"Kaldrin's Avengers" Part 1: Introductions

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gozmonster

New Member
This is Part 1 of my Skyrim epic "Kaldrin's Avengers". There will be more to come, but for now, content yourselves with the sorry tale of Kaldrin, Elkim, Bulag and Byrlock. I apologise about the bad colour but I cannot change it. So, in comparison the font is bigger. Pathetic, I know, but enough of this petty talk. Onto the good stuff!

Turning in his heavy armor, Kaldrin surveyed the scene in front of him. This was a bad idea, coming here, he told himself. The promise of riches from the finding of the previous party had tempted his own, and led them into this Falmer ambush. Under a ceiling of rock and cobweb they battled against the goblin like troglodytes, staining the stone floor with blood. He was beset by two foul things, hunched over and bearing axes made from what looked like bone. Roaring with rage Kaldrin launched himself at the Falmer pair, ready to attack with his hefty mace and though they neatly dodged his charge his true intention was to manoeuvre closer to Byrlock, the wood elf, who was fighting another ambusher. Though the small man fought valiantly, he was obviously no match for the Falmer in close quarters.
“With me, Byrlock!” yelled Kaldrin, crashing into Byrlock’s opposition with his wooden shield and a handful of Nordic anger. The resulting collision knocked the Falmer off its feet and probably broke something too, as an audible crack was heard emanating from the fallen beasts ribcage as it hit the cold, hard floor awkwardly.
“My thanks Kaldrin!” muttered Byrlock, lifting his bow from the floor to rejoin the battle.
“Your thanks can wait until we finish these vermin” replied Kaldrin darkly. The rest of his party were still besieged by inhuman adversaries. Dro-gro-Bulag, fearsome as a berserker should be, had discarded his axe in favour of his fists as yet more Falmer poured in from a tunnel cavity in the far wall. Elkim was blasting a whole mob of them with ice magic from both hands, holding off the horde somewhat, and his familiar, a glowing spiritual wolf, was tearing at any that threatened its master.
“How these creatures breed so quickly is a science lost to me” mumbled Byrlock, sending an arrow into the heart of the horde being held back by Elkim. Kaldrin merely grunted; humour was never his thing, thought Byrlock. Damn good in a fight though. Dro-gro-Bulag had finally strangled the last Falmer surrounding him, and picked up his two handed battleaxe to enter the fray once more, but he was met with disappointment when Elkim’s last reserves of magicka were spent by creating a huge storm of lightning that leapt from Falmer to Falmer in the huge frozen group he had amassed with ice, causing them to convulse violently as they were burned by the searing bolts of magic. Finally with the immediate threat gone, Kaldrin could take in their surroundings with more detail.
The room itself was about the size of a drinking hall, and smelt like one too after the bloodshed. It was lit by a collection of strange blue fungi that glowed with ethereal light. The main feature was the numerous Falmer dead scattered around the room.
“How many, do you think?” asked Byrlock.
“About two dozen” answered Elkim with his cold, precise tone. Dro-gro-Bulag nodded slowly, taking in the carnage strewn about him.
“A fair number” he said slowly.
“Fair? Surely we must be heroes after this?” cried Byrlock in outrage.
“In Cyrodil I slew three times that number of Imperials” Bulag argued, staring into the ground intently “While they were killing my friends”
“So you have told us” resounded Byrlock “Many an evening spoiled by your gory war stories”
“Do not make the mistake of assuming I take pride in my actions that day, elf.” Bulag growled. Byrlock was about to remark but Kaldrin held his armoured fist up to stop the quarrel. He was pondering the way onward.
“Elkim?” he bellowed, and the high elf turned from the other side of the room, near the tunnel.
“Yes?”
“Is the way safe?”
Elkim sent his familiar forward to check, and after several seconds a ghostly howling indicated it was indeed safe.
“Then we proceed” He grated forwards in his full suit of iron armor towards the tunnel.
“Then we proceed” echoed Byrlock.
The party advanced down the stinking corridor. It was high and tall enough for them to walk two abreast, with Dro-gro-Bulag and Kaldrin in front and Byrlock and Elkim taking the rear. Byrlock was stalking backwards, his favoured longbow drawn, an arrow drawn and ready to be let loose. He was a dynamic fellow, ever ready to sing and laugh, but he had his moments. The wood elf was a former skooma addict, and before he served his time in prison was a dealer too. A few years in Whiterun soon sorted him but he never forgot the lessons old thieves had taught him in jail.
Dro-gro-Bulag was his polar opposite, solemn and silent, never taking pride or comfort, such was his burden. As a child he lived among a feral tribe of orcs, and though he was too young to take part they used to raid a nearby settlement frequently. When the Imperial Legion showed up to counteract them, he was fourteen. They attacked his tribe’s home and slaughtered his people, but as luck would have it he was merely knocked unconscious. He awoke in a wagon bound for Skyrim, saved from death by a group of Breton travellers.
Behind him stood Elkim, a cold and calculating High elf, and as intelligent as a graduate from the College of Magic should be. He was sent on an errand by his tutor to find evidence of Dwemer machines in Morrowind, but was captured by bandits and then mistaken as one when townsfolk retaliated to the outcast’s attacks. He ended up in Skyrim, lost, alone and with little to look for. Finally, the leader of the group, Kaldrin, was as shadowy as shadows themselves about his background. A big, heavily muscled Nord decked head to toe in iron wrought armor; none could doubt his skill in battle. Sadly the man lacked charisma, and was solely intent on the goal at hand, whatever that may be.
“Up ahead, light!” Bulag stated. True enough, light was streaming in from the end of the tunnel. Flickering fire light from a campfire of sorts. When the party arrived, it was a grave scene that met them.
“Who... how did...” stammered Byrlock in shock.
“The Falmer, that’s who” was the answer from Dro-gro-Bulag. The adventurers were dead.
“I don’t think the Falmer are behind this...” trailed Elkim. He was pointing to the ceiling, where a huge creature was hanging from a web the thickness of Kaldrin’s arm. It lowered itself slowly, spreading its eight legs wide to soften the landing, and it turned to face the party. Its face was compromised of six beady black eyes, with the top two larger than the others, and a pair of spiked fangs that dripped transparent venom. Its legs were each six feet in length and the whole thing was covered in hairs. It clicked violently and began to rear up onto its hind legs. “Duck!” yelled Byrlock, as it hurled a glob of poison from its mouth strait at the party.
Kaldrin alone stayed still, raising his shield to block the oncoming projectile. It hit, but did not falter him the slightest. He charged forwards, mace raised high. He smashed the heavy weapon hard down on the spider’s head, right between its largest eyes, causing it to squeal in pain. It responded by powering forward, pushing Kaldrin back with its eight legs. But it hadn’t counted on Dro-gro-Bulag, who had gotten up and was now leaping onto the Frostbite spider’s back, hacking away with his two handed battleaxe. The creature screamed again and ceased attacking Kaldrin, now much more concerned with the orc on its back. Elkim had gotten up too, and was working on a spell while the two warriors slashed and thumped the spider with their weapons. Byrlock was notching an arrow to his bow, and had just drawn the string back when Elkim released his spell, sending a wave of ice across the floor and making the spider lose its balance. It tumbled to the ground, Bulag and Kaldrin still beating it frenziedly until it was still. “Well” said Byrlock, relaxing the tension on his bowstring. “That worked just fine.”



“And then we came back here, battered, beaten and with nothing to hand in but bad news. Still, at least we cleared the place of Falmer, so the guard had better pay us something or Kaldrin here’s gonna have a word. Right, Kaldrin?” He grunted, sipping his ale. Byrlock was “entertaining” a few men from the farm with his latest tale of woe. The Meadery was packed to the brim, with barely enough seats to go around. It was pouring with rain outside and many were grateful for the shelter. The drink only added to the mood and many were flat out drunk at this point. “He’s only bothered about our bad findings. Don’t worry, old friend. We’ll make up our losses someday.” Byrlock was attempting to cheer Kaldrin up, but it evidently wasn’t working, as the barkeep pointed out. “I don’t care whether or not it’s working, only that he has someone to listen too.”
“Well, you certainly fit the bill” laughed the barkeep.
“Why you conniving little-“
“Give it up Byrlock, you couldn’t beat steak” came Bulags call from behind.
“Sure, now you lighten up you big oaf” insulted Byrlock. Dro-gro-Bulag simply turned back to his table.
“That’s right you simpleton” growled Byrlock. “Stab at me again and I’ll make a pincushion outta ya!”
“Sprightly little fellow aren’t you?” came a strange voice from the doorway. The drinkers turned to look, finding a new figure standing in the door, rain pouring down and onto the new arrival. He strode in slowly, water dripping from his raised hood. He wore a cloak over a fur shawl, with heavy metal boots clanking as he came in. His hands were armoured with iron gauntlets, their knuckles spiked with studs. He walked right up to Byrlock, soaking wet, and drew back his hood. “Fancy picking on someone else?” the stranger droned in his lizard-like voice. The hood had concealed a fishlike face, covered with dark green scales with lighter green under the chin. He had small horns the size of a goat’s and in place of hair were quills brushed back behind his head. His eyes were a deep red and his huge jaw was filled with needle-like teeth built for tearing. Byrlock was taken aback by the surprising appearance and was unable to answer, so Kaldrin stepped in.
“He has no quarrel with you, Argonian, or you with him. Back off”. He pronounced each word carefully and spoke in a low, menacing tone.
“Oh, it appears I have been mistaken. Perhaps my argument is with you” replied the Argonian. “Nord, if you value your honour, face me now and give these fine men something to talk about”. His words were met with a cheer from the drinkers. Someone yelled “Sock him one!” and another “Don’t let him say that!”. To Kaldrin, it seemed that the only way to quell this was to beat the newcomer into the dirt. “It seems I have no other choice” he said, and his acceptance was met with a roar of approval from the drunken crowd.

They both undressed to the waist, warming up for the brawl. The overcrowded Meadery forced a small space for the combatants to fight, and the air was heavy with excitement. The Argonian removed a scale from his lower chin, looked at it and then threw it to the ground. Kaldrin then realised that this Argonian was unusual. He was heavily built and very strong looking, and at least half a head taller than Kaldrin. He had a small amount of fat on his person but that only lent him more mass behind a blow. He was obviously enjoying the attention bestowed upon him, shaking hands and cracking jokes as if he wasn’t about to brawl with the man opposite. Kaldrin was far from relaxed, sharpening his mind on every detail that would help him in the coming fight. He noted the sack cloth trousers the Argonian wore, the amount of piercings he had dangling from his ears, the distance between them both and the length of the fish man’s arm. Finally he turned towards Kaldrin, smirking violently and raising his guard. They circled one another, the crowd’s noise unceasing and cries of encouragement hurling across the room as the entertainment began. Neither man broke eye contact for at least thirty seconds, at which point a drinker became impatient and shoved Kaldrin firmly in the back. He hurtled forwards, strait into the Argonians bare fist. His head was cracked backwards with the force of the blow and he barely recovered in time to see the next swing and duck. Seeing his chance, the Nord drove his right shoulder into the flailing thug’s stomach, sending him backwards a few strides but not felling him yet.
The Argonian grabbed Kaldrin by the back of his neck and literally ripped him off his body, following up with a combo of punches which the injured man struggled to block. The Argonian roared and hurled himself forward, right fist raised, ready to knock Kaldrin down, but was swiftly sidestepped and ran straight into the mass of bodies, sending a few recoiling in shock. The Nord managed a quick roundhouse kick in the ribs before he was up again, seething with rage. Kaldrin remained calm and dodged the Argonian’s wild swings, waiting for a chance to finish the fight. Unfortunately one of the drinkers had spilled his mead onto the wooden decking, and as Kaldrin backed up he almost fell. The Argonian capitalised, sending his opponent reeling with the strength behind the blow. He flew into the crowd, dizzy and bleeding from his nose. “Time for you to leave yet, Nord” came the voice of the panting Argonian. His answer came from Byrlock. “You’ve made him mad now.”
“What?” questioned the Argonian, risking a glance as Kaldrin recovered.
“Kaldrin’s normally laid back and calm, but when his blood starts flowing, you better watch out” Byrlock teased. “Pffff, that quivering wreck? He won’t even be walking when I’m finished!” the Argonian boasted. Byrlock was bluffing, trying to keep the Argonian occupied while Kaldrin recovered. Meanwhile, Kaldrin had been helped to his feet by the Nords around him, and was swaying slightly. His face was dripping blood, and he wore a grimace of pain and confusion. He looked around at the scene, taking in all the details. But he could not see a way to break his foe. He stood, dumbfounded, unsure what to do. “Well, Nord. If you want to give in, so be it. Deprive us of our fun like the sop you are.” Kaldrin was hurt badly; the hit he sustained was clouding his judgement. He was having delusions. He couldn’t stop swaying. He just needed to get a grip... Or let go. So that’s what he did. The Argonian never saw it coming. Kaldrin stared at him, and then let off a roar that had been building for some time right in the brutes face. The Argonians expression changed from smugness to terror, but he quickly replaced it with anger. Kaldrin surged forwards, barrelling towards the Argonian with all his might, launching a two fisted punch that landed squarely in his chest, knocking the wind out of the thuggish fish man. He followed up with two vicious left handed hooks to the stomach and then smacked him with a balled fist round the left cheek. He then leant all his weight and power into a last hammer blow that practically turned the Argonian brute into a missile that crashed into the bar and bent his back hard. Kaldrin added a thrust kick in his exposed chest for good measure, sending up a groan from his broken adversary. The crowd were struck by surprise for a few moments, but then a huge cheer went up, deafening in its magnitude.. Kaldrin turned from the crippled Argonian, but spun back round when he laughed painfully. “Why do you laugh Argonian?” asked Kaldrin. The Argonian picked himself up with difficulty. “I laugh, no-scales, because you have bested me, and that has earnt you a free mug of ale by my standard.” He extended a scaly hand. “I’m Robust Trop-Too, and I am honoured to have been beaten.”



Kaldrin stepped out into the driving rain to cool off after his fight. The water washed over him, rejuvenated his aching muscles and wiped the blood and sweat from his brow. The Argonian followed him, fully dressed, and sat beside Kaldrin on the cobblestone road. “Nice moves, Nord. Never saw that coming” he inquired. Kaldrin tutted in disbelief. “How can you wear all that getup after such a brawl?”
“I am an Argonian. We don’t sweat” was Trop-Too’s reply. The pair sat in silence, motionless as the rain battered around them. “You are tougher than you look” Kaldrin commented on the Argonian’s miraculous recovery. “It was the Histskin. We can heal our wounds with great speed”. Kaldrin scoffed at that. “Next you’ll be telling me that you can fly”.
“Alas, we are not quite that perfect or else everyone would be scaly and ugly” Trop-Too laughed in the storm. After another silence, Kaldrin asked “Why the name Robust?”
“Well, I would have been Timid Trop-Too” said the lizard man, gesturing to his mighty physique. “Lose a bit of that flab and I’ll put a word in.” came Kaldrin’s reply. The Argonian smirked.
“You and I, we are not so different. We are both outcasts, both drifters. We would brawl like we did for a night’s sleep. We may be separate in race and culture but deep down we are the same”
“Quite the scholar, aren’t you?”
“I am full of surprises”. They sat for a while longer until Kaldrin was called in by Byrlock. He entered to a throng of cheering Nords bearing tankards of mead, followed closely by Trop-Too. He pushed them away and set about finding his shirt and armor. Dro-gro-Bulag had stashed them away under his table and handed the attire to Kaldrin. “Nice recover! Never knew you were such a psychotic”. Byrlock was complementing Kaldrin’s impressive display, but Bulag stopped him. “Listen to me” spoke the orc in a deep, guttural tone. “That anger was nothing to be proud of. Let it consume you and you’ll wind up just like me.” Byrlock made a comment but was ignored. “Don’t think you are safe, anything may set you off. Try to control your anger. That is my advice.” Dro-gro-Bulag leant back and went back to his brooding over a tankard of ale. In his wake there was left a bubble of quiet around the table even as the talk resumed around the four. “Always the optimistic one aren’t you?” Byrlock muttered, making Trop-Too sI'm a racist asshole who doesn't understand boundaries, respect, or basic human decency and I need help. “So, is this all of your posse?” the Argonian probed.
“All except Elkim, our mage. He had urgent business tending to some mauled friend in an inn not far from here. He is to meet us there tomorrow. That and he don’t drink.” stated Byrlock. As if on cue, Elkim thudded open the doorway. Outside it still flooded rain from the heavens, and the elf’s face was solemn. “Come Kaldrin. Byrlock and Dro, you too”
“What is it? Something to do with your injured friend?” asked Byrlock.
“No time. Come now” he urged.
“I’m coming too” said Trop-Too with purpose.
“Very well, but we must hurry!” Elkim was obviously agitated, a very rare occurrence indeed. The normally cool elf was now irritated and impatient, running down the road at such a pace the others found it hard to follow. “Hurry!” he called from far off. After much panting and hardship the others reached the Black Sparrow Inn, a place of quietness and away from prying eyes. “In here!” called Elkim, ushering his friends indoors. When they were all in, they noticed that the few residents were staring at a man lying on a table. He had a large patch of black flesh around a hole in his shirt. It looked like frostbite. His skin was pale as white wine and he was still as a rock. But the thing Elkim was staring at was a closed and locked trapdoor. It didn’t seem unusual at first, but when one noticed the rim of ice spreading slowly from the edges something was defiantly wrong. “Down there” Elkim stuttered.
“Is a Frost Lich”
“A what?” questioned Byrlock.
“A lich with icy powers. I have heard of such things in my travels” said Trop-Too. “They are strange entireties that can kill simply by standing near you for too long. From what I hear, they are dangerous foes indeed.”
“So how do we get rid of it?” asked the flustered Imperial landlord.
“We kill it, that’s how.” All eyes turned to Kaldrin, surprised by his blunt answer. He had drawn his iron flanged mace and held his shield by his side. He turned slowly to gaze at each member of his party, saying nothing but asking them with a glance, “Are you with me?”
Trop-Too was the first to show his enthusiasm, baring his teeth and raising his spiked gauntlets. Kaldrin knew nothing about Frost Lichs, but he had knowledge enough about Trop-Too’s punches to understand that anything on the receiving end wouldn’t last long. Byrlock followed his example, drawing his longbow and fitting an arrow, nodding his agreement. The wine cellar would be cramped, but Byrlock’s marksmanship was second to none. Dro-gro-Bulag unravelled the oilskin wrappings on his axe, revealing a double head of steel and a shaft almost 5 feet in length. That alone was answer enough. That left Elkim, who lit his hands with sparks that grew steadily into fireballs and summoned his canine familiar to aid him in the coming battle. So it was that Kaldrin’s party were assembled.
Kaldrin opened the cellar door and descended the staircase slowly. He was followed by Dro-gro-Bulag, then Trop-Too and finally Elkim and Byrlock. The cellar was pitch black, so Trop-Too requisitioned a torch from the landlord and held it in his left hand. “Don’t drop that! The whole place could go up!” came a shout from the worried Imperial. The party stalked forwards, spreading out to cover the wide area. The cellar was separated by large barrels of ale and wine, each just below chest height and placed regularly around the room. Little else occupied the space except the ice. It was growing on the floor, the ceiling; everywhere a thin layer of frozen water was clinging to the surface. “So how did they get a Frost Lich down here anyway?” asked Byrlock.
“It followed my friend. Must have got down here by magic.” Elkim had reasserted his calm composure and was casually striding down one avenue of wine barrels.
“Great. Teleporting undead sorcerers with powers of frost. What next, walking trees that spit lumps of meat at us?” Byrlock always joked when he was agitated, but his comments were rarely any good. It served to relieve the tension, but even that was short lived when the five reached the end of the cellar. “Where is it?” asked Trop-Too, more to himself than to his friends. Everyone looked around in bafflement. Where was the Lich? Was there even a Lich down here to begin with? Their questions were answered when a creature appeared in the small, wooden staircase leading up to the tavern.



It was silhouetted against the light coming from behind it, so Trop-Too threw the torch at its feet, lighting up the apparition. It was wisp thin, with skeletal fingers grasping blue, swirling mists contained in its hands. It was clad in the ragged remains of a black mages robe, now torn and tattered. No shoes, its bare feet were stripped of flesh. Its face was unimaginably elderly, looking thousands of years old, and though skin still remained on its visage it was pale blue and wrinkly. Eyes shone with blue embers that danced around inside their sockets, and its scalp was covered up by a black crown made of metal the colour of night. In its centre a crystal the size of a fist glowed with barely contained power.
The creature did not touch the ground but hovered above it silently. An ethereal wind, soft but unnerving, blew its rags around slowly and chilled the living party to the bone. The undead thing began to whisper something in a strange tongue, its words harsh and dry. The Lich stared at the group one by one, its eyes settling on Elkim the longest. Finally the tension was broken when its quiet whisper turned into a scream of pure malice, and its hands shot up rigidly to point at the elven mage. Barking foul magics it unleashed a blizzard of ice directly at Elkim, who barely managed to dodge out of the way. But the onslaught did not stop there, as the creature turned to face Bulag, still spouting ice from its hands. The orc caught the blast right in the chest and was flung hard back to hit the wall behind him.
Cackling with spite, the Frost Lich began to hover forwards to attack Kaldrin. Its advance was halted when an arrow thudded into its upper chest. Byrlock began to notch another when Trop-Too, screaming his defiance, hurling himself at the monstrosity. He crashed into it, fists a blur as he pounded the undead mage back with brute force and heavy gauntlets. The Lich was damaged by the blows but was not fazed, and it responded to Trop-Too’s charge by erecting a solid wall of ice in his path. Frustrated, the Argonian began to pound away at the magical barrier of frost, intent on finishing what he started. The Lich turned as another arrow hit it in the back, and cursed in surprise as Kaldrin smashed it with his shield. He proceeded to attack with his mace, driving the Lich away from Trop-Too, still encased in a frozen cage. As the Lich recoiled towards the exit, he was stopped as Elkim, simmering with power, blocked the door with his own barricade of frost. The undead lord merely cackled again and literally hovered strait through the wall as if it did not exist. Kaldrin’s momentum drove him hard into the sheet of ice, shattering it but sending him spiralling down towards the wooden stairs. His armor, heavy as it was, took his fall through them too, blocking the party from reaching the trapdoor. Seething with rage, the Nord picked himself up and roared at his escaped adversary. It must have killed everyone in the tavern by now, and though Kaldrin’s party would be able to get out of their temporary prison easily it did nothing to soften the blow to their pride. At a cry from Byrlock Kaldrin turned to see him tending to the fallen orc. “Revenge must wait.” said Elkim coolly. “First, we lick our wounds.”
 

Rayven

Global Moderator
Staff member
I got the color to change. If you don't mind, I'd also like to remove the bold lettering to make it easier on the eyes.

Also, this is a story, yes? I can move it to fanfic. Unless you mean this to be part of a Roleplaying thread?
 

gozmonster

New Member
No, no, you go right ahead and move it. I am new here. But the biggie is did you like it and do you want more?
 

Rayven

Global Moderator
Staff member
No, no, you go right ahead and move it. I am new here. But the biggie is did you like it and do you want more?

Ok, it's moved and I altered the font and such a bit. Please let me know if you don't like it.

I need to sit and read through the whole thing when I have more than a few seconds to pop in. I promise I'll give you meaningful feedback when I'm done.
 

Neriad13

Premium Member
I love the characters you've created. They're all so colorful and different from one another. And the thought of an emo Orc gave me a pretty good laugh too. However, at the beginning, before they were properly introduced, it was a little hard to get a grip on who everyone was and what they were all doing.

The part when they were walking into the basement to face the lich was the most exciting. The anticipation of danger, the slight absurdity of the situation, the foreboding trail of ice - it was a nice bit of buildup.
 

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