Private We Hear Them Coming [18+]

[Nadir-Natesse]

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[[Rated 18+ for possible explicit violence, gore, sexual situations, and language.]]​

--OOC Thread--​

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The draugr of Skyrim are rising up and leaving the tombs, making their way across the holds, killing and consuming anyone in their path. It is nearly impossible to overpower them, as the remaining pockets of Imperial Legionaries and Stormcloaks can testify, via numerous reports. No one knows the reason, but there are whispers that a great undead Dragon, Vaerotugotha (vay-row-two-gah-tha) has heard of Alduin's fall and is attempting to raise his army of the undead to take over all of Nirn, starting with Skyrim. Already weakened from the battle with Alduin and the war amongst themselves the people of the land are vulnerable. Now, a massive exodus to the heavily fortified city of Markarth is underway, where those who survive the journey can find shelter and protection from the walking dead until a solution is found.​

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Until then, it is every man, mer, and beast for himself. As they flee the undead hordes, several travelers stumble upon each other and band together in this fight for survival. Putting differences and personal gain aside they embark the journey as one, protecting their lives and the lives of their companions to ensure the arrival at Markarth and survival against this growing, raging evil.​

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The poor thing never stood a chance. It's dead eyes stared at the afternoon sky seeing nothing. It's dried innards lay on the ground, half-eaten. Natesse crinkled her nose and turned away from the grusome sight. It was a shame than animals can't swing a sword or cast magic. The gods know they deserve to live more than most people. She turned her back on the carcass and looked at the remainder of what used to be Snow-Shod farm. Those who lived here packed up a long time ago and headed towards Markarth; who knows if they had made it. Since then the place had fallen into a state of extreme disrepair and was barely still standing. She closed her eyes. It was a
beautiful fall afternoon complete with a soft breeze and the sound of birds singing, ignorant of
the crisis taking place on the land beneath them. Looking around, the area was predictably
deserted, save herself and her Dunmer friend. Taking a moment to let down her gaurd, Natesse let
her mind wander. The sun felt good on her skin and brought back memories of a better time...

It wasn't six months ago that it all started. Natesse had been the Mistress of the infamous Thy
Lady and Lord brothel in Riften and enjoyed what she did. She and Rythe dedicated their lives to
running the tavern, keeping the girls safe and providing excellent service to their guests and
everything was going well, at least until a Stormcloak brough in rumors from Windhelm saying
that draugr attacks had been increasing over the past fortnight. It wasn't much to think on, he
had said, but still very odd as usually those things didn't leave the halls of the tombs they
wandered. Natesse, being somewhat squimish, had shivered and thanked her stars that she was
well away from that area...

Eight weeks later, another Stormcloak visited with her, telling of a bandit camp close to the
boarder of the Rift that he and his brethern had discovered where the inhabitants seemed to have
been eaten alive. They had guessed vampires or wolves but when they searched the area they
found nothing. Some time later that month in the middle of the night the entire town was aroused
by alarms. There was a massive dragur horde approaching the city gates and every able man was
to report to the chief of the guard. Rythe and a few other men from the brothel went to take part in the defense of the city. Everything seemed to go well at first but then the screaming started. Even from inside the building, Natesse and the other girls could hear it...the cries of
agony...pain...intense suffering... Screams that cut through your very soul...

Natesse wrenched her eyes open, breathing heavily. Looking around, she took a moment to shake
off the terror in her heart. She had even broken into a mild sweat, which in heavt ebony armor,
was not comfortable. Hitching her crossbow higher on her shoulder, the Bosmer/Nord padded her
way back to the main of the house, where her partner and friend was carefully rooting through
the debris, looking for anything of use.

"Rythe. Have you found anything at all?"

She waited for a moment, but there was no answer. She leaned to the side, trying to take a look
inside.

"Rythe. We should start heading back...It's going to start getting dark soon.

No answer. She was getting nervous, now. Feeling for the elven dagger at her waist, she took a few steps closer to the house every nerve alight with panic and fear. Had he been attacked? No, she would've heard it... But she was pretty into her thoughts... No! They'd have gotten her, too... Her breathing shaky , she gripped her dagger in one hand, and readied a shock spell in the other.

She had come to learn that shock spells where most effective against the undead draugr: flame spells simply set them on fire and made them into an even more deadly foe and forst spells took too long to have an effect. With shock spells, the amount of energy flowing into the body paralyed it's limbs long enough to create a window for a more lethal attack. She took a few more steps and stopped in the doorway, listening. Aside from the birdsong, all was quiet. She decided to call out to Rythe again, just in case he didn't hear her.

"R-Rythe? Please answer me...This isn't funny..."

She took a peek around the doorway and scanned the front room. It was empty except for
overturned boxes, books and rotten food scattered about and torn linen and clothes. It seemed as
if the place had already been looted well enough. She was about to go back outside and check
around back when she heard a metallic clink. She flinched and her spark spell sprung to life,
crackling softly between her shaky fingers. Looking back inside, she saw, off to the left in the
bedroom, a pair of feet showing through the doorframe. She recognized the heavy iron boots as
Rythe's and her heart lept into ther throat.

"Oh my god...RYTHE!"

She dropped her dagger and spark spell, running to his side. As she sprint through the door, she
stopped dead. There were his boots, but there was no Dunmer inside them. She stood there
shocked and confused for a second, then something grabbed her from behind. She screamed and
strained as a heavy, cold hand clamped over her mouth.

"RAAAWRRR I'M GONNA EAT YOU, TESSAAAAA!"

Fury gave her enough strength to finally tear away from Rythe's arms as he dissolved into
laughter.

"DAMN YOU, RYTHE! HOW IN THE HELLS YOU FIGURE THAT WAS FUNNY! I THOUGHT YOU WERE
DEAD!"

Despite her anger, he couldn't stop laughing. She aimed a punch at him, but he dodged; he was
pretty nimble in all that iron armor. Furious, she snatched up his boots and stormed out the door.

"Tess....TESS! Come back! I was just- Hey...h-hey! Where are you going with my boots?!"

He ran out the farmhouse behind her, but she was already halfway across the feild towards
Goldenglow Manor, running at full sprint. She was pretty nimble in ebony armor, herself. Or
maybe she was just fueled by fury. Rythe, suddenly seeing what she was doing, took off behind
her, his waraxe plinking noisily against his hip.

"TESSSS! DON'T! I WAS JUST KIDDING! I'M SORRY!"

He was making very slow progress being barefoot and once he left the realitive softness of the
farmhouse grass for the hard rocky ground it became apparent that he was not going to catch up
to her in time.

"OWCH! TESSSSSSAAAA-OWCH OWCH OWCH, COME BAAAACK! PLEASE DON'T-OWCH!-DO WHAT I
KNOW YOU'RE-OWWWCH damn rock!- GOING TO DO! NOOOO!!!!"

But it was too late. Natesse had used a telekensis spell to hurl his boots into the center of the
lake. They hit the surface with a big splash and immeditaely sunk to the bottom. Rythe stopped
running and gaped. She stalked back to him and cast a wicked smile.

"Oops. Now let's get back to Riften, we've wasted enough time out here."

She glared at him and stalked past, heading back to the city. Back home.

 

[Hlíf 'Ulfr]

Blinding, the sun that had coaxed Hlíf’Ulfr out of his safe place now made him squint in a feeble attempt to protect his sensitive eyes. Rarely did it seem to him that the sun showed its brilliant face in The Rift but now that it did it appeared to him a sign to rise from what could have been a state of death for the amount of the world he had seen over the past few days. He had witnessed nothing but the darkest reaches of the cavern in which he had chosen to take shelter within for the past two or could it have been three days. It had taken him that long to piece himself back together after all that he had seen.

Hlíf’Ulfr had not been the first to leave the grotto, initially it had been an inquisitive and slightly uneasy somewhat pink muzzle that had peaked out into the light then upon giving a short snort the rest of the grey dappled draft began to follow, the light laying just over his shoulders when the second of the three creatures materialized from within the darkness. This second of the three was Hlíf’Ulfr his face stained by the sun that now attacked his cold brown eyes, blinding him to his surroundings. The slight breeze that made the blazing orange and golden leaves wave proudly against their stark white branches made his brown hair dance across his face and around his neck. His jaw by now had still by some miracle only slightly elongated stubble to further darken his skin although he seemed to be much dirtier than he had wished to be and some of the red war paint still lingered where it ought not to.

By the time the light had reached the dappled gray’s back nearing his hind quarters a second this time white muzzle appeared, the second of the two seeming much more lively and followed much quicker than the previous by the rest of its mass, this time it was a brown draft slightly smaller than the first impressively sized grey. The first began to nuzzle Hlíf’Ulfr’s arm obviously quite accustom to the well built nord but the second could do nothing to comfort her mistress as her once loved rider lay cold and lifeless in Hlíf’Ulfr’s strong blood stained arms. This was the cause of the grim look spread across his face, the cold look in his eyes not giving away the tears he may have shed he now stood strong as a rock healed of his weakness. After all the attacks he had witnessed and helped to at least attempt to fight off this hurt the most. He had been with the companions and after parting ways with Farkas and Vilkas, who had in his mind no doubt found their ways out of the mess he had dedicated himself to traveling alongside Ria. They were like a family how could he have not saved her. They had gotten her despite his best attempts her slightly mangled limp corpse showed the definite signs the draugers victims displayed and yet he showed none.

He shook his head; his mind was not clear as he had chosen to, in attempt to cleanse himself not eaten from the time he had first entering the cave it was also debatable and not quite obtainable by his memory to if he had managed to fall into sleeps embrace or not. He began to now put one foot ahead of the other not sure where he was going but hoping to find survivors when he arrived. The further he went the more confident his step became and the quicker it got although never reaching a run he pushed forwards the two beasts of burden following tightly behind. He tried to create logic thoughts in his head as to where he would go but as his tired mind began to grind back to life his attention was distracted by what must have been voices. He thought on the probability of it being an attack then listening more closely he heard the tones and his hopes were raised. He began to move even more quickly clutching Ria tightly in his arms, he was soaked and stained in blood. He got closer to the voices and soon broke out of the trees. His eyes were slightly glazed over by this point but still managed to find the sources of the voices. He saw first what appeared to be a Dunmer although of male or female he could not tell and secondly he laid his eyes upon what was obviously a female but of what descent, Nord or Bosmer he could not in his groggy state determine. He almost stumbled towards them hoping to draw attention to himself he gave the grey a good slap on the rump and with a loud whinny sent him charging towards the two.

 

[Nadir-Natesse]

Sebek released a long sigh. The journey had been not only tedious, but boring. After leaving Windhelm in his wake, the lone mer had trudged his way through dense forest and quite frankly, he hated it. He much preferred the biting cold of the far north but if he was to ever get any information on this recently upheaval of the dead, traveling would be most necessary. He had made many thralls along the way in the hopes that his boredom would be alleviated but sadly that was not the case. The one trailing behind him now was quite annoying with it groaning and shivering. Sebek cast it an incredulous look. Surely, it jested. He rolled his eyes and faced forward once more.

The afternoon sun glinted off the front of the breastplate of his armor while his silk triple cravat rippled in the wind. He looked down at it, smiling; it certainly was stylish. Pulling his cloak up over his head, he marched onward, the thrall shuffling quickly behind. He scanned the terrain with his vampire eyes, seeking any sign of movement; there was none. Judgeing by the gently waving leaves just barely attached to their parent branches he was now leaving Eastmarch and entering The Rift which in all honesty had barely been touched by the plague of the undead. The holds most affected were Winterhold, Eastmarch and Hjaalmarch; the fighting raged on even today. Sebek supposed that the undead fared better in colder climates...considering his own condition the appropriateness of that was not lost on him.

At first the crisis intrigued him. The draugr were leaving their tombs and venturing out into the wilds, villages, and even badly fortified cities. Not only did this provide him a chance to improve his own magic (he had access to more dead bodies than one knew what to do with) he had collected a good supply of necrotic flesh for his black magic rituals; a necromancer could never have too many samples of dead flesh. However, as the weeks turned to months Sebek came to realize that someone was controlling the dead and with a purpose. He wanted to know who. Whoever this necromancer was, he had a astounding gift to be able to control hundreds, no THOUSANDS, of dragur at once and must have much arcane knowledge and Sebek wanted to know his secrets.

The search, however, was in vain. He ventured as far as he knew Necromancers dwelled and found many, but not the one he wished. Not to say he did not find any secrets as many of those he slew had much to tell...One, an old hag past her days mentioned, as Sebek choked the life out of her with a telekensis spell, that a dragon was responsible...an undead dragon, one of the Soul Cairn. The elven necromage had tried to more more out of her but she died before he could regulate his hold. Dragons. If anyone knew dragons, it would be those damned Nords. They hardly spoke of anything else, so now the journey had a new purpose: to find one who knew of an undead dragon.

That was even harder than finding a necromancer. As it was, necromancers had very little to fear from a rise of draugr. After all, they played with dead bodies on a regular basis and knew how to handle them. However, the common man decided it was much better to flee than be eaten alive (and Sebek had seen plenty of that further up near Winterhold...the snow was hardly snow at all, and more like cold, thick rivers of blood) and thus a great exodus to Markarth had commenced.

"Markarth..."

He turned the word over in his mouth. Sebek wasn't a tracker and not entirely sure were Markarth was, but he figured he'd run into it eventually. "To the west" the rising alarm had been and that is were Sebek was headed but thanks to the great mountains, he had not been able to make a straight trip. He would have to find a way around the damned things, a task that was sure to be a headache. For now he needed to feed, but on whom? There was nary a soul within miles of where he stood and the sun was getting ever hotter. Behind him, the thrall groaned yet again and he looked back, a smile playing on his lips. Ah yes... Thralls, while terrible traveling companions, were not entirely without use.

 

[Nadir-Natesse]

...

Natesse fumed as she marched along, half-leaving Rythe behind. He had apologized profusely since the incident but Natesse was far from ready to forgive him. She couldn't believe his behavior. They were in the middle of a terrifying crisis and here he was, pulling childish pranks. She heard him catching up and increased her pace; he could walk on rocks until his toes fell off, for all she cared.

"NATESSE, STOP."

The strength of his words made her come to a halt. It wasn't often Rythe took up the helm of being a man but when he did, it really had an affect on her. She stood straight for a moment before she felt hot tears filling her eyes. The dunmer approached her from behind and grabbed her shoulder.

"I said I was sorry. What more can I do?!"

She spun around and slapped him in the shoulder, the tears flowing openly.

"How could you do that, Rythe?! With everything that's been going on, how could you?! Why would you play with your life, my feelings, like that? I thought you'd been killed..."

Rythe's eyes softened into a sincerely apologetic look. He pulled her close, hugging her, though she did not hug back. The breastplate of his armor was cold against her cheek but it did well to help the burning in her face and the dull ache of her eyes.

"You're right. That was a very insensitive thing to do, I am sorry. I was just trying to lighten the mood. Keep our spirits up. You know we're the only two people left in the Rift. I don't want you to go mad from boredom, that's all."

He pulled back, his deep crimson eyes shimmering beneath long lashes. Natesse would forever be intrigued with his woman-like features, but oh so manly body.

"Please forgive me."

Natesse paused, then sighed. She couldn't stay mad at Rythe. His intentions were pure, she didn't doubt that in the least and he really was trying to help. She nodded and wiped her tears away.

"Fine. But next time it'll be YOU I throw in that lake. Got it...?"

Her sentence trailed off as she heard a sound behind Rythe. Looking past him, she saw movement and reached for her dagger only to realize that she'd left it behind at the farm when she stormed out with Rythe's boots. Neverminding that for now, she pulled her crossbow from her back and fixed a bolt. Rythe had turned just as she did and had readied his axe. They both watched and it soon became apparent that it was only a horse, thundering toward them like a mad cow. Natesse, being half Bosmer, took it upon herself to run toward him too.

"Halt, I am your ally, I mean you no harm! Slow...slow..."

As she spoke, he hands glowed a powder blue as did the animal. It slowed to a canter and stopped by her side, agitated but entirely gentle. Rythe walked up and put a hand on the creature's nose.

"Where did you come from...?"

Natesse was about to speak when more movement caught her eye. This time, it was upright, and stumbling towards them. She bent down for her crossbow and aimed it, stepping off to the left for a better aim. It was a man, it seemed, carrying another body. Neither were draugr, but that doesn't mean they were harmless. She jogged forward a little ways and called out to him in a clear, strong voice.

"STOP. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

 

[Star Gazer]

Flie fell on the ground, crying. He had done it. He had actually done it. He had broken the sacred vow of peace that was required of him by his people. With those few strikes of his sword, he had lost all of his honor. He pounded the dirt with his fist, softening it with his tears. The bald head of the man rolled along the ground. He stared at the bloody, headless body which carried a deep stab wound to the abdomen. When Flie saw it, he fell, cursing himself for what he had done. Why had he killed this man? What had he done? What was he supposed to do? He had to!

It was getting dark, being only evening when he had killed the man. Groans bellowed from between the trees. It was unnatural. Like a low howl of a wolf, but more strained and snarled. He stuck his blade into the ground. Was this punishment for murder? Was he getting what he deserved? Out of the trees came grey beasts. Moving slowly, but with such perseverance. Some hobbled, some crawled. There were many.

Flie knelt and drew his sword. Is the punishment for killing a man so severe, that he must survive through unearthly trials to regain his honor? Is this the true way of my people? If so, I wish this upon no man. He thought, preparing for hell on earth. The blue eyes of the beasts shone through the darkness, revealing their positions. Flie knew that these were no men. He had no trouble cutting through their flesh.

The first sprinted at him, only meeting a quick slash through the neck. The head dangled to the side on a small flap of tissue. Three came from his side. He slashed one and stabbed the other, but many more had already arrived. They grabbed at his ankles and smacked his jaw. Flie ran. Sprinting through the forest, the leaves brushed against his face, leaving blood and dirt. He came through an opening in the trees that led to a large lake. He was in Riften. The beasts were close behind. He could hear the struggled breathing and panting of the hell-spawn behind him, but dared not to turn back. He made a sharp left and made his way around the lake. He praised himself for not wearing heavy armor, for it would not have given him the mobility to escape these foul creatures. He arrived at the stables, trailing a group of grey beings behind him.

He sprinted through the city gates, allowing the guards to pepper the evil with arrows, and fell to his face on the cobblestone roads of Riften. His clothes tattered, his faced ripped and dirty, he remembered the carcass of the man he killed. Each tear streamed with discomfort down his cut face.

 

[Hlíf 'Ulfr]

....

Hlíf’Ulfr looked at the woman and tried to form a sentence but struggled with how to tell her he meant no harm. In normal circumstances he not only had a firm grasp on words but could charm his way out of anything, he was quite a words smith so he began to mentally kick himself as his mind drew a blank. He looked at his dappled grey and let out a deep whistle and watched as his trusted companion began to trot back to him past the woman, with this he began to walk closer.

“She needs to be buried,” he first whispered but then with more and more force began to repeat “She needs to be buried.”

Somewhere in his bleary mind he knew the woman would be apprehensive of his approach and stopped close enough to her that he could be heard but not close enough to be harmed.

“Ria,” he whispered “Entirely my fault... She needs... She needs to be buried.”

He looked towards the Bosmer or Nord woman his deep brown eyes pleading with her to understand, his hardened face became gentle as he searched for the right words to make her realize his intent. His hansom features lacked a clean glow and his mental state was deteriorating and he was nowhere near the impressive specimen of a nord he prided himself to normally be but as he stood slightly shaking with the two drafts behind him he still clung to the tiniest scrap of what must have been his decency as he began anew:

“My lady, please,” he beseeched of the woman and the Dunmer who accompanied her “She needs to be...”

He trailed off looking to the ground and began to whisper her name, he clutched her even tighter, and somehow although he had neglected to clean himself the body was mostly free of blood and had on clean and new dress. It would have made much more sense for it to have been Hlíf’Ulfr lying dead if it was only that based on appearance that is neglecting the wounds.

 

[Nadir-Natesse]

Natesse's eyes fell to the woman clutched in his arms, then to his face. He was in great pain, and not just physically. She knew that look. She'd suffered it herself. She still did. As she stared at the limp body in his arms, she thought back to those she mourned. She'd lost two of the men who were guests at her brothel. Good men, kind men, eaten alive by the draugr. Rythe had barely escaped with his life. Dreven, her lover of many years, vanished shortly thereafter without a word; Natesse had no idea what had become of him.

Then there was Alice. Her little Alice. The young Imperial was like a younger sister to her. They'd met some years ago in the Imperial City and, along with Dreven, helped to rescue her father and stop a great evil from coming to pass. In the time since she had come to love the girl as family and when she got news of the draugr attacks up north, her heart broke. Alice and her father Simus were fighting a constant battle as it was and Natesse knew that with the double threat survival was slim. She closed her eyes trying not to cry.

She opened them and looked at the newcomer. Without taking her eyes off him, she spoke to Rythe.

"Get the horses, please, Ry. Lead them to the city."

She spoke now to the gasping man before her.

"We will bury your friend, but not here. Come with us to the city. We will see to her properly, there."

 

[Six Gun Tarot]

Agristyr walked along the old path that led to the medium-sized farm. A large worn sign hung from the nearby tree, Merryfair Farm, was painted on with white paint. He placed his hand on the sign and pulled on it slowly, the sign snapped from its iron nails and fell into his hands. Agristyr threw the sign into the bushes next to him and walked further ahead. A loud scream echoed from somewhere inside the farm.

"The Nine help me!"

Agristyr drew his bow and notched an arrow, there was nothing but silence in the whole farm but the smell of blood was prevalent. He walked carefully into the stalls, four once beautiful horses now laid slain in their stalls, their throats sliced open and left to bleed out. Agristyr stepped through the stall and headed around the house to the garden. The smell of fresh blood wafted to him, a body of man, presumably the owner of the farm laid face down in his own entrails. The scene was horrid, he shifted his eyes to notice fresh footprints heading for the house.

The house door opened easily, maybe too easily, Agristyr opened and peeked in. The scene was horrible, the house was a mess, blood and various household items were thrown about. A squeak came from the left wall, he pulled his bow up and saw a grotesque scene. A woman, in her late thirties, hung by spear against the wooden wall. The lower half of her body was missing, it was odd, normally she should of bled out. The woman was barely conscious but clearly was in great pain. Agristyr brought the bow up and aimed for her head, this was sure way to make sure she didn't feel anymore pain. He let the arrow go slowly and the loud ping of bowstring was heard throughout the house.

 

[MagicBlade]

Berlow sat in the corner of Riften. His face grim, his eyes straining the tears that came forth. He looked at people in despair, knwoign he was among them. He would exact his vengeance on those Draugr that ruined his family. His life had a single purpose, yet he still thought he could make himself useful. He moved over to a woman, an elf. "You are going on a mission to Markarth, I seek to aid you...for no cost, elf." Berlow knew his voice sounded weak and sad, but he tried to make himself look formidable and strong. He knew his staff and axe could show much , but he lacked armour. He waited for the woman to reply, who he find rather attractive, even for an elf... he snapped his eyes from her obvious chest, returning back to reality. "Ehem..." He stood, waiting.

 

[Star Gazer]

Flie peeled himself off the stones, hearing the gates open once again. The walls of Riften were crumbled and debris was scattered throughout. Nobody was in sight. He went to what looked like it used to be a bar. There were two of the beasts in there, and a few dead bodies the guards had yet to bury. Flie stabbed one in the nose area, his sword piercing but not going far. Only one side of his sword was sharpened. It was enough to send the thing to the ground. He pulled out his nordic-carved dagger and stabbed the other in the stomach. It did no good. He backhanded and connected with the monster's head. It was enough force to send it to it's knees. Flie used this time to stab through it's throat.

He looked at the bodies with rage. He ran outside, grabbed a large cart from the market, and hauled the dead bodies to the cemetery. Flie started digging.

 

[Hlíf 'Ulfr]

....

Hlíf’Ulfr looked at the woman, his eyes swimming enough to melt any heart then looked down at Ria. He gave her a loving look, she was in fact the only attachment he had to his family, the companions that had been tangible to him and now she was gone. It gave him great satisfaction and a certain comfort as the woman promised him that she would be properly taken care of. He tried again to put one foot in front of the other and again began the search through the mental labyrinth that was his exhausted psyche in attempt to thank the woman. He neared her and looking down and straight into her eyes he could only just managed to choke out, his voice husky and breaking:

“Thanks be to you… My Lady.”

His drained eyes seemed to fill again with life as he gazed into hers, if not with words he would express through feelings what she had done for him. He closed them and looked down at Ria’s peaceful face once more and whispered

“Won’t… Will never, never forget…”

His soiled, blood tainted muscles flexed as he lifted Ria higher against his chest so that her head lay as if it was only resting on my shoulder, as if she was only sleeping. Hlíf’Ulfr titled his head to the side so it lay just touching Ria’s and whispered just softly enough for the Bosmer Nord woman to just catch his words

“They’ll take care of you Ria… You can rest… rest easily now.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and dropping his head slightly further from before he whispered one last thing to her death deafened ears he had been unable to find within himself to say prior to this moment

“Goodbye… Sister.”

He stood like this eyes closed face touching that of the dead woman’s for a moment then slowly raising his head he nodded to the Dunmer with thanks filling his gracious eyes signaling to him and to the horses that they would follow with no difficulty. He then laid his eyes to rest on the woman eyes swimming once again, she had given him hope that perhaps there was good and perhaps not only may his body survive this terror by his psyche as well. He craved to embrace her, to show her how she had laid his fears to rest some how but he could not, all he could do was hope that through his eyes and face she could see and recognize all these things. One more time he tried to thank her opening his mouth but no words came out, he closed his lips and pressed them in a firm line determine to say if not one more word .

“Hope” he finally managed to let fall from his quivering lip,then more more time he repeated "Hope"

 

[Simus]

Alice and Titus Psyrakon looked down at Riften from the hill they were camped on. The city was a crumbling ruin. Thousands of dead drauger littered the forest floor leading to the walls. They had been moved into great charred piles, a vain attempt by the guardsmen to deplete their numbers by burning their corpses. One pile was so large it had reached the top of the wall and spilled over into the city. It was as if the monsters had used a pile of their own dead to scale the wall. Several more bodies were in between the piles, more than the young pair of imperia siblings thought could ever exist.

"Alice?" Titus asked. "Are you seeing this?"

"Yeah." His twin sister said in awe. She turned to him, her young and innocent face full of concern, her neck length ebony hair framing it just so. Her small, slender frame shetered by a deep blue cloak with the hood down. It was over her powder blue dress which went halfway down her thighs and had short sleeves that went down to just above her elbows. Under this was her white one piece leather armor that covered her whole body including her feet. Her brown leather gloves went up to her wrists and her soft brown leather boots went up to her knees. Overall she was quite fashionable and very quick on her feet. The enchantments on her armor and clothing also provided reasonable protection as well as made them easy to clean.

Her brother was just as small as she, barely five feet, but he was a bit wider and had much more muscle. His body was built like a wolfs and he could run like one. He had the temperment of one as well but that was part of being a werewolf. His sister was more like an elk. Fast, perceptive, cunning, dangerous if underestimated or provoked.

Titus shared his sister's sapphire blue eyes and easy smile, though his was more of bravado than calm politness. He also shared her pale skin and ebony hair but his was down to his shoulders and secured in a ponytail by a leather strip. His steel armor wasn't as fashionable as Alice's outfit but it was well maintained and had served him well. His gloves and boots matched the set but he didn't wear a helmet. Stifled his vision too much and like any true hunter he never lost sight of his prey.

"Anyone down there?"

"I'm not sure. There is so much death here Titus. So much pain, so much sadness. If anyone survived this apocolypse then they are very few."

"You had any visions that could help recently? Anything like people wandering out to find us?"

"No, not really. Lately it's been death, death, death."

She saw the concerned look he gave her and aknowleged it, knowing he wouldn't.

"Dad and Cill are gonna be okay. They make it Markarth and it is safe there. Our fates aren't so clear."

"Well you know me sis, I like to make my own luck. No use worryin' about what might happen I always say."

Titus' comment could be seen as arrogant but Alice found it comforting. Being able to see the future meant that she thought about it alot. That inevitably made her worry and that added stress. Titus was something of a relief for that stress. He was a very in-the-moment person, very down to earth. Alice couldn't always see what was in front of her and Titus helped her with that. Despite rather intense sibling rivalry they made an excellent team, and they made their father very proud.

Alice gave her brother a warm smile. "Yeah. I guess so. That's hard for me to do though."

"I know sis, but you're a special case. Pretty amazing what you can do even if I don't undestand it. Just try not to let all the death get you down, you know? We're alive, Dad and Cilla are alive, that's what matters. Besides, I can turn into a giant furry monster so you're safe with me."

"So long as you keep your temper."

"Right."

"Right. Okay, I'm going to report in to dad. Do you want to talk to him?"

"Sure. Still kinda creeps me out you know, you guys using magic to talk to each other. Just doesn't seem...natural. If that makes any sense."

"It does, and I understand that viewpoint. You're certainly not alone in it. Don't worry though. I won't bite."

"Yeah, you'll just whine." He said with a grin.

"Just give me your hand furbrain."

Titus joined hands with Alice and she began channelling the telepathy link she and her father shared. Her mind's eye flew over the Rift's golden-leaved trees and still-clear rivers and moved to the darker but still green planes of Whtierun. Many of the hold's villages had fallen to the drauger but the city itself still remained. After Jarl Vignar died in a drauger attack, Jarl Balgruuf returned to power after being petitioned by Simus Psyrakon, the commander of the hold's forces and one of the Stormcloaks that drove Balgruuf out during the Civil War when the Stormcloaks took the city. That war had little meaning since The Rising, as the current crisis was called, and Balgruuf changed little of the administration when he returned to power. He had worked an alliance with Jarl Igmund of Markarth to send convoys of refugees from the rest of Skryim to the fortified dwarven city via Whiterun. Igmund would accept them so long as Balgruuf helped provide for them as well as do what he could to keep the Corridor of Hope as the route had come to be known safe. Simus was largely in charge of that and he had manpower from both holds to use in this effort.

Alice and Titus were in Riften to gather any useful supplies and evacuate any survivors. They knew the city was in trouble but they weren't parepared for the scene of devastation before them. Alice soon found her father's mind and reached out to it.

Dad? It's Alice. Titus and I found Riften. It's been completely overrun.

Just how bad is it Alice?

Alice allowed him to look through her eyes and the devastation made his stomach turn.

By Talos...All those bodies. I thought Windhelp was bad, but this...Is Titus there?

Hi dad.

Hey pal. How was the trip down there?

Not so bad. Pretty. Kinda boring, but the hunting' still good. Ivarstead's still alive.

That's good to hear. So many people come to Whiterun every day with no hope. Nice to see at least someone else is still alive.

What are your ordres dad?

Scour the city, find what you can. Save whoever's not infected and get them back to Whiterun. They can start the journey to Markarth from there. I just had a patrol come in through the main gate so I've got to go. Good luck guys. I'll talk to you again soon okay? I love you both, be careful.

I love you too dad. We will be.

See ya dad. We'll be back before ya know it!

Alice broke the link and turned to her brother. "I'm gonna go get some water and get breakfast started. You wanna get some rest? You haven't slept much."

"I never sleep much. Nah, I'm gonna go down there, check out the place."

"Okay. Don't take too long."

As Alice went to get water from a nearby stream, Titus went down the hill to Riften's front gate, battleaxe at the ready. Near the gate he saw a tall woman that looked like an elf in ebony plate with a big crossbow. She was standing next to a dark elf woman and a Nord man that looked like he was holding something. Hearing their conversation but not caring enough as to what it was, he shouted to them as he walked.

"Scuse me! Do you know where the nearest inn is?! I got directions from a drauger but he didn't have a mouth so he was hard to understand!"

 

[DarkAxel23]

((Wrong thread, dear. This goes in Thy Lady and Lord. Repost there, then delete it here, please. Thanks!))

Oh, sorry

 

[Six Gun Tarot]

Agristyr pulled the arrow from the woman's limp head. This place would have to be cleaned of the deeds that had been done. The draugr, where ever they were, were in no sight of the farm. Agristyr went the flame of the fireplace and picked up a flaming branch. He grabbed a large bottle of liquor that laid on the floor and poured it over the wooden floor and the beds. Agristyr threw the branch onto the liquor and a loud roar emitted as flame began to spread throughout the small house.

Agristyr walked outside and turned his head towards the now flaming house.

"May the blessings of light be upon you,
Light without and light within.
And in all your comings and goings,
May you ever have a kindly greeting
From them you meet on the road."

Agristyr turned and pulled the blue hood over his head again and walked towards the ruins of Riften.

 

[Nadir-Natesse]

She gave a non-commental nod at the Nord man's thankfulness and turned, heading back to the city. She heard hi follow behind, talking to the corpse of the woman in his arms; clearly she was someone he cared deeply for. He certainly wasn;t a threat in his current condition so the Bosmord didn't think too much on what he was doing back there. Rythe had an eye on him, anyway.

The going was slow and steady but it still gave Natesse the creeps. The countryside had always been quiet but this was just too quiet. She couldn't quite shake the idea that somewhere something was going to jump out. Granted, she was still frustrated at Rythe (although she was trying not to show it) and doubted that anything would truly surprise her; when she got angry, very little else mattered. She patted her hip again, reminding herself to grab her spare dagger from her room at home...she wasn't going back to the farm again.

As they approached the city gates, she hear some shouting. She held up her hand to stop Rythe and the Nord man and pulled her crossbow at the ready. Stepping lightly forward, she held it up at chest height. Then she saw him, a young boy clad in heavy armor making his way to them, a vicious-looking battleaxe in his hands.

"Scuse me!" he'd said with a strong clear voice, "Do you know where the nearest inn is?! I got directions from a drauger but he didn't have a mouth so he was hard to understand!"

By the gods, how many others where they going to run into today? While it was a relief to see other surviviors in the Rift, it was also dangerous. In addition to his blatant display of a weapon, this boy seemed too confident, too comfortable in this situation to be in any distress; that was a red flag. He was no doubt a part of a bandit group camped somewhere nearby ready to attack them, loot their weapons and the horses and them them for dead. Natesse opted to stay on the offensive. She fired a bolt in his direction, and it shot like lightning out of her bow and lodged itself in the ground 10 feet in front of him; a warning to stop. She called out to him, her voice also strong and clear.

"Who are you and for what reason do you seek shelter. You do not seem hurt or in any danger. Be quick and concise with your answer or my next shot will find your skull."

She nodded off to the right, where a small pile of dead draugr lay, each one with a bolt protruding out of it's skull in various places: the ear, eye socket, forehead, ect. She had done that when taking the watch at night and can found herself quite a shot with the "automatic bow". Maybe it was her Bosmer heritage or maybe it was just the severity of the crisis. She didn't know, and didn't really care. Rythe, having conjured himself some boots for the time being, also stepped forward with his war axe drawn in his left hand and a shock spell in the right. He looked his boy over and agreed with Natesse's actions. Something was odd.

 

[Simus]

Titus stopped cold as the steel crossbow bolt landed mere feet away from him. One of those bolts could punch right through his armor. It probably wouldn't kill him unless it were silver but it would definately slow him down. If she really could headshot him, and the pile of drauger near them indicated that she could, then that really would kill him.

"You're good with that crossbow miss, I'll give you that. Impressive. It takes a good bit of strength to wield a weapon like that, not to mention that armor you've got on. Looks good on you, hugs your curves well. Looks just like chick-version steel plate."

Titus sheathed his battleaxe and put his hands to his sides.

"If you're gonna shoot me again you better not miss. My name's Titus. Titus Psyrakon. I'm a member of the Companions and I was sent from Whiterun to look for survivors. You guys are welcome to come back with me, unless of course you really love it here."

 

[Nadir-Natesse]

Natesse took a moment to judge the validity of his words then lowered her own weapon, though she most certainly did not put it away. He had come all the way from Whiterun? And survived? And why did his surname sound so familiar? He knew she knew it, but couldn't quite place it... She was terrible with names as it was. Neverminding that detail for now, she hitched her crossbow back over her shoulder and gave him a strong look. He claimed he was a part of the Companions, and while their strength would be very useful, she wasn't going anywhere with a complete stranger. Riften was her home, and although it was damned and damaged, she wasn;t leaving it just yet. She cast a quick look behind her at teh still-weeping Nord. There was business to attend to.

"We are fine here. This is our home, what's left of it. I do not intend to leave it just yet. You'd best be on your way. Those things emerge from the trees at dusk, and they're only getting strong."

She pointed to a draugr that lay closer to the gates, a broken battleaxe by it's side. It was more of a giant pin cushion than anything; it had taken Natesse several long minutes and many valuable bolts to fell it, no thanks to the thick, heavy armor that it wore. That was one called a "deathlord" Rythe had told her, and had known a strange and powerful type of magic. One that activated through it's voice. She prayed that she never met one out in the wilderness...

"Tell the Companions that they'd do well to head to Markarth. The city could use warriors like them. Don't waste your time out here in the Rift. We're the only ones left, anyway."

She gave him one last look and shoved through the city gates, Rythe and the Nord man following in her wake.

 

[Simus]

Titus was impressed by the Nord-elf's comittment to protecting her home but if she and her two friends were all that were left of Riften then they were fighting a hopeless battle. They would probably die sooner rather than later and even if they did survive they would eventually run out of supplies. He had no reason to care for these strangers but he hated to see people waste their lives on hopeless causes. It was a waste of energy and it upset him personally.

"The Companions already know about Markarth Ma'am. They escort convoys of refugees there from Whiterun every few weeks. People from all over Skyrim come and form the convoys. These are people who didn't want to leave their home either but the drauger forced them out. If you stay here you're gonna die eventually. Or worse, run out of supplies and starve to death. Look, I'm not trying to be a dick here. This is your home and you don't wanna leave, I get that. I felt that way myself before the Thalmor kicked my family out of Cyrodiil and killed my mom. Damn near killed my sister too. If it weren't for some whore named Tess who took care of her and helped her find our dad she would have died a long time ago."

He paused to linger on this unique woman's chest. Her armor was shaped to emphasize her ample breasts, having a shaped plate for each of them rather than a smooth chestpiece. She had probably had it made that way to destract male opponents as well as protect her goods. For Titus at least, it was working.

"Look, I'm sorry about being an ass. Sometimes I just say stupid stuff and don't think first. I'll be around here for the next couple of days, looking for more people. My campsite's just over that hill. You change your mind, come find me and I'll do what I can to get you to Whiterun okay?"

He turned to leave, walking slowely just in case the woman had a change of heart.

 

[Six Gun Tarot]

Agristyr drew his bow and notched an arrow as he carefully tread onto one of the remaining roof tops of Riften. The rooftops were mostly in shambles but allowed him easy access to the city other than by sewer or main gate. He walked carefully across each board and peaked over the ridge of a nearly collapsed building. A small group of people were gather below, a rather...different looking group. He began to carefully release the string, so the arrow would not fire. A rustling sound and the breaking of wood alerted him to a small horde of five-six minor draugr, not very powerful alone but in a group could cause damage.

"Move!"

Agristyr grabbed a loose board and slid down the rest of the roof, at the same time notching arrow after arrow and released them into the small horde. Of course, the horde hearing his voice began to scramble after the group. The front three draugr fell hard as the arrows landed in their chests. The remaining three rushed Agristyr, he moved his hand to his quiver and grabbed an arrow, driving it into the nearest draugr's head, stopping it. He quickly pulled the arrow from it's lifeless head and notched it, firing straight into the heart of second approaching draugr. The last rose a worn sword above its head and crashed down towards Agristyr. Like a bolt of lightening, Agristyr rolled out of the way and drew his sword, slicing across the draugr's mouth. The final draugr slithered a bit but fell to the ground.


"That was too close for me.."

 

[Star Gazer]

After a few hours, the burial was complete. He picked flowers that were near the broken down walls of Riften to lay on their graves. He said a prayer of peace over the dead so that they may not rise like their nordic ancestors. He moved along Riften, looking for any survivors. He came across a small group of what seemed to be warriors and adventurers. They were talking about going to Markarth, and Flie's heart sunk. "You would do best not to go West. It's a nightmare near Riverwood. Once it got overrun, I traveled here. It seems alot quieter. We might have the Dawnguard to thank for that. I'm sure Markarth is still intact, but if you go, be sure to go around Riverwood, and not through it. There's a mountain just north of the town, and West from Whiterun. There are probably few of the beasts up in the mountains because it's a long way up." He said. He wanted to stay in Riften, but knew that if these folk were leaving, he would have to go too. They were Right. Markarth is probably the safest place for them. The walls were high and the city is built upon a mountain. That city of stone is practically inpenetrable.