is mutual.” Mance calmly brushed the man’s hand off while moving the mug closer to him.
    “Watch your tongue fool, or I’ll rip it out with my bare hands.” The man put his hand on Mance’s cloth shirt, again. A look of irritation crept on the sell-sword’s face.

    “I suggest you let go of me, and be on your way.”
    “Or else what? You’re going to kill me in front of all these people?”

    Before he could finish, he was punched in the face by the man he was instigating. His head flew back, and then he laughed as he raised it to look at the man.

    “You think that’s funny? I’ll give you something to laugh about.” He pulled back to punch, but instead Mance blocked the punch with his forearm, and then palm fisted the man in the throat, thus making him kneel down on one leg and struggle to breath.

    Stay down and I won’t have to beat you. I think you have something to say,” He was being clearly sarcastic, but then stopped when he saw a piece of paper sticking out of his opponent's pants.
    “Now what’s this? Let’s see what we have here. ” He skimmed over the letter, and then stuffed it in his armor. “Looks like two unlikely sides are joining forces against none other than dragons.” This isn’t normally my type of job, but if I don’t do anything, I won’t have a job Without much of a pause, the man speared Mance onto the nearest table and broke it in half, and punched him in the face a couple of times before Mance broke a mug on the Nord’s head. After getting up, he walked over to the girl and introduced himself. “Hello love, name’s Mance. Let me get cleaned up and maybe we’ll get to know each other better.” The girl winked and smiled at the proposition and led him to a room to clean up and accompany each other.
     
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  9. tdatapina

    tdatapina Hero of Time

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    "That's one hell of a climb." He whispered silently to himself, looking up to the mountain top. The peak itself stood high above the clouds, not even faintly visible from the ground. 7,000 steps, that was what they all said. Only the strongest and willing could successfully climb it. To even attempt the journey was near murder. Freezing cold air mixed with the harsh winds. The lack of oxygen due to the immense height. Not to mention the dangers: frost trolls, wolves, ice wraiths, and god knows what else.

    But it was all worth it. To join the Sons of Sword. The last chance all of Nirn had to combat the dragons and defeat Alduin once and for all. The Dragonborn was gone and all seems hopeless. This was a life or death mission with no middle grounds. Join and you're in, but once you are, you stay in.

    Mikom took his first steps up the mountain, taking his time preparing for the long journey ahead of him. To say the trip would be hard would be an understatement. It would take days to reach the top, and longer if he had to stop due to the storms being to terrible. One could only handle so much wind and snow being blown into his face constantly.

    Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus; Their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs; For the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land. The emblem stood at the top of the first couple of steps. 10 in total, they told the tale of the founding of High Hrothgar. This was one of the few etched tablets that would be easily readable, not being tarnished by the bitter cold. Mikom turned back to the stairs and watched as a fox scurried down the steps. Smart of you to stay down by the bottom. He looked up to the steps, and began walking.

    ===============================

    His first night was horrible. Had he any idea it'd be so hard to find more food he would have killed the fox he saw at the base of the mountain. Instead all he had to eat was a small rabbit he had caught. After skinning the animal he drove a stick through it and held it over a small fire he started. Satisfied that the rabbit was cooked to perfection, he set down on the floor next to him and filled a flask with snow. He then created a small table over the fire with three rocks, one being thin enough to heat quickly, and set the flask on top of it, waiting for it to melt.

    There he sat, trying to enjoy his meal. The cold bit at his finger tips and the only warmth he found was while his hands were directly above the fire. Picking up the flask, he shook it to melt the remaining ice. He took a small drink of the water enjoying every second of it. The beautiful warm liquid trickled down his throat filling him with warmth.

    After finishing his meal he stood and walked to the edge of the mountain. He could barely make out the small settlement of Ivarstead. Only a single light was lit and it barely illuminated the house next to it. He found himself desperately missing the tavern. All he wanted was to sit and relax, listening to the bard. He sighed and turned back to his camp.

    His bed was the snow and all he had to warm him was a small, thin, blanket made of fox pelt he made before heading off on his journey. The blanket provided barely any warmth and he was half tempted to stick his hands in the fire to warm himself. Deciding to leave the fire going, he watched it as his body slowly calmed and allowed him to fall into the darkness of sleep.

    ===============================

    Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man; Together they taught Men to use the Voice; Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue. He had risen early the next day. It only took him a moment before packing up his things and heading out. He decided against breakfast, seeing no signs of animals nearby.

    Shortly ahead he found a large frost troll resting under a small indent on the mountainside. The troll's white fur camouflaged it perfectly with the white snow. Maybe if I can shoot him now I can make it a killing shot. He drew and knocked an arrow then raised his bow. Closing one eye, he aimed at his target, pulled back the bow string, and released. The arrow was on mark perfectly, but there was no way he would could've expected what happened next. Out of nowhere, a strong gust of wind blew the arrow to the right slightly. It struck the armored arm of the troll and bounced of harmlessly, awaking the troll.

    He cursed himself and dove out of the way as the troll came charging at him. He landed with a roll and quickly got to his feet. Almost instantly he readied another arrow and sent it on its way. The troll had already came charging and the arrow struck its leg, sending it crashing to the ground. Quickly, Mikom jumped on top of the troll, knocked two arrows at once, and fired them at its head. Within seocnds it was dead and everything was silent again.

    After retrieving the arrows he cleaned them off. The blood came off easily in the snow, and it took him only a moment before he was back on the trail again.
     
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  10. Valin Oakthorn

    Valin Oakthorn Vagabond Extraordinaire

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    Cold. That single word rang about in Bjulf's mind. He had spent years and years mastering and manipulating ice, snow, and the cold. However, this, this seemed impossible. The legendary 7000 steps. He stood at the base of the mountain staring up at the great beast of a land form. It was storming, and a cold evening already. He had to do it though. Looking down at a book in his hand, he read the words. There are rumors of the legendary blades having joined up with the greybeards in high hrothgar, forming the sons of the sword.

    He began climbing the steps. He would be able to fight the cold for a few hours, but his mana pool would deplete eventually. He passed the first tablet, caring little. He had no need to read these, he had one thing on his mind as he climbed farther up. There was a long stretch ahead. He decided to cast his first spell, a moment of silence before he threw his arms forward, releasing energy and casting the cold back.

    He walked the stretch peacefully for a few minutes, before the cold returned to him. Every now and then he would cast another spell, but before long he was beginning to feel the drain and felt the need to settle in. He noticed a large snow bank, clenching his fist the snow itself formed a room just large enough to hold the large man the Bjulf was. Out of the wind, it was much warmer, he had made it at least 1000 steps by now, and he was tired. The pure white fur that lined his armor kept him warm as he fell asleep that night.

    He had been walking for quite a while the next day before he encountered his first threat. He was relaxing slightly as he walked when spontaneously ice wraiths burst out of the snow. There was atleast four, and they stopped Bjulf dead in his tracts. One would think that he would be able to take on such a beast easily, as they are made of the very element Bjulf has learned to command. However, direct manipulation of a living creature is powerful magic, and he would be passed out before he could take down two.

    The four of them circled him. They were fearsome looking creatures. They floated and danced about just slightly off the ground, and the ground froze underneath them. His spear was drawn as he examined them. They hissed at him, showing their long, almost six inch fangs. Their sharp, cold lips peeled up and snarled at him. Bjulf was ready, these miniature dragons were but a challenge in his mind.

    One of them lunged, meeting their face with Bjulf's spear, he spun quickly clipping another on the side. He struck out fast, the long reach of the spear easily piercing into another's neck. Two were left. One charged at him, it bit onto his spear, he fought to break free. He looked deep into its freezing, blue, hateful eyes. Bjulf felt the change in the snow near him as another charged near him, it's teeth looking for something to sink into. He swung his spear, leading one right into the mouth of the charging one. The grasp loosened as it died, and the other struggled to get it's teeth free. He raised up his spear, bringing it down on the last ones head, ending the fight.

    Bjulf took a deep breath and began on his journey again, hoping to reach High Hrothgar soon.
     
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  11. shadowkitty

    shadowkitty Mistress of Shadows

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    This is harder than I expected Indari thought to herself. She guessed she was about a third of the way up the mountain and was struggling against the cold. It was different on The Throat of the World. The bighting cold seemed to seep into your very bones, making any kind of movement slow and painful. As she journeyed up the seven thousand steps she could see signs of others having made the trip before her. A group of dead Icewraith littered the frozen ground. Indari was glad she didn't have to fight off those little menaces. At least the path was now well defined. Why so much foot traffic?, she wondered, surely there can't be THAT many people wanting to join the Blades?




    Indari passed yet another of the small shrines that dotted the way up the mountain. She did not pause to read them, wanting to reach the top as quick as possible. As it was it looked like she would have to spend at least one night in the open, as the sky had started to darken. She'd done it before, found herself sleeping out in the wilds, she just wished she had thought to bring something a little warmer than her cloak.

    She took out a small flask and, finding it empty, filled it with snow. She then cupped her hands around it and concentrated, as her hands warmed up they in turn warmed the flask and melted the snow inside. Indari took a long drink and stowed the flask back into her leather satchel. Re-adjusted her crossbow on her back and continued on.

    She was loosing light quickly now and she was thinking about stopping for the night when she saw in the distance a small camp fire. She decided that a sitting beside a warm fire in someone elses company was better than freezing on her own, so she approached the camp with caution, keeping her hand on the hilt of her fathers sword. As she neared she saw a large man with a silvery grey beard look up from the fire. She stopped just shy of the fires light.

    "Ahoy there camper!" she called "May I approach and join you by the fire?"
     
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  12. Andre Marek

    Andre Marek You can run, but you'll only die tired...

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    Mareks boots left irregular, misshapen footprints in the deepening snow that continued to berate him as he made his way up the seven thousand steps of the Throat of the World. The storm had set upon the mountain not long after he had begun his ascent and had quickly escalated until he could barely see his own two feet. Luckily for him, he was not unaccustomed to traveling in such conditions. More than one unfortunate target had attempted to lose him in blizzards over the years. Much to their dismay, each and every one of them had discovered that Mareks sense of direction was no easy thing to diminish. As such, even with the storm surrounding the Throat of the World now offered little misdirection to the wizened bounty hunter. However, his sense of direction offered little comfort against the bitter winds that buffeted the slopes of the mountain. After nearly three hours spent climbing step after step, Marek could barely feel the tips of his fingers, nor his toes. He raised a hand in front of his face to help ward off the wind whipped snow. The cowl and hood that covered his head and shoulders only did so much to keep him warm. It was high time he stopped and made camp for the night.

    In truth, he should have stayed in Ivarstead when he arrived late in the evening instead of choosing to continue onward. The only reason that he had persisted was that he had still had a few hours of light when he arrived in the small village and he was not one to waste an opportunity. He hadn't anticipated arriving so early but he'd had an encounter on the road involving some unassuming bandits not long after leaving Riften, the result of which had found him in the possession of a horse whose owner had recently lost its owner. Mounted, Marek had been able to cut his travel time in half, arriving in Ivarstead shortly after six in the evening. He had chosen to push forward and cut down the climbing he would have to do in the morning but the storm had ruined those plans. Although, he hadn't fared too badly. He had at least managed to climb the first third or so of the steps but his energy was waning and he needed to rest before he made a mistake that cost him more than just time.

    he was just about to stop where he was and hunker down for the night when, through the blinding snow, he noticed a faint light. Squinting, Marek was barely able to make out a small, flickering fire and beside it, two human shapes were hunched close in an attempt to stay warm. Refugees? Or perhaps other mercenaries looking to help the Blades. Marek stood and watched the two figures for a few moments as he debated whether or not to approach them. It was unlikely that he would chance across anyone hostile to him in a place like this. The seven thousand steps were well known across Skyrim and no bandit or highwayman with even a thought for self preservation would camp out on the path to High Hrothgar so Marek could only assume that whoever these people were, they wouldn't be inherently dangerous to him. And, they had a fire going already. That detail alone made up his mind. If worst comes to worst, I'll simply kill them. Although, it would be nice if things didn't come to that, what with me as tired as I am. Trudging forward, Marek slowly approached the fire and stepped just inside the light it cast. Now that he could see them, he notice that one of the two was a woman clad in a heavy cloak and armed with a light crossbow which hung from her back. The other was a nord man wearing steel plate armor and a fur cloak and carrying a long, leaf-bladed spear. Definitely mercenaries, He thought as he evaluated them. Marek didn't speak, but simply stood motionless as he waited for the pair to notice him.
     
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  13. Blackdoom59

    Blackdoom59 BATMAN!

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    As The Reach falls to the dragons, the people of Skyrim understand how strong they truly are. Many leave Skyrim, to live a life away from war and suffering. Many remain, and try to help any way they can.

    The Stormcloaks and Imperials are getting closer to one another, former hates and hostilities slowly come to an end, as both Tulius and Ulfric believe that the fight against the dragons is much more important then the civil war. However not all share this idea. There are Imperial commanders that send their legionaries to fight stormcloak regulars, while some Stormcloak commanders don't hesitate to pillage as many imperial war tents as possible.

    The Dark Brotherhood has been destroyed by the dragonborn, and the Emperor lives to send as much reinforcements as he can to High Rock, which is heavily under assault by orcs and draurgr, and Solitude.

    With the war, people don't focus on thieving so much, so the Thieves Guild's members have an easier time robbing. They are doing better then before the dragons showed, however they do send money and ressources to The Sons of Sword, due to an agreement with The Blades.

    The College of Winterhold has been overwhelmed by the refugees that went there for protection. Although the refugees are weak, most of them try to make the best of a bad situation, and try to study and learn magic at the college. With an agreement towards Ulfric Stormcloak, the mages will offer aid in the fight against the dragons.

    The Companions - yet another faction to gain members. As most refugees go to Whiterun, in either the temples there or Dragonsreach, they do need a way to make a living there. Most turn to the companions, and learn the way of the steel. They make money by doing small jobs in the free region of Skyrim. With an agreement towards General Tulius, the companions will offer aid in the fight against the dragons.

    The remaining orc strongholds remain neutral. They would wish to fight alongside the men of Skyrim, and push the dragons out of the province, however they cannot be asked to fight their own brothers from the west.

    The refugees from High Hrothgar slowly turn into Blades apprentices, as they have nothing left to do but to train in the monastery, although the graybeards refuse to teach shouts to either the blades or the refugees.

    Skyrim is becoming more and more united in the face of war. But will she be strong enough to resist the powerful and cunning dragons? Paarthurnax wonders that everyday. The fear that his brother will rule over Nirn cripples his old wounded wings as he flies above The Rift.

    Meanwhile, at the Bannermist Tower, west of Falkreath, The Forsworn King, Madanach, alongside two of his most trusted Briarheart lieutenants, awaits orders from his new master. The clear blue morning sky turns crimson a strong voice echoes through Falkreath Hold.
    "Loh Koor Sahqo!"
    Standing next to the tower, Madanach could see a large red blood dragon taking his seat on top of it. "Drunbahdaan!" he shouted "You have summoned me". Madanach swallowed dryly, as he didn't knew the reason the mighty Wrath Bringer summoned him. He had no idea what to expect.
    "Ahkriin, courage, Madanach. You have nothing to fear. Alduin spoke to me, It's time to Kron, to conquer Falkreath. They are Sahlo, weak, they must be crushed by your armies."
    Madanach smiled at the idea of another battle. It was too long since he last fought. "Then they shall fall! They shall feel the wrath of the forsworn!" Madanach said with pride. "Patience, Jun. You do not possess the necessary Mullag to crush them. You shall assign three of the Uth, to battle and command here for you, while you return to Druadach."
    Madanach's smile faded away, as he nodded his head in agreement. One of the briarhearts took a step forward "We're going to need more time to organize". Drunbahdaan grunted, and as he clenched his claws, the old stone of the tower shattered. A few rocks fell on the ground, next to the forsworn.
    "So be it, Tiid is what you shall have. Attack them in a week. Krif Voth Ahkrin, and do not fail me mortals" As he spoke, Drunbahdaan flew away. And the sky turned to normal once more. Madanach and his lieutenants walked away from the tower, preparing for the upcoming battle.
     
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  14. Valin Oakthorn

    Valin Oakthorn Vagabond Extraordinaire

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    Bjulf had continued on for quite a while, but night eventually crept up and forced him to make camp. He decided it would be best to build a fire tonight. The nord scavenged around for some wood and tinder before setting up the pit and beginning the process. After a few minutes of pushing back the storm and struggling to get a spark, he eventually get a small fire going.

    It had grown a decent bit when Bjulf heard a woman's voice call out to him. "Ahoy there camper!" she called "May I approach and join you by the fire?" Bjulf was at first unsure of how safe it would be to let a stranger camp with him. He decided that he felt safe enough in the snow storm, it would give him a great advantage in any fight against a human. "Sure come on over." He called back. A young nord woman made her way over next to him. He guessed that she also would be joining the son's of the sword.

    They sat there in silence for a bit, huddling together for warmth. Bjulf was just about to make a bit of small talk when another figure approached. The figure was large, a man for sure, but the storm gave him little idea of just who he was. He doubted it was another bandit, so he figured that he would go ahead a call out to him. "Hey there! You come to sit by the fire as-well?" Bjulf called out.

    He had grown accustomed to the fire, and every gust of wind that took it's heat away felt just that much colder. Perhaps traveling with these people would make the experience a bit more bearable. He did, however, wonder just how they would react if he used his magic to push back the storm.
     
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  15. Drasok Ghett

    Drasok Ghett Lol, Im new :P

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    "Wow, this mountain is bigger then I thought" Andrew said, taking the first step on his 7000 step journey. He knew this would take along time, but he would make it if he kept his mind focused, which proved to be a harder task then thought.

    The farther he climbed, the more people he saw, he said his greetings to all of them. But was confused. "The Sons of Sword can't have this many people, can it?" He asked himself as he made his way to the first tablet, but neglected to read it, it would be a waste of precious time he needed to get up the mountain. "10 tablets in all, its been almost a hours and I've only past one"Andrew said, then proceeded to let out a over dramatic sigh. After a few minutes rest by the first table, he was on his way up the mountain again.

    But was soon stopped by someone he didn't know. "Hey, why are you here? you just a
    milkdrinker, you know who you're going to be gong up against right? Alduin, the strongest known dragon, you couldn't possibly hope you could slay the mighty beast" The man sounded serious. "I am perfectly aware. I am up for the challenge. But thanks for reminding me why I must get up there" Andrew said then pointed up to the peek. He then smiled and continued on his way.
     
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  16. Specter of Death

    Specter of Death Omnipresent Moderator
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    I had merely escaped the retreat with my life. That damn dragon almost burned every bit of armor that I had been wearing. It may be protective and flexible, but it isn't fire resistant.

    I had been running and traveling east, towards Whiterun, in hopes of it being relatively safe, against these winged lizards. I had just made it out of Horde territory, when I felt an urgency for rest. Not as fit as I make myself out to be, I thought, sitting against a log. Then the urge to read what I had found came upon me once more. Braend 'On Dinok, kept running through my mind. I couldn't help but pressure my mind to find where I could've heard that name before. Then it hit me. Faas, Fear. The teachings of the Greybeards, or the word walls scattered throughout Skyrim. I couldn't shout like, the long since dead Dragonborn, or the Hermits of High Hrothgar. But I could speak and communicate the language. The one tablet that I had ever read was called Faas. Fear not the Specter of Death, brendon dinok, for he is the Herald of Glory, qolaas do moro. Braend 'On Dinok, was Specter of Death. A nickname, an alias? Nobody would actually name someone after an ancient Dovah Script. Would They?

    My heavy thinking kept me stopped for quite a while. Long enough for me to get confronted by a large male. “What brings you out to the middle of the Plains?" He spoke, a large steel helmet guarding his face. I simply ignored the man, and kept to my thoughts. Trying to unravel the reason my masters did not tell me of this man. Then he pushed me, "Show some respect Inbred, before I make you!"

    I stood from my seat, and started to speak, "Well why don't you make m-" my words cut off, by his large fist colliding with my face. An instant surge of adrenaline pulsed through my veins. The man charged at me once more, with his large fist. My face wasn't awaiting him this time, as I ducked just as he flew past me. The man rolled to the ground, where I pounced. I was on top of him before he could recover from his fall. I pulled off his helm, and started to beat his face with it. My instinct to kill took over. My mind chanted out to me. Kill, Kill KILL! In no time, all that was left, was a bloody mush that painted my face, as well as the path around me. Thank Nirn nobody saw this, or I would be put to the axe in no time at all. As I recovered, and hid the body, I started to think about my overreaction. I guess I did not have to kill him, but for me, it's an instinct that is just too hard to control. I had started to search his lifeless body, with no sign of remorse. I had found a copy of the Lusty Argonian Maid, a small pouch of Septum’s I helped myself to, and a couple miscellaneous goods. Among them was a small torn letter that spoke of the formation of a group. Dedicated to fighting Alduin's Horde. And that they were located atop High Hrothgar, with the Greybeards.


    Finally, I thought, A way to find some answers. Maybe these hermits knew who this Braend 'On Dinok was, though it was a long shot. He was barely named after a script that hardly anybody knew about. I'm unsure the Dragonborn himself knew the stone. Like I thought before, it was a long shot. Better be off, I thought starting towards Whiterun once more. This time to gain access to a horse or carriage, to make the trip towards the 7,000 steps as easy as possible.
     
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  17. shadowkitty

    shadowkitty Mistress of Shadows

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    "Sure, come on over" he said back to her. Indari was grateful for the man's kindness and she boldly sat next to him enjoying the small warmth the fire radiated. She had been determined to tackle this mountain on her own but had greatly underestimated it. She wrapped her travellers cloak around her tighter and stared into the flames. Underneath her cloak she concentrated on her hands and they began to glow with warmth. She was glad the glow was concealed by her cloak. She was not sure how the stranger beside her would react to magic, so she chose to conceal it for now. She had been shunned before when she had demonstrated her skills, as meagre as they were, and she was not going to be silly enough to do it again.
    And yet, I can feel some power in him as well she thought to herself. She was just about to say something to him when she noticed another figure standing just inside the fire's light. He stood there silently, waiting for them to notice him. The man next to her looked up and saw the new edition.

    "Hey there! You come to sit by the fire as-well?" He called out. Indari slipped her hand down to rest on her boot, in reach of her concealed dagger, just in case.
     
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  18. tdatapina

    tdatapina Hero of Time

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    Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned; The 17 disputants could not shout Him down; Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World. Mikom smiled, realizing he was almost there. That had been the eight out of ten tablets. By now darkness was almost setting. He noted, with regret, that he had been traveling slowly and could've likely been there already had he not.

    It was dark by the time he arrived and he hadn't run into any more trouble on the way. Aside from the strain in his legs, terrible sleeping conditions, and bitter cold wind, it was an “easy” journey. In front of the entrance, on the first few steps sat a male Bosmer. He appeared exhausted and sat hunched over, tucking his knees in to provide him warmth. His silver blond hair was covered in snow. Mikom frowned at the figure and walked over, patting him on the back. “Come friend, it’s much warmer inside.” The Bosmer grunted weakly and Mikom helped him to his feet. “Let me help you. This cold can get to anyone, no matter how used to it they are.” As he threw the man’s arm around him for support he noticed how freezing cold his skin was.

    The giant metal doors to High Hrothgar towered over the two. He pushed them open with one arm and held it with his leg while the Bosmer hobbled in slowly. The two were greeted with pleasing warmth. For a moment, the two simply stood there, taking in the amazing feeling. There were no signs of any of the Greybeard; only refugees resting on cheap blankets, warming themselves by the fire. A few were drinking from nearly empty bowls, enjoying the very last drops of stew.

    The pair walked over to a counter and got themselves a bowl and took a seat against the wall next to a fire. It was a cheap potato soup, but Mikom didn’t care, and neither did the Bosmer. The warmth it provided was all they needed. He drank it greedily and felt his body slowly regaining strength. Tired, he leaned back and rested against the stone wall while his new companion finished his.

    After the Bosmer was finished he set the bowl down and the two simply watched the fire in silence, enjoying the peace. Neither of the two was eager to get back out in the cold so they cherished every moment of it. After the color returned to both of their faces, Mikom looked up at the Bosmer. “That was one hell of a journey, but it feels nice to finally be in the warmth.” He smiled. “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself. I’m Mikom, Mikom Light-Foot. They call me that because I’m light on my feet.” Silence lingered between the two awkwardly for a moment, and then Mikom chuckled. “I’m sorry. Stupid me, why else would they call me that? Anyway, what’s your name?” He leaned back against the wall contentedly, waiting for his new friend’s response.
     
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  19. EpicVakarian

    EpicVakarian Calibration-Master General

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    The small town known as Ivarstead emerged from the horizon in the late afternoon. Faervel sighed with relief, heading straight for the collection of buildings and running a hand through her hair exhaustedly. She reached the town just as the sun started to set, and headed straight for the inn.

    The moment the door opened, she knew she would have trouble sleeping. The stench of sweat, alcohol and vomit permeated every corner of the building. Behind one of the closed doors, a woman's moans led Faervel to believe that two people were getting better acquainted. Ignoring the sounds, gagging slightly at the smells, she walked over to the bar.
    "I need a room, please." The barkeep, with his stained tunic, looked up, eyeing Faervel closely. His eyes wandered up and down, clearly taking a guess as to why she was here. Thankfully he didn't say anything. He simply accepted the ten-septim charge and pointed to a room silently, eyes narrowed.

    Faervel nodded in thanks, turning on her heel and walking into the room, closing the door behind her. She turned the bronze key to lock herself in, then dropped down onto the bed, reaching up to push her hair out of her eyes. Dropping her packs on the wooden chair, she pulled off her leather boots, setting them down on the floor and slipping out of her trousers, pulling off the leather bracers and placing them inside the boots for security. Now left in her brown top and underwear, she opened the window before lifting her legs into the bed and closing her eyes.
    I hope I can get up the mountain. The air's only going to get worse from here.
    These thoughts didn't help her resolve, but she knew that she'd keep going up no matter what. And if she couldn't?

    Well, she had nothing else to lose anyway.
     
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  20. Andre Marek

    Andre Marek You can run, but you'll only die tired...

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    Marek didn't have to wait long before the two people sitting near the fire noticed him. "Hey there! You come to sit by the fire as-well?" He turned his head to look at the man who had spoken and opened his mouth to respond but his eyes were drawn to the woman as she slowly, deliberately, moved her hand down to her boot. The motion was too careful and her eyes too watchful. He guessed that she had some weapon, a dagger or other knife, stashed away in her boot. He paused for a moment and eyed her, making sure that she noticed his scrutiny, before continuing, "If it's not too much to ask," He looked back at the man. Slowly, he stepped further into the firelight, keeping an eye on the woman as he squatted down on the opposite side of the flames from the pair.

    Adjusting the position of his sword to be more comfortable, Marek scanned over the pair again, his grey eyes taking in every detail. The man had a stone faced look, narrow eyes, and a rigid posture that gave Marek the impression that he was a man of discipline. A knight perhaps, although, from what hold, Marek couldn't tell. The woman seemed to fit the mercenary cast better. Her armor was lighter than that of the knight's. It was meant for flexibility and traveling. And from the way the two were positioned, slightly turned away from each other, with the girl closer to the downhill side of the fire with Marek, he assumed that that they had not been traveling together. The woman had likely arrived not long before himself. He hadn't thought to meet anybody on the steps, but then again, the dragon threat was everyones problem. It made sense that others would want to offer aid.

    His gaze switching back and forth between the two and gesturing at their respective weapons, he said, "Would I be safe to assume that you both are here for the same reason I am?"
     
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