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Not Your Typical, Run-of-the-Mill Type of Adventure


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This is a closed roleplay story for The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. It is being coauthored by myself and a friend. It is in progress, and will be updated regularly (daily, if at all possible).


The following is my character's information sheet. My friend's sheet is at the top of his first post.




Gavinyarel Character Sheet


Name: Gavinyarel


Race: Altmer


Gender: Male


Age: 110


Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual


Birthsign: The Atronach (extremely slow magicka recovery, requires regular use of potions and tonics to maintain spellcasting ability)

Height: 6'9


Appearance: Parchment-yellow skin tone; thick, dark gray hair bound in a ponytail; full beard, trimmed close to the skin; olive green eyes; slightly hooked nose; high, gaunt cheeks; thin, pursed, dark pink lips; lean, slim build; two vampire's claw marks laterally across his left cheek; puncture scars from werewolf claw on right calf; sword slash scar diagonally across chest from left shoulder down to right part of waist; two scrape scars on left side of waist from spear trap


Equipment: Tight-fitting, plain, dark gray robe with a large silver stud and headband ring on the hood, breast and shoulders padded with chainmail, fortifies magicka and its recovery; black, rawhide gauntlets with silver knuckles; plain black trousers with silver knee pads; rawhide, silver-toed boots; all silver on clothing kept coated with a material to hide its appearance and luster; small backpack for food and auxiliary items; healing and replenishing draughts kept in vials in a cushioned pouch at the side; ebony shortsword with fire enchantment kept in sheath at waist; steel, drain fatigue-enchanted throwing knife kept in right boot; silver amulet that resists magicka;


Personality: Even-tempered most of the time, but can be easily annoyed or riled by excessive stupidity, especially during serious situations; loves mind-oriented games and puzzles; harbors a stern abhorrence for those who thieve or cheat merely for personal gain or for causes he judges as unjust; wary of strangers; not racist or proud, gives everyone a chance at first; is not completely against the utilization of dark arts-related items, believing that in the right hands, they can be used for good purposes other than those their original creators or owners might've had;


Weaknesses: Atronach birthsign renders his magicka almost non-regenerative, recovers very slowly over time and requires the use of his enchanted gear and potions to be consistently kept battle-ready; natural Altmeri weakness to magic, experiences around 1.5 times the normal effect of a spell; extremely overprotective of children and those being racially discriminated against, can sometimes go out of his way to involve himself in such business that doesn't concern him at all; can sometimes lose his patience if subjected to prolonged annoyances or ungratefulness; shows a particular distrust and hatred of the Thalmor, of whom he was previously a member


Skill Repertoire: Skilled with moderate-to-short-length blades (Expert Level), but clumsy with heavier or longer weapons (longswords, claymores, etc.); extremely skilled in destruction and alteration magic (Master Destruction, Expert Alteration), cherry picked skills from other schools (quiest casting from Illusion, recharging enchanted items, etc. -- all Novice Level); can care for his steel knife and clothing well enough, but must have his ebony blade repaired by an appropriately skilled smith; not terribly well versed in speechcraft, but has come to understand how valuable some of the items his job rewards him with can be, and knows where to seek proper payment (in game terms, Novice Speechcraft, Journeyman Mercantile); has been taught constant vigilance by encounters with traps and crafty enemies


Political Affiliations: No official ties, but favors the Empire in Skyrim's civil war


Guild Affiliations: Has connections at the College of Winterhold, but is not a proper member, frequently uses it as a client for the loot he finds in addition to the various cities' court wizards and other magically inclined people;


Backstory (Work in Progress, will be expanded/revised/improved as time allows.)

Gavinyarel was born to Altmeri parents on Summerset Isle in 4E 91. His father, Braletar, was a high-ranking Thalmor officer that had long served as a Thalmor agent in various locations around Tamriel before returning home and wedding his wife. Gavinyarel's mother, Kandeline, was an extremely famous author all across Cyrodiil, a status that handsomely supplemented Braletar's earnings with the Thalmor. Resultantly, Gavinyarel was raised in an environment of self-absorbed racism and bigotry that saw him enlist with the Thalmor armies at fifteen.


During his pre-military schooling, Gavinyarel displayed a prodigious talent for Destruction magic and also showed a firm grasp of Alteration. These, coupled with the swordsmanship drilled into him by his trainers, prepared him for a life of service in the Thalmor army. After finishing his training, he was shipped to Solitude in Skyrim, where he was thrust into a decade long period of clandestine operations against the Empire in its northernmost province. He slowly became disillusioned with the Thalmor over those ten years as serving under his sadistic commander Shalcin let him see how all of the other races grieve during hardships just as Altmer do. He was finally convinced of the Thalmor's evilness when, in Evening Star of 4E 109, Shalcin punctuated the latest of his terrorist missions by torching an orphanage in Dragon's Bridge, which resulted in the deaths of eight children. In his rage, Gavinyarel conjured a bitterly cold blizzard and froze Shalcin and his other partners solid. Afterward drained of his magicka, he fled the town before efforts could be made to apprehend him.


After considerably distancing himself from Dragon's Bridge, Gavinyarel removed his armor and other equipment and tossed it all into a random pond in the middle of nowhere. He then walked away, leaving it behind to rot. Knowing he couldn't return to his parents or show his face among the Thalmor again, and incredibly angry with himself to contributing to their progress for so long, Gavinyarel spent the next four years in an angst-ridden rut, trying to drown his problems with vices. Then, in 4E 114, he met with fate. Well drunk and in a particularly dismal mood, Gavinyarel made the illogical and unwise decision to depart the city of Riften in the dead of night. As he stumbled along the road, his vision blurry and hampered by the scant moonlight, he was being stalked by a creature that thrived in the night: a vampire. As luck would have it, fortune smiled on Gavinyarel despite his stupidity, for the vampire was young and so mad for blood, that he completely abandoned stealth once he made for his soused prey. Gavinyarel turned to face the bounding footsteps behind him and was confronted by the wildly slashing claws and glowing golden eyes of a vampire.



And now for the start of the story.




Gavinyarel: The Roxey Village, the Roxey Steakhouse -- Midyear, 4E 201


It was the middle of summer that late afternoon in northern Cyrodiil. The lofty Jerall Mountains stood silhouetted against the deep blue sky awaiting the twilight sun to color it its gentle orange-red. The forest stretching north from the village was full green with tall, strong trees, and children and their pets could be seen romping around in their efforts to squeeze a few more precious moments of playtime out of the day. The villagers were finishing up the day's chores, trying to set one more fence post or bind up one more hay bale before heading to the Roxey Steakhouse for their supper.


The steakhouse was a grand, two-story edifice among the village's simple homes, its size surpassed only by the great barn behind it. A tall stone chimney poked up from the roof. The first floor catered to the hungry and thirsty, while the second held the rooms where weary travelers could rest their heads on a pillow.


Gavinyarel was seated in the back corner of the tavern, halfway through his dinner of roasted venison and fried potatoes, and on his third mug of ale. He was leaned against the back of his chair, silently observing everyone else and appreciating how they dug into their meals with all the gusto of hard workers finally able to lay down their tools for a little while. He wished he could share in their rapture, but he knew all too well that his mission would drag him out of bed at the crack of dawn and spur him ever closer to Skyrim. In a way, he envied them.


The northbound Altmer quietly ate the rest of his meal and downed another mug of ale before the sleepiness began to come. He scooted his chair against the wall and rested his head in the corner as he contemplated how wonderful a real bed would feel compared to the bedroll he had resting beside him, which was only ever as soft as the ground upon which it lay, which of course meant rarely soft at all.


Little did Gavinyarel know that things would soon get much more interesting.

Edited by SoulofChrysamere
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Riona Galsette (for The Elder Scrolls)


Name: Riona Galsette

Gender: female

Race: Breton

Political Affiliation: none

Age: 19

Guild Affiliation: none


Areas of Expertise:


She is proficient as an archery apprentice. Taught novice level sneaking by beggars and local tramps in the slums of Bravil. Conjuration of a bound sword through practice only being able to summon one at a time for a couple of minutes. Flexible in acrobatics honed in free-runing over obstacles in the roof and major walls of the walled shanty town, its the most developed kill she has being adept. Finally, a decent swords-woman with her conjured blade novice level. Her one handed skill was trained slaying small pests and goblins that roam the outer wilds.


Spell Repertoire:


Touch of fear -novice illusion spell. Bound sword - novice conjuration


Loot/Gold: 100 septims and a few jewels that have not yet been appraised worth of different values.




Height: 5'6" Skin Tone: slight tanned fair;
Hair: short-cut to a few inches below her jaw. Lose bell shape, auburn colored.
Eye Color: light chocolate wine brown with a gray ring around the iris.
Face: round face with slightly full cheeks and a slight pointed jaw. A small scar across the left side of her eyebrow and a lip piercing on her lower lip being a silver ring. Slim short nose and a thin upper lip over her fuller lower one.
Slim athletic build.


Equipment/Enchanted Items:


black cloth leggings, leather boots, leather gauntlets, leather hood and a leather jerkin over a sleeveless work shirt that she tucks in. A traveling backpack with her personal hygiene materials, a cover, small tent lantern, metal tankard and a fork and a plate.


Weapons: a crossbow and bolt quiver worn on her waist on the left and an iron knife. No enchanted items.




Her brash and aggressive emotional reactions that cause her to be much less cautions when she loses her cool. Deathly scared of apparitions, spirits ghosts and wraiths.




Riona is a rouge that takes on any job she can get, she is a self proclaimed "witchhunter" with no former training for the job and only in the title. Fast on her blade as well as tongue, as a rouge, she is similar to a thief but is slightly better trained in the light weapon and armor arts. She possess agility and cunning that make her a formidable opponent where she lacks in brute strength. She prefers speed in combat rather than physical prowess. Persuasive in conversation, her tongue is good enough to save her a few coins but not enough to persuade guards from looking away at her small crimes if caught. In addition to her skills with a bound blade, she picks the locks and pockets of those who won't mind missing something of decent value. Depending on her ability when her words fail, she can either fight or flee depending on the opponent.


Riona grew up in the worst part of Bravil where bandits, thieves, low-lives and beggars made it their filthy paradise. Being the daughter of an independent fence, she learned the value of items and equipment for the right amount of coin. Her father taught her in speechcract and how to make prices shift to her benefit. He is a man completely involved in and around money and more than a dozen shady practices. Due to this fact, she has had to face some of the consequences her father brought upon them living they lifestyle that the slums offer. In her years of training, her sneak and agility in acrobatics has been honed by jumping and free-running over the roofs of the massive shanty town. She has faced some of the worst undesirables the bad side of the law has to offer. She is no saint or ignorant to the ways of men and their lust and greed either. She has been taken by force more than a few times against her will, either for sick fun and entertainment by some of the local men or as "taken" payment from the piled debts her father had collected. Due to men handling her as an object and the dealing with the mental trauma of rape, she has harbored hate and ire towards any man that looks at her like she's some piece of meat.


She is always wary around any man and with good reason, in her upbringing she has never met a gentlemanly one yet, that did not have hidden intentions toward her. Riona decided to learn the skill of the blade once she was seventeen, her misery had led her to her boiling point and she vowed never to let a man take her body like so cheap commodity or thrill. She has never killed but has wounded those unfortunate to lay hands on her. Her mother had been kidnaped and taken by a necromancer at the age of fourteen. She was taken to one of the more dangerous caves in the area and experimented on till she was finally sacrificed to a deadric lord and her corpse reanimated. Three years later once she had enough bravery and skill, she set out for that same cave with the intent of getting revenge to satisfy her need to avenge her mother's death. Upon searching the entire cave she found that the necromancer had been gone for years and the only things of value and clues to where he went was an old spellbook and a few jewels.


Riona read the book till she mastered her very first spell "bound sword" and she's trained with it around the outskirts of Bravil slowly gathering money. With some of her earnings precious stones, she eventually purchased a light armor set, a skinning knife and a crossbow. A few jobs assisting the local fighters guild (not as a member more so as an assistant/intern) gave her the experience on how to use her crossbow efficiently. She spent the next two years training with her weapons till she bought her most recent spell from a traveling merchant who also spoke of an infamous necromancer with the habit of sacrificing women. The merchant had last heard of him back in Skyrim which is her now, ultimate destination.




Riona is Friendly, adaptable, action-oriented. "Doer" type who is focused on immediate results. Living in the here-and-now, she's a risk-taker who lives a fast-paced lifestyle. Impatient with long explanations. Extremely loyal to her peers if the prove to be worth having, but not usually respectful of laws and rules if they get in the way of getting things done. Good persuasive skills.

Fun-loving, she makes things more fun for herself and for her personal enjoyment. Living for the moment, she loves to engage new experiences. She dislikes theory and impersonal analysis. Interested in being fair in all things concerning business, less she can tilt things into a more profitable favor. She will always pay her debts and make sure gets paid what she deserves for a job well earned. Likely to be of awkward attention in social situations where people of high status and manners interact. Well-developed common sense and practical ability although often ignored by her brash instinctual nature and rash behavior. She is easily incited for excitement of almost any kind and hard to calm in serious situations.

She is very enthusiastic, idealistic, and creative. Able to do almost anything that she sets her mind to and usually will pick up something fast if she's really into it. Great at banter and taunting especially to get her opponents to make emotional actions as a result. She is also extremely susceptible to taunts herself to a fault. She needs to live life in accordance with her inner values and will even ignore law If it goes against her own code of honor. Very excited by new ideas, but bored with details. She is open-minded and flexible, with a broad range of interests and abilities.







Riona Galsette: The Roxey Village, the Roxey Stakehouse -- Mid year, 4E 201

A young Breton girl in her late teens and soon enough ushering into full womanhood was stomping up the red ring road. She had seen something that still had the hairs of her ne
ck standing on end was eager to put as much distance from "it" as she could. A nice building on the side of the road marked its own contrast as the shadows from nearby trees began to stretch and crawl slowly, elongating with the setting sun behind her. Her feet came to a full stop once her lungs and abdominal muscles declared they had enough strain. The petite brunette walked at a slowed pace till she came facing with the big wooden entrance of the Roxy Stakehouse and inn. She huffed and made a stern face before pushing the main door open and stepping inside. Anyone could have guessed what the establishment was from the sign in the front and its location on a main road but Riona ignored small details like that. Many times in the past she's walked into private homes and ordered their owners for a meal and drink only to be kicked out with a curse and a broom swat.

The dancing lights of lanterns and big hearth in the back wall of the bar of the salon made the place have a very homey touch. Her eyes scanned around taking in the local patrons engaging in all sorts of activities from dining, talking and even singing along with a jittery bard who seem to have bugs in his trousers. Very lively scene yet with an aura of its own special touch of peace about it. Chest puffed and both hands on the strap of her pack, she made her way up to the bar and placed an order for pint of ale. The proprietor was an old imperial man who gave her the type of look that slightly rubbed her the wrong way. It was like his face made a silent remark at her not being able to hold her alcohol due to her size. He was almost a bit reluctant at taking her money for the drink but obliged since her eyes returned a look of demand. Her drink was poured and she turned to lean her back and elbow on the bar table, she chugged her beverage in as few gulps as she could.

A satisfactory exhale and another round was ordered as she slid the bartender another couple of septims. The drink went down her throat smoothly and a silly smile began to peer from the corners of her lips. The alcohol sure was pick-me-up from the freight she was still recuperating from. Liquid courage is what she called it but in her case it was more like liquid arrogance. "I'm a professional witch hunter and I make my living solving the problems of cowards too scared to deal with the evils and nightmares of this world." She hiccuped as soon as the last syllable was uttered. She was a lightweight and got easily drunk which wasn't something she made a habit of. A wraith back at the Mouth of the Panther had made her make quick dust on the trail here. She'd been running and walking for a few days now and it was all due to her being a coward herself when it came to all manner of spooks and specters.

Her last statement sounded more heroic and honorable and even a bit philosophical in her head. This was not the case as she foolishly gathered the attention of most patrons with her loud mouthing. She walked over to the billboard of job listings, a few fetch quests and even wanted posters. One particular job captured her attention, it was a zombified corpse that had been stalking and scaring the local folk in the village's nearby cemetery. It wasn't too much of a nuisance for the imperial guardsmen to be dispatched to deal with, no, these people were left to take care of it on their own but most were either too superstitious or too scared to attempt the job. Zombies are not to be trifled with and could easily match a warrior and leave him just and limbless and disemboweled as they were. It was a certain danger that struck a personal nerve on Riona. Undead meant necromancy was at hand and that was something she could not forgive.

Personal honor and vendetta drove her impulse to snatch the parchment off of the billboard and stuff it in one of her breast pockets. "Consider your pest gone folks, Riona Galsette is on the job!" She was loud and her heavy and uncoordinated steps lead her outside the main door just as night began to draw in. Half stumbling already, she set path towards the local graveyard marked on the listings map. It was clear she was on the thin line of tipsy and drunk already as she bumped into a few fence posts here and there.




Edited by candymyne
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Gavinyarel: The Roxey Village, The Roxey Steakhouse -- Midyear, 4E 201


Gavinyarel had planned on going to bed early tonight, but the raucous entrance of a dark-clothed Breton girl stole his attention away from sleep. There was a slightly smallish crossbow at one leg, and a knife at the other; a quiver of bolts was on her back. Yet, for all her gear, Gavinyarel noticed the auburn hairs on the back of her neck were bristled. He thought perhaps she'd met with a highwayman and either parted with her purse the hard way or repaid his aggression with a bolt. The lack of blood swayed him toward the former.


Once the girl reached the counter, the zeal with which she knocked back her drinks only retold the story her entrance told. He paid her no more attention then, content to let her mind process whatever had happened on its own. He twiddled a fork in fingers as he went back to browsing the patrons. Dusk hadn't quite yet tinged the windows gold, but he prayed for the moment it did so he could retire for the night. The road to Skyrim hadn't been an easy one at the start, and with the formidable Jerall Mountains looming in the distance, deceptively beautiful to mortal eyes in all their snow-shod grandeur, he hardly expected things to smooth out anytime soon.


Not long after, the Breton girl defied his ignorance by boisterously proclaiming that she was a "professional witchhunter" as she put it, a woman able to face those heart-stopping horrors that dwell within the deepest, darkest, most miserable and isolated nooks and crannies Tamriel had to offer. Gavinyarel casually glanced around the room and wondered who she was fooling. He observed her crossbow and her other gear more closely, humoring himself as to why a master of her trade would wield tools of apprentice-level quality at best. I bet her backpack's got little more than provisions and grooming supplies in it.


Now intrigued, Gavinyarel followed with his eyes as she marched over to the bulletin board littered with the sketches of outlaws and the brokenhearted pleas of people that were foolish enough to haul their inexperienced hides into some dark, dank cave and drop their lucky rusted butter knife deep inside in their haste to escape the gargantuan shadow inching ever closer around a corner lit by the sunlight coming in through a second opening. Gavinyarel almost felt more sorry for the little mouse or squirrel that owned the shadow, who'd then round the corner only to find his new visitor frantically fleeing for his life, shouting stammered prayers to any holy-sounding person or being their frantic minds could pull from beneath the cobwebs. Perhaps she dabbles in bandit hunting or trinket retrieval too... he thought as he watched her peruse the board. He smirked at her from his corner for a moment or two, but his smirk soon flipped into a frown when he remembered one particular notice, an urgent demand for some brave soul to take up the sword against a foul zombie defiling the cemetery. No...surely not... Gavinyarel said inwardly.


His fascination with her mood's capacity to change with her alcohol content soured as she announced her latest crusade. He saw her stumble back out of the inn and even watched her blunder against the fence posts for a bit. He rolled his eyes and cupped his head in his hand. I'm probably going to regret this, but I suppose I should at least get fifty septims out of this...assuming she survives this. he thought as he got up and began following her at a distance; he'd interrupted women on missions before, and he'd always been sorry for it in the past.

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Riona Galsette: The old Roxey chapel cemetery. -- 4E 201

"Oooooooooooooh, there once was a hero named blrrrghrl the red who-" her legs advanced in a crisscross motion with every other step as she tried to recall an old song she picked up from a travel
ing Nord who happened to be a bard from Skyrim. "-Who came riding to Whiterun from ole yuckystead." She was not only off key but butchered the song effortlessly. A couple of hiccups prevented her from continuing her offensive abuse of the bard's trade. After making her trail upwards towards a slope that lead to an abandoned chapel with a gated cemetery, she placed her pack next to a half crumbled pillar that used to be a decorative arched entryway into the old building. There was already a heavy mist beginning to form and coat the ground surrounding each headstone like an ominous sheet swallowing everything in its path. Rotted pews could be seen inside the old church house still trying to retain the look and feel of their former selves. The roof inside was full of holes and whatever furniture that hadn't been seized or stolen in the past had succumbed to the native weather over the years. Truly a spooky place where most normal people could be tested on their nerve in the day and much more at night.

The Breton made her way through the broken down edifice and out the back opening leading to the main part of the cemetery behind the church. There was a misstep on her part and she tumbled a few steps to her right losing balance in poor equilibrium and landed hard on her rear and right palm. "I'm alright!" She said out loud even though there was no one there supposed to hear her. She laughed drunkenly and hysterically for a couple of minutes at her own clumsiness taking her a couple of tries to get up and stand on her feet. She drew her crossbow and loaded a bolt. So far even with all her ruckus, not a single corpse had risen from its slumber, at least, not yet. She closed her eyes tightly for a few seconds holding them in place before fully opening them as much as she could to try and get accurate vision but it was to no avail, she was already way too inebriated. She saw twice as many tombstones and pillars than there actually were. Her head spun from here to there and externally, it seemed she was struggling to walk a straight line.

"Hey come out!" She yelled in an authoritative tone demanding for her opponent to come face her at once. "I'll kill you a second time, you won't get up again!" Nothing, there was no response from any living thing or dead. The graveyard seemed quiet and peaceful for the time being and after a minute or so, Riona became infuriated with the eternal waiting that had only passed in her head. She shot a bolt in a random direction disappearing into the thick blanket of puffy white that had covered the ground. A hard metallic ding could be heard at a distance fallowed by an echo of a solid hit. A small piece of cobble stone had been chipped from an unsuspecting headstone that had dared to come across the enraged woman's path. She reloaded and aimed her sights at a winged statute of a woman sitting in a praying position over the entrance of a small tomb. There was an old wooden door that was half opened and half broken. Planks and pieces littered the ground and spread all over. It seems that the damage had come from the inside out. A dark corridor with a flight of stony steps lead the way into an abysmal darkness underground. The situation angered the young Breton even more, she had no torch and needed a light source before diving inside.

It didn't take too long of her staring deep into the black mass of nothingness before her. A low and gargled moan began to emanate from within.

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Gavinyarel: The Roxey Village, the Old Roxey Chapel Cemetery -- Midyear, 4E 201


Gavinyarel followed as close as he dared behind the Breton woman, not so close as to alert her to his presence, but still close enough to hear her slurred, somewhat inaccurate rendition of "Ragnar the Red," a common favorite in the taverns of Skyrim. The sun had set by this time, and Gavinyarel's night vision was still adjusting, a predicament that made navigating the loose dirt and rocks a little more exciting than he'd bargained for.


Before long, Gavinyarel came before the cemetery in question: a bleak relic of a community apparently none too infatuated with the idea of attending church. Mist was beginning to veil the area, and he had to try hard to keep the Breton girl in his sight while still scanning for the zombie.


Gavinyarel nonchalantly tucked himself behind one of the trees just outside the cemetery grounds when he saw the woman brandish her crossbow, peering out from behind only just enough to continue viewing. After a little high-impact defacement of an unlucky tombstone, Gavinyarel heard the bloodcurdling moan that sounded from within the mausoleum that now stood before the woman. He put a hand to his ebony shortsword's hilt and, content that she was sufficiently focused on the impending confrontation, moved up behind one of the pillars. Do or die time...

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Riona Galsette: The Roxey Village, the old Roxey chapel cemetery -- Midyear, 4E 201

"Hic.." The alcohol had been simmering in her system and the already blurred vision became much more than an impairment. A gray leathery hand outstretched reaching out
to her from out of the dark pit. Slowly, under the moonlight, a rotting milky white foot emerged fallowed by the torso of a headless humanoid. Whatever race this thing had been before, there was no way of telling now. The creature had a devilish demeanor about its movements. Jerking and inching fast, exposed torn ligaments of red muscle tissue propelled its hands grabbing and trying to claw at the young girl. The grumble and resonance its moaning made from the open hole in its neck, was a spine chilling sound that would have immediately rushed all the blood from the rouge's face had she not been this drunk. A step back and pull of the trigger, the first steel bolt was inside the zombie's breast. Even though the spring had given the crossbow a good punch of power, the creature simply jerked with a pause and continued to advance. Riona saw a horde of the same headless creature, it had somehow duplicated over and over. Her vision began to spin like as if she was looking through a kaleidoscope. She was more pissed now than before she set foot towards this endeavor.

"You brought friends eh?" The chirping of some insect briefly interrupted the moaning of the headless corpse for a few seconds. An almost comical pause had the monster the ability to comprehend humor. She was out of it, seeing an army of undead where there was none. She staggered to her feet quickly trying to load a bolt but found her fingers too uncoordinated for the task. She dropped the crossbow and stumbled several feet avoiding broken and half sunken tombstones as she put a bit of distance between her target. She closed her eyes and chanted the string of words inside her mind that had been the practice of several years. A disruption of reality and distorted, mirrored vibrations in the space before her began to materialize an ethereal outline of a deadric sword. Her hand grasped the handle as the resonance of the blade echoed throughout the cemetery. Transparent spectral flames emanated from her newly summoned weapon as she took a fighting stance and readied for the oncoming collision of the hellish creature.

Arms flailing with the full intent of carnage, the porcelain zombie rushed the Brenton girl booming its demonic and inhuman sounds as it sprinted. Riona quick-stepped to the side and swung with all her might. Even drunk, the adrenaline rush she had gave her a spurt of energy and focus to slice a rotted arm clean off. A creepy sight it was, the creature tackled the back outer wall of the of the church making dust and pebbles fall from high above on impact. The severed limb wriggled and clawed at nothing in the air. As the corpse regained its composure so too had Riona. She took her stance once more and placed her blade before her. As the muscular rotted legs advanced her opponent, she blinked several times trying to focus her dual vision of it before it had another chance to strike. The girl swung a moment too early and her chin was caught in the inside part of zombie's elbow and forearm sending her falling hard on her back.

She knew she was in more danger than she could handle, she spun and rolled her body out of the way to avoid another clawed swing. She stammered up and flung her sword at the monster's back right leg. The already uncoordinated corpse would have more trouble on its feet with sliced ligaments. Still, it had limitless reservoirs of endurance and strength, Riona can not keep this up for long. Her face caught the back of the creature's fist as it struck her sending her falling backwards once more with her head slamming into a tombstone. Pain shot from her skull and blood began to slowly trickle out of an open gash. Needless to say the concentration of her spell was broken and her ethereal sword dispersed into thin air. A complaining moan escaped her lips as one of her hands rubbed her head. She was dazed and disoriented.

The zombie limped and hopped on its good leg with an almost excited excited spring in each step. It got ready unleash a merciless attack upon the girl. If it could emote its actions, it would probably be making a fiendish howling.

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Gavinyarel: The Roxey Village, the Old Roxey Cemetery -- Midyear, 4E 201


Gavinyarel watched as the woman struck first with a bolt to the zombie's breast, but he was unsurprised at the creature's unconcern. He was about to step in when she abandoned her crossbow, but was genuinely surprised when she conjured a sword in her hand. He paused and decided to see how she fared with her new weapon, which managed to rend the zombie's arm from its body and sever one of its legs partway up. Still, in her drunken state, the woman wasn't a match for the lumbering corpse.


When the zombie had her cornered against a headstone with her head bleeding, Gavinyarel moved in. He dashed toward the zombie, which was readying another slash with its remaining arm. As it swung, Gavinyarel countered just in time. His honed ebony blade, glowing orange with fire enchantment, sent the newly dismembered arm flying over the woman's head. The stump that remained was set ablaze. He punched the creature away with his free hand and then shot a jet of fire at it, turning it into a bright flare that lit up the surrounding area. Enraged, the zombie charged him in all its limping, disarmed frenzy. Gavinyarel dodged left and slashed at his midsection, shearing it in two. As the newly halved zombie collapsed to the ground, it's animation began to stop, whatever force had inspired its motion finally broken.


Gavinyarel took a large cloth from his pouch and wiped away the dust and rotten flesh from his sword before sheathing it. He looked back at the woman and smiled. "All right, I guess you're not quite as green as you seem." he said plainly, impressed by her knowledge of bound weapons.

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Riona Galsette: The Roxey Village, the Old Roxey Cemetery -- Midyear, 4E 201

The young woman rubbed the back of her head feeling the wetness of the crimson liquid smear her hand. Her eyes grew heavy only seeing flashes of the scene that took place bef
ore her. The zombie was felled although in her head she had done the deed and liberated the Roxey Village from the undead menace. Her mind already began counting the septims she was owed. The last thing she saw was of an altmer standing not too far away from where she lay. She brought up her hand in a defensive gesture as if preparing for some malevolent and dirty action he may try towards her. It was bad enough that the heavy mist had swallowed most of her vision away as she lay there, but now her last thoughts were of unnerving anxiousness.

Her arm only remained in the air for a second and then flopped resting over her torso as she blacked out. A low groan was the last thing heard as her consciousness drifted into nothingness. Whomever this man was or what his intentions were, she had no way of stopping, the Breton was at his mercy.

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Gavinyarel: The Roxey Village, the Old Roxey Cemetery -- Midyear, 4E 201


Gavinyarel scowled in disgust at the burning remnants of the zombie. Undead were a unique sort to him, the physical types mostly rotten and reeking badly enough to turn a sturdy stomach. He then looked to the woman, who'd blacked out from her injuries. Damn it, don't die now...especially not from head-butting a tombstone. he thought as he rushed over to inspect her wounds.


Gavinyarel squatted down and examined her head wound, which was still gushing blood. He quickly pulled a large cloth and bandage out of his backpack and pressed against the wound in an effort try and stop the bleeding. It took a few minutes, but the blood at last began to clot, and Gavinyarel bound it up as best he could. He could clean it back at the inn.


With a grunt, he managed to hoist her over his shoulder and began the walk back to the inn. Luckily, his adrenaline didn't mind the extra weight, and he had her back at the inn quickly.


Gavinyarel shoved the door open with his free hand and went straight to the counter, ignoring the gawking patrons who stared in wonder at his injured cargo. "I need you to free up a room. Now." he said impatiently.


"Uh, yes, all right. Come with me." the old innkeeper said, leading the way up the stairs. He unlocked his only other available room, and Gavinyarel entered and set her on the bed.


"Get me a rag." Gavinyarel told the innkeeper before sending him off. He removed the bandage from the woman's head and took a small flask of ale from his belt. He dabbed his only other clean cloth with the ale and then pressed it against the wound to disinfect it as much as possible. After wiping the excess away, he wove a healing aura in his hand and pressed it against the wound. The parted skin slowly drew back together. The innkeeper returned with the rag, and after he finished with his healing spell, Gavinyarel bound it to where the wound was just to be safe. He'd had wounds reopen on him before, not something he considered fun at all.


Content he'd done all he could for the woman, Gavinyarel packed up his supplies and returned to his own room. After running his rags down to the innkeeper for cleaning and paying a night's stay for the woman, he crawled into his bed and tried to fall asleep. An hour ticked by without so much as a doze, but he was at last able to drift into an uneasy sleep.

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Riona Galsette: The Roxey Village, The Roxey Inn. --4E 201

A low rumbled snore shifted in volume. High and low it went signaling the young woman's deep state of slumber. A slight whistle at the end of each exhaled breath marked a rhythmic tune in the
quiet upstairs floor of the Roxey inn. Sweat in her palms and perspiration on her forehead flushed her body's remaining alcohol content out of her system. She dreamed of nothing that night save the few flash scenes of her exaggerated victory over the headless corpse. The dream gave no credit or recollection of anyone else at the site nor would her subconscious allow it. She had slain the monster and was well deserving of her pay and the heroic deed actually marked her first ever job accomplished as a bonafide witchhunter.

Morning came with rays beaming down from the small window-like slits in the top of the room. The light was bright like a laser that only shone over her face and eyes. A red tinge of color was all she could see behind those tired eyelids as she did her best to slowly inch then open. A soft feminine groan fallowed by a stretch of the arms and a nice enjoyable yawn with the pleasurable pull of the back shoulder muscles was her first actions into the waking world. It only took about a couple seconds from the combined pain of a blistering, pounding headache of her head injury augmenting the sickening oversensitive hangover migraine she began to suffer. Both hands immediately clasping at her forehead, the thought of daring to feel the back of her scalp for the tombstone wound came to mind but it was all too much to even try.

Another hour spent moaning in hushed complaints and cruses till she finally had enough strength to meet the day ahead of her. She already knew she was in a room but had no idea that a good Samaritan had done her the favor of rescuing and bringing her here. Since the details of last night were all blur, she assumed that she had paid her own stay and crashed soon after her conquest. She regretted the few pints of ale she had yes, but at least getting those hundred septims were something to look forward to. She fixed her self and groomed as much as any tomboy would to make her self a tad bit pretty over decent. Travel pack in her back, she marched down the stairs with puffed chest and a big attitude. Sure the migraine still lingered but it wasn't enough to stop her ego.

"Bartend, I've vanquished the pest and your local zombie has been destroyed." She said with a slight more arrogance than humble pride. "Of whom should should I collect my reward from?" Both palms over the bar table and a large grin from ear to ear plastered on that small face of hers. Early rising patrons looking at her morning commotion, it wasn't a common thing to see such a scene. "my name will become renowned." she thought excitedly.

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