Macman253

Tordin smiled and tossed his hammer into the air and caught it once more by the handle. He looked to Dragonsreach and then to his companions. They now possessed the element of surprise, if they could get into the keep undetected they could defeat the Priest and in turn defeat his army of undead, but he is likely to have many Cultists at his call and they will not fall so easily. He remembered the prison of Numinex, the dragon that was captured and held within the keep. There was a large balcony on the northern side of the keep that lead directly to the main hall, the shortest path and likely to be less guarded. "We should scale the rear balcony... that will put us closest to the main throne room with less guards to defeat." He said calmly, waiting around and gathering information would do nothing and the off chance that someone reports a group of strangers asking questions about the resident priest and the castle would bring the wrath of the Priest down upon them.

Lucius entered the main hall and kept to the shadows, he smiled and walked into the light after Svarn's impassioned speech and Velanya waved to them to follow. "Am I not included?" He asked as he approached, his weapons stowed and in a very non-threatening and casual manner. He removed his fur-lined blades helmet and scarf to reveal his long dark hair and handsome features, his eyes glowed orange, his pupils a bold yellow that seemed to be filled with endless hunger. Feeding on those Forsworn allowed him to take the face of a Mortal, hiding his horrific vampiric appearance with the exception of his eyes.

Nathan growled, he was more interested in finding the killers of his pack then playing wet nurse to a pack of city Gangrel. But the Prince left him no choice. He looked into the Prince's eyes and nodded. "Fine... It's either the Final Death or an eternity in hell." He said with a slight smile as he ran a clawed hand through his white hair. "I would much rather be alive then have my pelt decorating your wall." He said before turning to stand next to the wall with the Nosferatu and the small child, she too was a Gangrel and by his clan's laws she should be left in the wild but apparently she was under the protection of the Prince so he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

Svarn grasped his axe and looked her in the eyes. He hated the Empire, he hated what they took from his people and how many died to gain freedom from their iron grasp. He lost brothers and sisters, he lost friends and allies to Imperial arrows and blades. But he swore to help his companions and he knew Mighty Talos would look down on him turning away from that oath and he would not enter Sovngarde. "I will fight... but not for the Empire, I will fight for the memory of my wife and child... I will fight for Talos and I will fight because I have sworn to do so." He said sternly, his usual stoic nature long gone and a well of passion and anger inside him fueled his words. He stepped forward and drew his knife and slashed his palm and drew the blood over his arm. A Nordic Blood-Oath could never be broken, those that do are doomed to never enter Sovngarde and he swore that he would fight, on his honor and he wanted her to know that it wasn't for the Empire.

Wind sat behind his desk, a tall crystal decanter filled with rum and two glasses sat beside him, a dagger stuck into the teak table next to the decanter. His desk had a small lockbox filled with gold pieces, he was sorting the gold into shares for his crew. He paid his men on time, one of the things he swore to do when he became Captain, he would never let their pay be late so he handled the books himself. He looked up when Ven knocked on his door. "Captain... the woman is here to see you." Spoke the burly Qunari as he poke his head through the cabin door. His large bulk overwhelmed the door, when he stepped aside the Watchmen escorted Ruth into and left them alone. Wind smiled and stood, he sat on the corner of his desk and poured himself a glass of Rum. "Do you have the map?" He asked with a slight smile.

Just so everyone knows, there is no personal anger between me and flip. it's all IC.

Beowulf spat in Cameron's path before taking command of a small group of mostly Nords, many of them wearing heavy leather armor and carrying shields and axes, some carrying bows and arrows. The Huscarl at the command struck his chestplate with his fist when Beowulf and Hroar approached. They had fallen into a rather loose inspection line, these Nords were used to fighting in Ragnar's army and inspection was not natural to them. Beowulf returned the Nordic salute and stood before them. He watched with a wry smile across his face. "I agree with you... this formed ranks and discipline is for the Swadian's and Vaegir's." He looked to his brother and smiled. "If any man does somethin' against the rules, give him a half a pint of ale on the spot." He said with a quick smile before ordering his unit to march. The banner of their house was raised aloft, a sword buried into the earth of a battlefield with a great raven perched on the pommel. Beowulf and Hroar marched behind the cavalry, he glared daggers into Cameron's back and silently swore that he would humiliate the knight. He hated Swadian's, he hated them more then he hated Ragnar and his cowardly ways. 'Calm brother... He is a knight, instead of slittin' his throat we get him where it truly hurts. We prove 'im wrong.' Hroar replied, Beowulf smiled and did a quick head count. twenty heavy infantry and half that of archers. Enough to take a ship, but Beowulf knew his brother was right. Prove the bastard on the horse wrong about them would do more damage then any knife. "Infantry! Quick March!" He ordered, the heavy infantrymen under his command began the three by three quick march. Three paces walking, three paces running. If maintained the infantry can march a greater distance while using less energy.

Nathan smiled, he was caught. His stance changed, he lost the dumbass routine he had been leading them on with. "I killed them because I enjoyed it... I like to kill bullies. But I also knew that it would get your attention." He said with a wicked smile. Nathan ignored the doomed charge aswell as the young girl that fell into the office. "You have called me a beast.. a fool and a ignorant hound. My father used to tell me, if your gonna be dumb you gotta be tough." He said as he approached the table and tapped his foot on the floor, it was made of wood. That was a blessing to him, it was natural and it made it better if he ever needed to escape. "I know what your thinking.... regardless of what I say your gonna have me killed because you are a fool. I am a good tracker, an even better killer. Instead of draining me.. employ me." He said with a dark smile, there was no hint of the man that stood before. This man was bloody serious and he wanted them to know it. He prepared to run just incase they said no, which he was praying that they wouldn't. He knew he was in deep trouble. "Honestly... I came back to the alley because I knew your pack of ass-kissers would be there. It is better to present yourself to judgement then to run and have every kindred in the city hunting you." He added as he moved to the center of the room.

Nathaniel nodded. He now felt what it was like for one of those kids in primary school that he was not able to attend. He got the Princes point but despite the mans threats he never broke eye contact, never showing fear or doubt. Some would call it stupid but he called it respectful. He thought for a long moment, the truth was not enough and he knew a lie would be smelled like a fart in a car so he decided to tell the truth. "I had not fed in weeks... the beast took over, I was blood-drunk." He said calmly and truthfully. "See unlike you highborn's and your pet Hound most of us don't have regular forms of feeding. Were lucky if we get a human." He said with a tone of discontent, he was tired of scratching around the subways and rooftops for the opportunity to take a meal. "I don't have territory so I have to hunt on others." He added as he glanced to Yasmina and then returned his gaze to the Prince.

Alright, i'll re-edit.

Nathan smiled as he solidified his will against Yasmina's mental attack. He would much rather keep his mind to himself. He walked towards the recently opened door that lead to the Princes office. "Nice trick babydoll... but I ain't so easy to grasp." He said with a quick wink as he turned for the newly opened door. He would rather get all this mess over with. He caught the scent of the Prince as he walked into his office, that and the smell of a freshly cleaned office. It stank of Lysol. "So your the Prince... Well I guess I owe you an explanation." He said in a calm and respectful tone. He knew now was not the time for wisecracks.

It's the names... Celerity would make more sense based around the senses, but this RP is teaching me that not everything can be taken at name value. I need to sit down and learn and mark what disciplines he has and learn them, it still is alittle fuzzy to me.

Oh, yeah. I get them mixed up sorry about that. And I forgot about the smoke, i'll re-edit it.

One of his clans disciplines is Celerity, which grants him extraordinary senses, such as Precognition, heightened smell and hearing. What turned his attention to her was the Precognition. Also, he is use to the smells and sounds of the city so he knows when he smells something unfamiliar. He has resided in London for 150 years and when he was young it smelled far worse then it does now so he could pick out smells. Also, the wind changes. Just because your downwind now doesn't mean that you won't be upwind later, I am a former US Ranger so this I know very well. And even you said in your post, they could very likely spot you... one of the specialties of Clan Gangrel is that they are natural hunters and they specialize in hunting. So it is very logical for him to have spotted you first. As to the fear thing that was a mistake on my part, I had put it in and forgot to edit it out when I realized it wasn't kosher.

Lucius strode through the Reach, alone he could move about uncontested. His katana's strapped side by side across his back and his cloak covering his face. His armor worn from countless decades of wear and tear, much of it replaced from other armors and fur had been added to survive the harsh colds of the Ashlands he had exiled himself to, but the call of the blood could not be easily ignored and he had heard of a mage that could cure him of his curse. For now, he sought the great temple of the blades hidden within the Karthspire. There he hoped to find some peace before continuing his quest to rid himself of the beast within. Lost in thought as he walked, his mind many places but where he was he was suddenly brought to reality by the sounds of battle and the cries of Forsworn. Lucius drew one of his swords and ran, his vampiric strength giving fleetness to his feet. When he arrived he watched as the last of a party of adventurers disappeared into the mountain, bodies of Forsworn laid about. Some torn to pieces and others turned to ash from spell-fire. Rustling came from the trees nearby, it was the reserve forces. Lucius quickly dropped to a knee as three Forsworn ran past him, unaware of his presence. They emerged from the tree line to view the scene of the battle. "Curse them! They are all dead..." Said the youngest, a Breton man of no more then sixteen or seventeen winters. His helmet which appeared to have been made from a Bucks head and Raven feathers while he clutched one of the wicked Forsworn swords in his hand. The leader raised a hand, he too wore a Buck's head for a helmet yet unlike his two kinsmen he was bare chested and where his heart was there was a strange flower inside a gaping hole. Lucius could smell the foul magic that created him and gave him life even though his heart was missing. Closest to him was a woman, her armor little more then leather rags and feathers with her hair cut into a tall Mohawk held together with pigs fat. He felt the hunger inside him grow, he had not fed in several days, not since travelling to Windhelm aboard the Northern Maiden from Solstheim, and even then all he fed upon were rats in the hold of the ship. With little effort of restraint he leapt from the brush and grappled the Forsworn woman, he pinned her sword arm behind her head and jerked her head to the side to expose her neck, he drew back the cloak that covered his mouth and sank his fangs into her jugular artery. Warm and nourishing blood poured into his mouth, his free hand clasped over her mouth as she struggled in vain to free herself from the starving vampires grasp. Within a few heartbeats her blood had been fully drained and she was dead. Lucius smiled a bloody smile and leapt upon the unsuspecting Forsworn, feeding upon them all before following the party of adventurers into the mountain.

Nathan smiled and stopped circling. He approached and bowed very courtly to Yasmina in a mocking form of politeness. "I would rather get this over with, I surrender to the Prince's authority." He said with a slight smile as he presented his hands to be bound as he was sure they would prefer them to be. He forced back the beast within and his claws sunk back into his fingers and formed fingernails once again. "Oh- and sorry for the mess." He added with a sly smirk.

Svarn watched as the two dunmer chatted as if they were old allies, he could sense the power radiated from these pair while a creeping doubt of his own skill as a warrior went up his spine. Around him were several battle-mages, ex-blades and a lich. All he had was an axe and his ferocity, but he knew that ferocity was just as able as spells, and in places such as Labryinthian warriors like him would be worth their weight in gold. He turned his head to the Lich and leaned in to speak. "Who is she?" He asked, he had not expected to find a woman in this mountain. Atleast not one still breathing.

Tordin smiled and nodded to the Khajiit woman as she got them into the city with little to no trouble. Tordrin growled as they passed the undead guards to the city. When they entered the city he could smell the desperation and the stench of the undead, his hand unwittingly tightened on his hammer. Thunder rolled in the distance across the famous Whiterun steppes. His home city, a shadow of it's former self. The embers of the Skyforge were no longer in the air, the former smell of the legendary forge had long been silenced. He turned to Sivari and drew his hammer. "I say we storm Dragonsreach... we have the element of surprise." He said with a wicked smile and a bloodthirsty look in his eyes.

So I removed Felix and Nightshade, I figure Nightshade is best as a character in the Druids Garden and I was having a hard time continuing with Felix but I have been playing with an old character I wrote for a short story not long after Dawnguard came out. Here he is... Name: Lucius Gallenius Race: Imperial (Vampire) Gender: Male Age: 232 Appearance: Tall, lithe with long dark hair and glowing orange eyes. A long scar runs down across his eye and cheek giving him a permanent snarl regardless of his facial expression. Skills: One-Handed, Two-Handed, Heavy Armor, Block and his Vampiric Powers Equipment: His set of blades armor and his katana's. Homeland: Cyrodiil Personality: Known for his diplomatic and strategic mind, his loyalty to the Emperor is without question but he has not loyalty to the current puppet on the throne. His only desire is to rid himself of the curse of Vampirism forced onto him. Background: Lucius was born to a Senator during the late third era, his life was predetermined by his father. He took solace in the arts of war his uncle gifted to him, being a member of the Blades and trained in secret. Lucius took to the arts like a fish to water, absorbing knowledge of battles long past and the sword styles of The Blades. When Lucius came of age he joined the Blades, much to his fathers rage. His lands and titles stripped of him and gifted to his younger brother Gaius. His life became that of The Blades, his uncle his father figure. His natural skill with a blade and his tactical knowledge excelled him through the ranks and by the age of twenty five he became a Captain and one of the best the Blades had, he was assigned to Uriel Septim's personal guard alongside his Uncle. There he became quite close to the Emperor and learned much from him. After several years on his honor-guard the Emperor sent him into Skyrim to track down an Elder Scroll held within Volkihar Castle, home of the vampire Harkon. Uriel sought the scroll and sent Lucius to retrieve it. Lucius was able to infiltrate the castle but when he had claimed the Scroll he was ambushed, Harkon had captured him but instead of killing him he admired the skill Lucius possessed and gifted him with his blood. Lucius gave into the power Harkon gave him, he became cruel and evil. Killing at will and caring nothing for his prior oaths. It was when he had heard word that his Uncle died defending the Emperor from the Mythic Dawn cult and the death of Emperor Uriel that his humanity was restored and he came to realize what he had become. He left the ranks of the Volkihar vampires and wandered about Tamriel, seeking a source for a cure for his curse. His travels lead to many places but no cures, it was only when he had heard there was a mage that was reported to be able to remove such a curse that he returned to Skyrim.

Svarn blocked the jagged sword of a Forsworn with the thick haft of his axe, his strength far more then the bone thin Breton, with a sharp kick to the gut he was able to push the Forsworn back enough to free his axe and bury the spike deep into his chest. The Breton dropped to his knees, one hand clutching the axe and the other feebly sweeping at Svarn with his sword. Svarn drew his knife from his belt and deflected the strike before driving the blade into the Forsworn's neck. Arterial blood sprayed from the wound as he ripped the blade free. He wrenched the axe from the mans chest as the life fell from his eyes. Two more charged him, he hurled the knife at the first and it sunk to the hilt into his forehead, the second knocked and arrow and fired at Svarn but the Nord brushed it aside with his great axe and charged, his blood boiling in rage as he cleaved the Forsworn archer from gut to neck with his axe. He drew Fjorlag from his back and turned to follow Ra'Qassar and Baltis. Fenrir on his heels.

Just for historical reference here is a picture of the ship Beowulf is talking about, and a link to Longships on Wikipedia. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f6/Viking%2C_replica_of_the_Gokstad_Viking_ship%2C_at_the_Chicago_World_Fair_1893.jpg http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Longship

Beowulf smiled and nodded. He knew that the river was too shallow for most ships, but Longships were glorified canoes. Numerous times he had taken them up rivers to strike at fishing villages in the past. "Aye, but Longships have a shallow draft. Twenty men with five hundred foot of rope and spades can move a longship over a fjord in a few hours." He looked to Cameron. "Give me the men... and I will get you the supplies you need." He said with a stern gaze and a fire deep in his eyes. Hroar smiled as he crossed his arms, the pair of Norsemen knew their trade and this is what their trade was. "Ye' don't know us well do ye' Knight. Stealin' from folks is what we do. Give us a month, an' we can put a hundred men of the sea aboard that ship and put it ta' good use in ta' name of Numak." Hroar added.

Beowulf looked back to Cameron. He was not pleased by the way the knight regarded him and his brother but he was right, neither him nor his brother knew how to ride a horse. But a caravan raid would indeed be a foolish course of action. "Likely the bandits are Sea Raiders." He replied sternly, his gaze fixed on Cameron. "Which means heavy shields and armor, they will be prepared for heavy infantry resistance. You go in and strike them at the town while my brother and me, aswell as some archers and footmen attack their ships." He said with a slight smirk. "They will likely have a small force of around twenty men... we attack, wipe them out and load their loot aboard one of their ships and burn the rest." He added, Hroar smiled as his brother laid out a perfect battle-plan, not only will they gain the favor of the village and likely their vassalage but they could also gain a massive hoard of gold and goods, aswell as a Longship.

I wish The Nexus had a like button... cause that reply would so earn one. :thumbsup:

Svarn did not sleep well, he tossed and turned on his bedroll. The events of the night kept him awake and being so close to the Reach made him uncomfortable, he could smell the Forsworn like he was standing next to one. He climbed out of his bedroll quietly, so as not to disturb the still sleeping party and grabbed his axe and bow. He walked to the crest of a nearby hill facing east, towards the Reach and gazed out at it. The nights sky was lit with the dancing lights that gave the Reach a strange ominous glow. "A cursed place filled with cursed people..." He muttered, a well of rage like he felt earlier began to stir within his chest. It felt like he drank half a dozen bottles of Stros M'kai rum. Fenrir sat besides him and licked his fingertips, Svarn smiled and immediately the anger vanished. The one thing that Fenrir could do was calm Svarn. He stood out on the hill until morning and when he returned to camp the party was beginning to pack and leave. He wordlessly packed what little items he had and followed. Svarn drew his axe when he heard the first call, Fenrir began to growl as he caught the numerous scents of Forsworn. A tingle of fear ran up Svarn's spine as he realized exactly how many Forsworn were present in the Reach. When he saw the Dunmer vaporize a Forsworn Svarn dug his axe into the earth and drew his bow, he knocked a pair of arrows, spreading the tips with his fingers and loosed them. The raven-feathered arrows struck a charging Breton woman in the heart and head and she toppled over after taking several steps. Svarn grabbed his axe and whistled to Fenrir, who was busy barking at a pair of Forsworn archers on a ridge. Fenrir followed Svarn as he ran to Adrynn. "We need to get to high ground!" He said as he glanced at the broken arrow in the Dunmer's paulder.