Macman253

Tordin stood, his large arms covered in bleeding cuts. His armor scored from the blows of the draugr. He growled in pain as he stood, with a defiant low growl he spit a wad of blood onto the ashes of Hevnoraak. He turned to face the Jarl and dropped to a knee slowly, blood dripping onto the floor fairly steadily. He rested his hammer on the ground next to him and bowed his head. The large nord gripped his weapon and stood after paying his respects He noticed his companions had returned. Tordin smiled, for the first time he saw them in a different life, they had saved his life. "My Jarl, Hevnoraak has been destroyed." He said as he looked to Sivari and bowed his head in respect.

Tordin moved like a Sabre-Cat, his lack of armor and hundreds of years fighting in the hallowed halls of Sovngarde had left him a much quicker and more able warrior, he effortlessly dodged the feint with a backspin to the left, as he moved he charged his hammer with the power of the storms and brought it up to Hevnoraak's exposed ribs with all of his strength. "You may have immortality Hevnoraak... but I lived and fought in the Dragon Wars, I killed Alduin once and I will do so again!" He roared and he followed through with his strike, pushing the battle into his favor, the Lich may have him on magical power but he was only a fair bladesman, he relied too heavily on his Immortality.

Tordin smiled and stepped through the wall of storms unscathed. "So long as I possess the Heart Of Thunder, lightning does not harm me." He raised his hammer again and charged, swinging his hammer wildly, loosing bolts of lighting with his offhand as he swung. Tordin felt the inner rage boil as he faced down the infamous Dragon Priest. But despite the intense battle his mind drifted towards his companions in the depths of Dragonsreach, he knew he could stand toe to toe with Hevnoraak in his prime but now, he was not so sure. "Talos, protect and guide them." He pleaded silently to his patron.

Tordin smirked, he had faced down Dragon Priests before, only the world eater and his generals were able to bring him down. He raises his hammer, the amulet of Talos tied around the pommel. "Mighty Talos protects me Hevnoraak. And I will strike you down!" He roars as he hurls a thunderbolt at the Lich and charges him. The charge of battle drowns out the fear inspired by the Lich, to Tordin he was just another evil to be vanquished, he had experienced death before but his return to Mundus was to destroy Alduin, not be killed and cast aside by one of his lackeys. Tordin leapt into the air with Sahrot Strun Tu raised, he bellowed a mighty roar and thunder rolled as he brought the legendary hammer down onto Hevonoraak's skull. The battle for Whiterun had truly begun...

Tordin growled, The Valkyries were what brought the honored dead to Sovngarde. He cursed and strode towards her. "Did Shor send you to interrupt my mission?" He demanded, Shor gave him the task of killing Alduin and sending one of his Valkyries was just another sign of his infinite distrust in the skills of mortal men, even those that sacrificed as much as he had in his life. Tordin raised his hand to signal he cared not for a response, he checked his shield and walked up the steps of Dragonsreach to the throne room where Hevnoraak resided. He inhaled deeply and channeled his thu'um. "Hev Nor Raak!" He shouted, the challenge had been made. He turned to his companions. "I will deal with him, you find his phylactery and destroy it." His voice was full of a righteous rage and left no room for protest, a deep groan came from the depths of the Keep. The Lich was approaching. Tordin took a knee, he whispered a silent prayer. "Lord Talos, bless me in this time of need. Grant my storms the strength of your vengeance." Tordin finished the prayer and entered the main throne room, stepping over the mass of vampire bodies. He stood staring and ready for the battle to come, he challenged Hevnoraak and he would face him alone.

Tordin strode through the gate, backhanded one of the large doors with his hammer that nearly took it off it's hinges as he entered. The room was a warzone with his companions battling with Vampires. Tordin roared and shouted at a vampire that broke away from the battle and charged him. 'Fus!' The vampire took the wave of pure energy to the chest that took him off his feet, Tordin followed up with a mighty swing of his hammer that caved in the bloodsuckers skull. Lightning jolted from his hammer to his offhand and he flung it at a second vampire that charged him to avenge his fallen friend, the vampire staggered, he drew a dagger and flung it at Tordin but Tordin was prepared, he swatted away the feeble attack and replied by tossing Sahrot Strun Tu at him with full force, when it struck the vampire a bolt of lighting erupted through it, disintegrating the vampire. Tordin quickly scooped up his hammer and called out as a Ningheim descended into the fray. He silently cursed Tsun for not trusting him in his mission, but the demands of battle were more pressing then the hundred of questions he had for the Ningheim. "Form up!" He yelled over the roar of the battle as he grappled with a Vampire, he tore the shield from the vampires grasp and kicked the creature away.

In the actual Lore, Ningheim are basically Valkyries. They are the women of Sovngarde, shield-maidens of Ysgramor. So she would know who Tordin is and most likely be sent to aid him by Ysgramor himself. Tordin is a long dead warrior, a Ningheim is basically a Nordic angel.

Nathaniel remained silent as the room filled with the various Primogens of the clans of London. Even when the grotesque Nosferatu was harassing him he remains silent. He knew shedding blood would only end up with his head on a spike no matter how much he desired to tear into them with his claws, in his world a leader was defined by being able to survive and now he knew the way to survive was to remain quiet and listen. As he calmed himself he thought more on the connection between the murder of his pack and the recent ones in London, the striking similarity was driving him crazy. "Perhaps we should use me as bait and if the culprit is the same one that killed my pack he would either want to finish what he started or find me a perfect target." Nathaniel knew what he was saying was virtual suicide but he felt like it was the best thing he could offer at that time. "This person likes the up close and personal, we could set a trap for him. A freshly made Gangrel Primogen would be irresistible. If he is a hunter or an agent, either way it would make a fine target." He said calmly, "Speaking as a hunter that is." He added before standing from the wall and taking a more neutral stance.

Svarn busied himself with the Forge, preparing it and stoking it. He crafted nails and struts for the repairs and took the time to sharpen and mend the broken blades littered about the ancient temple. As he did so he contemplated the recent events, the arrival of the vampire and the state of Skyrim. His oath to the Blades was the thing that drove him now, before it was the blind desire for revenge against the Forsworn, but most of all he thought on the words spoken to him some nights ago. Lucius turned to face the mage as he pursued him. "Burn them... feed them to wild hounds do whatever you wish." He said coldly as he ascended the stairs to the watchtower, he moved about the Temple as if he had lived there for a century but walking these halls in his mortal life felt very different from now. His senses were sharper, his eyes keener he saw in dark places he could not see before as if the sun itself were shining at his back and no matter how many decades past he never quite got used to that. When he arrived at the top of the tower he had a full view of the Reach, the golden spires of Markarth in the distance and beyond that was Orsinium. He stood still and watched, his keen eyes scanning the treeline for movement.

(sry for not posting. I have been working in Mexico City for the last week and a half, not much internet and my client was needy. I am finally back in the states.) Tordin stomped out of the Bannered Mare. Thunder began to roll and lightning struck the earth, a deep rage swelled within him as he walked steadily towards Dragonsreach, hellbent on revenge.

Sry about my absence. I just got off light duty, after three months of it I am having a hard time catching up. I'll post after I have had some sleep.

Nathan growled, he despised the Setite even more now. His claws extended as he stepped towards her. "Watch yourself Setite... you might meet the Final Death before your just time." He growled. "And I am not some sewer crawling city runt either." He threatened, he meant every word and the Gangrel on large were known for their quick tempers and sharp claws. Nathaniel turned his back and skulked in the corner, having been ordered to remain there he figured the darkest corner would be the safest.

Tordin nodded a farewell after throwing a few more coins on the table. It was after the Bard had patted him on the shoulder did he sense it. Three vampires, their spells could not hide them from his sense. He summoned up his thu'um and quietly spoke the ancient words. "Laas... Yah nir" He shouted, the life forces of the three vampires lit up in his eyes. One was very near to him and approaching. Tordin smiled as he whirled around and grasped the vampires arm in a crushing grip just before the blade fell on his back. Tordin chuckled and twisted, the beasts hand snapped with a loud crack followed by an ear splitting scream of pain. Tordin clinched his fist, sparks leapt from his hammer and enshrouded his hand, with a mighty roar and the distinct crack of lightning he unleashed a fearsome bolt that struck the invisible bloodsucker in the heart with enough force to knock him into the kitchen and into the fire, the creature kicked and screamed as he tried to tap out the flames around him, but his attempts were in vain, after a long few seconds the screams stopped and it fell limp. The third vampire leapt but Tordin grasped the animal with his hand, holding him aloft with his great strength, blessed to him by Mighty Talos. "Die creature!" He bellowed as he tossed the helpless vampire into the air, he summoned up the power of the Thu'um once more. "FUS, RO DAH!" He shouted at the now airborne vampire, the powerful shout struck the vampire and propelled him through the roof with a catastrophic crash that sent bits of flesh, bone and wood splinters into the sky above the tavern and across the countryside. Tordin could not help but smile. The last vampire sunk his fangs into Tordin's leg but Tordin simply smiled as he looked down on the wasted attempt. "I am no ordinary warrior bloodsucker... I am the Thunderer!" He yelled as he raised his hammer, thunder rolled in the sky and lightning jolted down into his hammer through the recently made hole and ran down his body then into the vampire. The beast burst into a pile of ash, leaving only his belongings behind. Tordin hand sifted through the pile and found the vampires coin pouch, he tossed the ample amount of septims to the Barmaid and walked for the door. Hulda watched in shock as this warrior obliterated three vampires in mere heartbeats, but what drew her attention was what he called himself. The Thunderer, the name of the ancient hero of lore that fought Alduin during the dragon wars. She spoke up as he reached the doorway. 'Who are you?' She asked Tordin stopped and turned. "I am complicated..." He said with a slight smile and then he departed before the Draugr appeared. He hoped that the woman would not reveal what truly happened and merely said the vampires attacked the two Nords he had killed earlier. Tordin drew his hood over his head and wrapped himself in his rich cyrodiilic wool cloak, he made for the Temple.

Tordin walked into the Bannered Mare, the tavern was practically empty, except for the barmaid and a pair of drunken Nords sitting at the far end of the tavern. Tordrin threw his cloak over his shoulder and sat at the bar. The woman approached him with a mug of Nord Mead, Tordin quickly scooped it up and chugged it down. It tasted bitter and foul, much of it's contents were rotten. He threw the half-full mug aside and placed a large gold piece on the counter. "Your best stuff and keep it coming." He growled, the barmaid quickly scooped up the coin and uncorked a bottle of Stros M'kai rum and poured it for him. He drank the cool and smooth amber liquid slowly, relishing in it's taste. The two Nords looked at Tordin, he had gold and they outnumbered him. One drew a dagger and then other clinched his fists as they stood and approached. Tordin heard the creak in the floorboards as they snuck up behind him. Tordin placed another two gold pieces on the counter and drew his hammer, with a whirling backhand he struck the first Nord with a resounding thunderclap the sent the murderous Nord flying through the door with a loud crash and a shower of wood splinters. His body rolled like a ragdoll down the steps and struck the well with a sickening crack and fell limp. The nord with the dagger swung it at Tordin, Tordin stepped back and struck him with a solid headbutt that laid him out.

Nathaniel growled, he hated the Sabbat. They had no sense of honor in how they dealt with anything, the murdered Nosferatu woman was evidence of his point. His mind went back to his recent duties, he was no practically enslaved by the Prince but he still had his independence, the Gangrel of this city are sparse and most have no official territory, first things first he would have to call them together, unite them by some means and then carve out a piece of London for them to hunt in. Gangrel needed room to move, naturally nomadic they rarely stayed in one place and those that were in the city were either First Winters or City Gangrel. "Well, if it is indeed a Flesh-Changer sent here to cause dissent and discord then we know he has little to no resources." He said as he stared at the floor. "That means he himself is resourceful... particularly if he has avoided your detection for as long as he has." He said with a slight smile, a true hunter. Nathaniel could feel a well of admiration grow within him. "He is hunting... and you were not prepared to deal with it. There isn't much I can do, but seeing as how my revenge for my pack has been delayed I must depart, meet with the other Gangrel in the city and perhaps find a way to put order to the chaos." He growled as he shot a look at the Prince. "Do you still have need of me?" He asked The Prince with a tone of hostility, somewhat restrained but not aggressive.

Tordin growled, he hated this waiting to attack. An indistinct anger flared within him, sparks began to jolt from his hammer towards him and back and forth for a few seconds until he suppressed his anger. He looked to the argonian and the khajiit. "Fine, we will do it your way.... I am headed for the tavern, call on me when you are ready to attack." He growled as he walked past and headed for the Bannered Mare.

Lucius smiled as the Dunmer threatened him once again. He crossed his arms and kept the smile, the light threats meant nothing to him. He knew what he was capable of and he swore an oath, an oath that once bound him in life and now it will bind him in unlife. "Dunmer... if I were to ever betray you, you would not know that I did so. Do you not think I have survived for the last two hundred years by leaving trails of drained corpses about the countryside?" He asked rhetorically. "No... We vampires have learned tricks to conceal our feeding, feed without infection or leaving evidence behind, brutality is not the Volkihar way. Yes, my blood comes from the patriarch of the Volkihar clan but as I stated before and I will state again." Lucius said in a stronger voice so all could hear. "I seek a cure to my disease, in life or death I wish to be free of this curse, but more so is the fact that in my mortal life I swore it to The Blades and the Emperor and I died for them, but as you can see I didn't remain that way, after two hundred years of wandering across all of Tamriel I was brought here.. I would say it was divine intervention, the oath I swore not five minutes ago is as truthful as the day I swore it two hundred years ago.." He said as he stared into Adrynn's eyes, not more then a foot from his face. Lucius stepped away from the Dunmer and the rest, he had goaded him once again and today had been taxing on his nerves. He walked past them and towards Alduin's Wall. Memories of his early years with the Blades flashed as he placed his hand on the snout of the dragon carved into the stonework. The same place he had placed his hand two hundred years prior when he was just a recruit, he toured Skyrim with the Emperor and his Uncle and along the way they visited this ancient stronghold. "Our best course of action is to fortify this place as soon as possible. The Forsworn will find the bodies and know this is where we went... we should either dispose of them quickly or prepare for an attack." He said as he turned back towards the group.

Svarn stepped forward, his eyes glancing back to Lucius before he spoke. "I am fair with a hammer, I built my own farmstead. House, barn and stable with my hands." He said with a slight smile, deep down when this was over and the Forsworn driven from the Reach he would like to return to the simple life, hang up his axe and farm the land once more. "The Jarl Of Markarth gifted me a plot for my service to the city militia. When I was a lad, I apprenticed to a Blacksmith. Making weapons and armor and repairing them is no problem, so long as I have a proper forge and materials." He added as he set the pommel of his axe on the stone floor and leaned on it like a cane. Lucius smiled and stood, he bowed his head to the Telvanni Lich, he could smell the air of death surrounding him. He and Lucius shared an unusual bond, immortals helping mortals. Lucius sought freedom from his curse, the Lich on the other hand he did not know why, he would have to ask him when the time was proper.

Nathaniel was born in Yorkshire, his early life was a wild one. His mother died in child birth, his father a skilled woodsmen. His father often drank heavily and beat him relentlessly but during the early winter and spring they would spend months in the forest hunting game together. It was here that Nathaniel was at home, the hunt came natural to him. When Nathaniel was just nineteen his father passed, leaving the small farm to him. For three years he lived on the land, hunting game for food and selling the skins to tradesman. He gained a local reputation for his skill in tracking, often employed by the local village to track wanted criminals that escaped into the vast forests. It was these opportunities to hunt men that he enjoyed the most, one evening he was tasked to hunt a man that murdered a woman in the village. Setting out alone he pursued the criminal across miles of dense forest. He caught the man in a grove, trained his rifle on him and fired. The bullet struck him in the head but the man just smiled and attacked, the vampire he was pursuing was Antony Marks, a Gangrel. Marks embraced him and left him, his first night Nathaniel hunted several deer and a rich nobleman that had gotten lost on the road, butchering him and the three guards he was with. Before sunset he returned to his farm, his bloodlust sated. The next evening the villagers struck, they burned down his farm but Nathaniel was already gone, he had left into the wild with only his fathers leather jacket and his mothers gold bracelet. The next year he encountered Marks again, it was then that he learned the ways of the Gangrel and was accepted into a small but growing pack. Most were sired by Marks himself, the rest were adopted as stray Childes. A hundred years passed, Marks had been killed and the leadership of the pack fell to Nathaniel. He lead them wisely and they prospered, they had moved far to the north in Scotland and found the verdant hills ripe with game, they mostly lived green to avoid any mortal aggression, the strain of leadership began to grow on him. Mortal kind expanded into the forests that sheltered him, hikers and hunters became more frequent and his interactions with mortals began to grow. His pack grew in size aswell, the First Winter tradition still used by his clan his packs ranks swelled with first year Gangrel, growing to well over twenty, with the size of his pack growing and mortals looking deeper into the deaths of their own food became scarce and the pack nearly descended into chaos, so they began to feed on Deer and other animals, the humans did not call into question a deer with it's throat and innards ripped out. The crisis within the pack over they continued on in peace, but it did not last. One night, Nathaniel went out for a run and returned to find his pack dead, killed by Hunters that had been pursuing them for sometime. He tracked the hunters across England to London. I have made some changes, to make it more clear as to how and why he avoided mortal interaction. I want to make it known now that he is NOT some moronic country gangrel that doesn't know jack about civilization. He is a survivor... and a survivor fights for every day of his life or unlife by any means possible, knowing more about the ever changing world is just more to go on. In truth, he avoided other non-Gangrel kindred more then he avoided humans, to him the machinations and plots that belong with them stay with them but when Hunters found his pack he chose to come to London, he chose to pursue them. So for future reference, he is not totally ignorant. He just jumped into a situation he was not completely capable of dealing with.

Its not a matter of him living in a city or a town. He stayed to the forests but in a pack you have conversations. Particularly when you are looking at possibly an eternity together. Most of his pack were young, the ways of the Gangrel would assure that some were atleast as young as a year from their embrace. Knowledge of the world today would be valuable, especially when you lead a pack and the newer Gangrel would need knowledge of the Clan's ways. Figure he would have third party knowledge. Give him a cellphone, hell know what it is but not exactly how to work it. He would know what a car is but to him it would be a 'horse-less carriage' because when he was Mortal he had heard stories of them, never seen one let alone know how to drive one. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have the knowledge. I never figured I had to expressly state that he knew such things, I thought it would just be common sense.

The way I see it, he wasn't completely away from civilization. Many of his pack were far younger then him, so logically through them he could learn more about the world, also he would have some connection. Modernization would have turned the hamlet he grew up in into a village, and then into a town. He is not retarded, he is a survivor yes but knowledge is the best survival tool. The laws of the Camarilla are new to him but if you look at the Gangrel, they are more or less and independent clan, they don't swear fealty to the Sabbat or the Camarilla. He knows the laws of his clan which are few and the traditions, he knows the other kindred out there but he doesn't know their traditions or their total history but word travels, knowledge travels. He would encounter other Gangrel and they would share stories and tales and information. His knowledge may be abit 'travelled' but it would be safe to assume that he has basic knowledge of people and places and things. The details may not be accurate but he gets the general idea.

Okay, guess I figured there was more then one. That can be easily amended. Second was in response to the stares of Yasmina, I can rephrase it if you wish. The last is more or less his way of respecting the predator. He may not be a surgeon, but he would know what a doctor is he may be ignorant to the laws of the Camarilla but he was once mortal so he would know what a doctor is. He knows what it is like to cut into another mans flesh, he would know the difference between pure violent rage and the subtle avenging rage, between the unbridled violence and methodical precision. That is one thing he knows about in abundance.

Nathaniel ignored the proceeding arrival of several vampires as he stared at the images of the mutilated Nosferatu. He had little care for the woman herself but the cuts seemed familiar, this was rage and hate. Not violent rage like a woman stabbing her unfaithful husband twenty times or someone unloading a pistol into someone else's chest this was subtle rage, long term. Vengeance... devout in it's purpose. "My pack were butchered in similar ways... it is what brought me down to London in the first place. I was on their trail but once I hit the city it went cold... could it possibly be Hunters?" He asked the Investigator, he had heard rumors of these murders but seeing one this close irked him. He ignored the glare from the Follower of Set, he made a mistake and his punishment he thought was justified, if it were a member of his pack he would punish them accordingly. He was thankful that his hide was not taken but he could not help but feel as if he had been placed in a gilded cage. He pushed those thoughts aside as he examined the images closer, the cuts were done by a predator, Nathaniel observed the strokes, the blade was sharp. Surgical edge and he had guessed most likely doctors tools. "I would suspect by the cuts and the manner of the mutilation that the murderer has prior medical experience." He added, he felt he was most likely wrong but he felt it was his duty to bring up the thought.

Svarn stepped forward he raised his axe to the ready and watched, he was adept at hunting all forms of predators and the children of Molag Bal were no exception, while he may know little of them he knew the predator that lurked in all of them. If this one was truly hunting them, he would have struck by now. Despite the vampires intentions he remained at the ready. Lucius tightened his fist at the words of the Dunmer. "A product of his creation I may be but I seek to be rid of my curse nearly as much as you would like to put a sword through my heart." He said in a direct tone at the Dunmer. He would not let the Dunmer's anger antagonize him further. He looked to Velanya, the senior Blades member, he knelt down and grabbed his katana slowly and held it up in both his hands as if he was offering it to her. "I wish to travel with you... redeem my sins fighting the enemies of the order I once swore my life to, and now I swear my Unlife to." Lucius swore his oath as solemn as the day he swore it in his mortal life.

Lucius smiled and bowed very courtly to the woman. "I am Captain Lucius Gallenius, personal guard to the late emperors Uriel Septim and Martin Septim." He said with a slight smile. He had thought the blades destroyed, last he had heard they had been wiped out by the Thalmor during the Great War. Numerous times he has fought these elves who attempted to pursue him. "I came here to wander these halls once again and perhaps the final time in my unlife... I mistook you for Tomb Robbers looking to plunder the relics hidden here but it seems..." He said as he looked at the well armed party, many of them Dunmers and more then a few wearing Ordinator armor. "...It appears I was incorrect in that assumption." He added as he stepped forward and slowly untied the cloth sash that held his katana's on his back and set them down on the ground next to his feet, to show he was not willing to harm them.