Wisdom of the Ancestors - An Elder Scrolls RP

[Macman253]

Felix smiled as they left, he quietly whistled a tune and trudged on with them, his preferred method of warfare wasn't in the open but he was fair in combat and he trusted his companions to fight well, he couldn't help but think this was the beginning to a tale he may one day inscribe. He knew that good adventure books were prized in Cyrodiil, particularly by the nobles who never leave their homes. Before they left he purchased a quill and ink bottle with a fresh leatherbound journal from Belethor.

 

Svarn waited in a thick bush on the borders of Eastmarch, he had been pursuing a group of bandits for near a week. The bounty was good, would provide him with enough food for near a month. Fenrir laid by him, Svarn pulled the stripped piece of cloth he had recovered from the bounty officer in Shor's Stone that had belonged to one of the bandits, Fenrir sniffed it greedily and began to sniff the ground until he caught the scent, Fenrir turned his head to Svarn and the nord nodded. Fenrir barked and took off at a full run, Svarn picked up his hunting bow, strung it and pursued. They ran through the thick brush at full run for a very long time, the branches and snow covered limbs of the trees obscuring Fenrir to the point that all he was following was the steady crashing and frozen plant limbs breaking as the half-wolf ran through them. Fenrir was a trained war-hound and when Svarn wasn't in his direct sight he would bark so he could be found. After nearly a nights steady travel they broke through to arrive at the snow covered mountainous region known as Eastmarch, Fenrir breathed heavily as his curled tail wagged steadily and his pink tongue lulled out of his mouth. In the distance was a dim light that he immediately knew was the flicker of a campfire.

 

'Stay...' He said firmly, Fenrir sat on the command and waited as Svarn dropped low to the snow covered earth and moved quietly to a large rock not far from the camp, sitting around the camp were two nords, a bosmer woman and an argonian. The Argonian sat on a bedroll next to the flames and warmed his hand while a large grey haired nord roasted a large hunk of meat over the fire and drank steadily from a skin of ale, the younger nord next to him snored loudly with an empty bottle of wine next to him as he laid on his bedroll, the Bosmer woman sat on a rock nearby where she used it to sharpen her arrowheads and hum a tune, she had a beautiful voice not unlike his beloved wife Visna. These could just be travellers so he decided to wait until he was sure they were Bandits.

 

'Belora... would you stop that cursed humming... you are giving me a headache.' Said the surly older Nord, the Bosmer woman looked to him and just smirked and continued to hum. The Argonian laughed as the Nord gave her a hard stare and turned over the meat. 'Snorri... leave Belora alone, don't be angry with her because she would not share your bed.' Joked the Argonian as he read through some recently stolen scrolls, a large pack of them nearby. Snorri turned his one-eyed gaze to the Argonian, 'If you had just watched the guards of that payroll caravan instead of lighting them on fire! We wouldn't be hiding from the law!' The nord growled as he chucked a ball of snow at the Argonian. Svarn could see there was a strong tension in the group, he quietly drew and arrow and stuck it in the snow tip first and notched a second one. He drew back the bowstring and took aim for the Argonian. The power built into the wooden bow tensed as he drew back the bowstring to his ear, his muscles quivered with exertion as he held it there for a long moment, then he gently loosed the sting and the arrow stuck to the fletchings in the Argonian's heart,

 

'Were under attack!' Yelled Snorri as he jumped to his feet and picked up his warhammer, Belora dove for her bow. Svarn notched the second arrow and drew it, this time he aimed for the sleeping Nord. He loosed the arrow as he stood and it struck him in the neck, he never woke from his drunken slumber, Svarn ducked as the Bosmer fired an arrow at him that nearly hit him. He tossed his bow aside and pulled Fjorlag from the leather sheath at his lower back as he leapt over the rock only to meet the large head of a warhammer coming at him, he had just enough time to bring up the thick oaken shaft of his axe to block it before the strike took him in the face, the force of the blow rippled through his bones with excruciating pain. He pushed him off with all his might and the burly nord behind the large weapon fell on his rump. He managed to roll back just before Fjorlag's axehead bit into what would have been his torso but only found snowy earth, Svarn ducked the wild swipe of the heavy warhammer as the large Nord roared at him.

 

'You'll never take me alive!' Bellowed the nord as he raised the warhammer high over his head, he had Svarn dead to rights and he closed his eyes just as Fenrir burst from the bushes behind him and snarled as he leapt onto him and bit into his arm to drag him down where the half-wolf bite and mauled at the screaming nord, the wolf had ahold of his throat and soon the whimpering bandit silenced and laid still. Belora aimed her bow at the bounty hunter and slowly but steadily took steps back.

 

'Stay back! Don't come any closer!' She yelled, not willing to fire because she knew that if she killed one the other would kill her. Svarn turned to face her with Fjorlag in his hand. He knew he had to kill her to collect on the full bounty but he could never bring himself to kill a woman. Fenrir growled and slowly began to advance on the bosmer, 'Heel!' He said firmly, the hound looked up to him and sat down begrudgingly, Svarn turned his attention to the Bosmer woman, 'Don't hurt me...' She pleaded, Svarn drew back his hood to look her in the eyes. 'I will not... leave, never harm another soul again or I will find you... and I will kill you.' He said sternly, the Bosmer looked deep into his eyes and knew he meant his words, she grabbed her pack and quickly ran off. Svarn smiled and collected the marks of bounty he required, he buried the bodies and gave them their last rites. By then it was morning, he went back to the main road and setup camp alongside it.

[Flipout6]

"That much is true." Rilgumskar remarked offhandedly, not really listening so much as calculating. He had more than enough food and water supplies to last him for the trip. And if not...well, plenty of rivers around. And maybe arcane ice could melt?

 

They debarked for Eastmarch, Rilgumskar keeping quiet most of the time, saving his grieving until he would have time. Until then, he appreciated the scenery as they went by, keeping a lookout for anything that looked dangerous. He'd use a little arcane fire to start up the campfires at night, but it was an otherwise uneventful trip. No dragons or Hammerfell warriors with curved. Swords anywhere to be found.

 

Eventually he stood in Eastmarch, ready to begin the hunt for the pretentious high-elf milk-drinkers that attacked Whiterun. "Let's get this show on the road." He said.

[WolvenEdge]

Pain.

He felt like he was being crushed, his head ached from all the thoughts pouring into and out of him, each different and spinning into each other as he struggled to escape, but for some reason he could not move in one direction, and his scattered efforts failed. It was excruciating, the feeling of being ground together and apart, each piece of you abrasive and being forced against every other piece with no semblance of order, and above all the pain of compression as if being felt a multitude of times from many eyes.

Jharret's eyes snapped open as he sat up. He took several deep breaths, and tried in vain to relax. He patted down his fur, and shook himself off as he rose. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and it was cold. The sabercat fur kilt he was using as bedding was frosted over, and the air burned through his nose in a manner that was somehow familiar. He stretched, taking in the first rays of dawn, feeling some measure of peace returning to him. The dream again. It was only his second night, and he had had the same dream both times, but the memory of it was already fading into the mists of sleep. His right paw felt the pendant he wore, feeling it tingle through his entire being as he pondered the deep, bright blue, ever-shifting glow inside the pitch-black chrystal. He straightened the fine steel chain that held it to him, pulling any errant hairs from under it so that it sat more comfortably under the thick, longer fur of his dark mane, which he proceeded to run his claws through to pull out the tangles.

Once he finished grooming, he proceeded to his morning training. He picked up his weapon, a sword with a broadsword blade on both ends of the handle, and started to warm up, idly spinning the dual blade through the fingers of his right hand, then his left, then back again. He closed his eyes as he moved to less idle drills, the fingers of his hands changing from a loose spinning grip between the fingers to a more stable one, his fingers gripping the hilt as he started the momentum, one hand firmly gripping the weapon at all times as he slid through the deadly dance. The dual blade spun through the grips of attack and defense as he flew through the katas that spun through his mind. His eyes opened as he moved to more difficult strikes, parrying and dodging imaginary opponents as his body and weapon glided through the stances as one. He spun, the blade spinning around him, and then coming to a sudden stop behind him in his right hand, his left hand extended forward. He held that stance until the sun was three quarter the way up, and then relaxed. He placed the dual blade within easy reach and shook the dirt and grass from his kilt, which he proceeded to fold around himself. He donned the greaves and bracers, also crafted from sabercat pelt, and cinched the steel fittings snug. The sword belt he donned last, across his body from right shoulder to left hip, and tied the dual blade into it, the knots in the leather of the ties and the folded scabbards, which simply hung off the belt when not in use, were designed to come undone quickly when the ends of the leather strips were pulled in a certain fassion.

A morning routine, a feeling of familiarity, but from where, and when? He had only been for two days, so why did he have these habits? He snarled slightly and pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind. Right now, he needed breakfast, and he did not wish to so soon deplete his meager stores, so hunting it was. The rapids beside him were suitable for fish, but was moving too fast to swim in. He decided to follow the river northward until he found a place that would better suit fishing. He dug his bare foot-claws into the earth (his greaves had no covering for the feet), and set out northward.

In a few minutes he saw a valley, nestled within was a city that appeared to be half ruin. The rapids had become a waterfall, but he could see that the river became broad and slow past a stone bridge. His stomach growled, his hunger pushing his curiosity into the back of his mind. He picked up his pace down the path, looking forward to the fish.

It seemed the only things that swam in these waters were corpses. Jharret's hunger gnawed at him, driving him toward food. He decided to lay low near this calm water, for as much as the bloated contents of the river stank, there would still be deer or other prey coming for a drink. His patience was rewarded when a young buck crept to the edge of the water, and made the mistake of letting its guard down. Jharret struck quickly from downwind, digging the claws of all four paws into the creature's back, and digging his teeth into the back of it's neck. He clung on as the creature ran eastward, following the north side of the river's curve. As the buck began to tire, he releaset the grip of his left hand and grabbed the buck's left antler, then mirrored the action with his right hand. He then released the grip of his jaws, and when the buck bucked, he went with the momentum, directing his weight around like a pendulum, throwing the buck off balance. He also managed to throw himself upward, so that when the animal slid to a stop, he landed neatly next to it to finish it off with his dagger.

>You fought well, now may your strength become part of my own. I wish you peace in your next life.< The words moved from his lips as though he had said them hundreds of times before, yet he also meant every ancient word. The deer's blood ran, and he began to skin the beast. He then used his dagger to dig out the turf and make a small fire pit, and proceeded to cure (fire dry, in this case) most of the meat, while he ate one hindquarter and a pawful of offal raw. The river had become rapids again, and there was the remains of a castle or watchtower that had a tower on either side of the river connected by a narrow bridge that spanned high above the river just before it became another waterfall. His curiosity got the better of him. Once he had cured the meat and other edible organs for travel, he hopped from rock to rock across the rapids and stepped into the tower. The only population here was corpses as well. The bodies had had their life ripped out by several means; sword, axe, and at least two varieties of magic. The way the corpses were arrayed suggested that they had come under attack from the west, and there were many traces of at least one group headed east. He wished to meet these warriors, if for no other reason than to see what people this land, so familiar and yet so new, had to offer. He had plenty of meat for a journey, and there seemed to be plenty of water about, so he smiled slightly, dug his foot-claws into the earth, and started to move eastward.

Edited June 4, 2013 by WolvenEdge

[AurianaValoria1]

Sandhya drew her daggers and glanced around the sparse countryside, "This one does not like the spiders of Eastmarch...they are almost as silent as Sandhya."

 

Okuras likewise readied her axe, "All right...here we are. Now what?"

[mythicdawnmaster]

"Now? now we find the Thalmor heretics and end each and every one of their lives without mercy or regret, without a second thought and without looking back, we cut the head from their bodies and leave them where they lie, for murderers and pillagers such as they deserve no place in the heavens. Of course, that all follows us finding them... which could take some kind." Sienna spoke with amusement as she gazed around the vast expanse of Eastmarch, tracking the elves would mean a long and arduous search, to say the least. "They cannot be more than a day ahead of us, two perhaps... These towers, these Vaultheim towers, by chance we may see our quarry from their heights?"

[Macman253]

Felix felt the chill of skyrim bite at him, he would very much like to retire to the warm breezes of Stros M'kai but his dream for the future would cost him a great deal of gold. He hated Eastmarch, it was one of the parts of skyrim that lived in eternal winter, an interesting country to him. The half by the sea lived in permanent winter and the other only saw snow on the coldest of days. 'Valtheim towers are usually occupied by bandits... if you want to examine the country side from there you will have to parlay with them or kill them and mind you, they will most likely have it fortified.' He said as he leaned on his staff which for the last few days he had been using for a walking stick and a guidestick.

 

Svarn looked to the north, his bounty was due in Windhelm but with his status with the Stormcloaks he wouldn't be able to claim it, in the civil war he scouted for Markarth and its imperial supporter Jarl Igmund, while he mostly hunted Forsworn he also hunted Stormcloaks and they would remember him, the tales of Wild Heart told by the Forsworn had drifted into stormcloak ears. He packed camp when dawn broke, hunted him a few hares and moved north, he could turn in the bounties in Solitude but what worried him was the bandits at Valthiem Towers, they always demanded payment since they owned that stretch of road.

[AurianaValoria1]

Okuras shifted from one foot to the other, "Shouldn't be any problem for us. I say we get there and wipe out whoever is occupying those towers."

 

The khajiit grinned, "This one agrees. Sandhya could use the practice."

 

Without another word, the Argonian began to walk ahead of the others, heading in the general direction of Vaultheim.

[Zephyr2011]

The group approached Vaultheim Towers and Ra'Qassar called a halt. All that was left here were broken bodies and scorches. "The Thalmor have continued down the road, towards the caldera. Most of the bandits that were here are dead right in front of us. The rest are likely floating down river or rotting in the far tower." Ra'Qassar gestured to the mangled corpses littering the entrance to the tower on their side of the river. "You can see on the far tower several scorch marks, likely from magefires. The bandits loosed several arrows, as you can see here in the dirt." There were several shafts stuck fast in the ground at roughly 70 degree angles, the same angles formed by a roughly direct line from the tip of the arrows to the top of the nearby tower. There was a splatter of blood on the ground as well. "One of the Thalmor was also wounded. Likely at least one of the arrows found their mark. The dirt is quite disturbed here. Some of the plants are filthy while others have a leaf or two clean, indicative of a group of people or animals rushing through as quickly as possible. The wounded mer likely did not notice his wounds in the scuffle, as you can see the blood trail. I suggest we make haste towards the Caldera, they may have stopped off at a nearby cave along the way, or they will be in one of the caves surrounding or within the sulfur fields; either way, there is nothing for us here."

[darkedge42392]

Adrynn sat in the back corner of the New Gnisis Cornerclub in Windhelm, slowly sipping on a mug of Sujamma. It was a foul tasting swill, nowhere near coming close to matching the true, luxuriously velvety taste of real Sujamma. But, Adrynn drank it anyways. He had paid for it, and didn't want to hurt the poor wretch's feelings who had sold it to him.

 

The Dunmer knew he was a strange sight in these parts. It wasn't often a tall lithe Redoran opened the door to this shop dressed in full Gah-Julan Bonemold and a carrying an ebony longsword. Most Dunmer in this city didn't even know what House Redoran was, much less what one of its warriors looked like. The only time Adrynn guessed the Dunmer here had even seen someone resembling him was from the stories of the Redoran Guard, those deadly warriors who protected the ebony mine of Raven Rock.

 

Adrynn took another sip of his Sujamma. He looked down at the letter unfolded on the table before him. It was the reason he was here. The reason he had left the comfort of Blacklight to come to this gods forsaken city of racists and warmongerers. It read simply:

 

" Adrynn Indarys,

I hope this letter reaches you in good company and health. I have need of your assistance in a matter of great importance. It is vital you come to Windhelm, and meet me at the New Gnisis Cornerclub in the Grey Quarter.

It's urgent,

A Friend"

 

Adrynn had arrived from Blacklight not a few hours before, not questioning the letter or its possible intent, and had spent that time here, sitting at this table, in this chair, waiting. He barely talked to the barkeeper, save to order a drink and some food. And he knew his intimidating armor and silent prescense would keep anyone from bothering him. He brushed aside any talk of why he was here, or what he was looking for. He simply waited, drinking his foul drink and thinking, his fingers resting lightly on the hilt of his ebony sword, which he had unstrapped and propped against the table. Only a few people entered, and none came his way, though he received more than a few second glances and outright stares.

 

He smiled slightly. He knew he was intimidating, and he was content to remain so. His dark ash grey face was covered with a fine web of wrinkles, more so from sun and wind than age. His dark beard and hair were streaked with grey, and a large scar ran across his left cheek, from his pointed eleven ear to his thin, wide mouth. It was given to him by an Orc companion of his long ago while he traveled as a mercenary. The Orc had been a werewolf and transformed on him one night, his bloodlust driving him to kill the Dunmer. But Adrynn had escaped, his Daedric Prince opening a temporary portal for him into her realm, before spitting him back out leagues from where he had been. Azura had save his life, but she knew he resented her. Though Adrynn would not disrespect the Daedra who held his soul, he did however, learn to refuse her summons. He was not her plaything or pawn. He was her Chosen, yes, but only when he knew he needed to take that mantle. And very few times had he done so.

 

Adrynn sat, waiting, his mind traversing the countless years of his life. He missed his long dead wife, his long scattered companions, and his home. Finally, the door opened again. And who stepped through it sent a cold wave of recognition through him.

 

"Well well well. Long time no see, my old friend," Adrynn said, a smile gracing his face.

[AurianaValoria1]

Okuras frowned, her scaly lips turning down sharply, "I suppose it's too much to hope for that the wild beasts might have gotten them for us by now? Surely the bears and sabrecats would have smelled the blood. I'm getting tired of this chase already."

 

Sandhya purred, "You aren't any fun, scale-skin. This one knows that the chase is part of it."

 

"Hmph," the Argonian grumbled, "Whatever...in any case, let's keep moving. Can't let those elf scum get any more of a lead."

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A man with a hooded brown cloak wrapped tightly around him stepped through the threshold of the New Gnisis Cornerclub. When the cold wind of Skyrim was stopped by the closing door, the flapping ends of the long cloak revealed his garb as a simple brown tunic and trousers with matching boots and gloves. There was a flash of white shirt where the clasp loosely held the fabric of the cloak together. A heavy pack was slung over one shoulder.

 

The stranger stood for a moment, a soft glow of red eyes the only thing visible inside the darkness of his hood before he finally pushed it down to reveal a Dunmer face. His lips split into a wide smile to answer that of the warrior at the table.

 

"I could say the same to you, Adrynn Indarys."

Edited June 9, 2013 by AurianaValoria1