A lone Argonian walked out of the stables. He had on the loose, plain garb common to travelers, but those with a keen eye would have noticed a few bulges in places that revealed what lay beneath. He walked into the town, unaware of what fate soon had in store; had he known, would he have continued? Regardless, he slung his bag over his shoulder and walked towards the marketplace, attempting to blend in with the crowds, taking special note of perches, alleys, walls, roofs, and more importantly, the people. After tossing a coin to a beggar who directed him to a recommended inn, he made his way across the circle of carts, off to find a room for the next few days while he took care of his business.
The Temple of Kynareth... Of Kyne for the Nords.
Lying near to the park where the Holy Glimergreen stood, it was the greatest temple in all of Whiterun. A place of healing where the priests of the great Goddess tended to all wounded under the watchful eyes of Danica Pure-Spring.
However, what the girl came to seek in this temple was not healing... but to Worship. In front of the Goddess altar, wrapped in the furs of animals she had hunted lay a young Nord lass on her knees. On the floor at her right lay a well tended and well used hunting bow, from her left hip hung a sword safely hidden in its scabbard. However, both weapons lay far from Aina's mind as she whispered her prayers, hands joined together in front of her... and her eyes closed as she reached out to her Goddess with her heart.
"Come to me, Kyne, for without you, I might not know the mysteries of the world, and so blind and in error, I might consume and profane the abundance of your beautiful treasures" came the opening words, the favored of her Goddess and faith. Then came her own "I thank you for every breath of life I have taken since we last spoke, for the winds which have carried my arrows swift and sure, for the gentle kiss of your cold breeze upon my cheek as I begin everyday. For every blessing you have driven my way I give you my heartfelt thanks. May your glory be eternal and may your children never disappoint you but bring joy and pride. And may I never disappoint you, My Goddess Kyne as I hunt the darkness"
A short prayer, but then again that is how the Gods made her. Aina opened her eyes and took her bow as she rose to her feet. She was grave and serious as she lay on her knees but now standing she couldn't help but to smile as she took a breath and felt her heart grow a bit warmer.
The Nine listen... and they are always with us
It embarrassed Aina to ask for things to the Gods so she seldom did, not only because of all they had already given her and her people but because she was a proud child. There was never a lack of people who would beg the Gods favor, so she would rather give thanks for all the gifts they bestowed upon her... those she noticed and those she did not.
Upon the door she picked up the bundle package of skins she brought to sell, a prospect that took a bit of joy out of her heart. She didn't deal well with merchants... Hardly had she ever come out of a transaction with a smile on her face. She ought to be more humble but she couldn't shake the feeling that Zenithar loved those who engaged in his commerce every day when she just dealt in it only once or twice a month.
At the door she handed a priest a small contribution, about five septims before pulling her hood on and walking out towards the park. Before she took a simple step a gust of cold wind passed by, making her furs sway and her cheeks become red at its chilly kiss. However this event only served to wash the gloomy thoughts off the young Nord hunter and put a smile back on her face.
The Gods listen... and they are always with us
With young legs she took her lights steps and made her way with renewed enthusiasm towards the market. There she would get some coin and be the channel for Zenithar to bring his blessings on some haggling merchant that was sure to rob her blind.
One woman's curse was another man's blessing, Aina of Helgen supposed.
Whiterun, a great city of Skyrim. Home of the once great Companions, descendants of the greatest heroes of Skyrim, it is a sign on just how far the world has fallen. There are no heroes, not anymore. Just people, and their failings.
Standing amongst the chaos of the town, the bustle of merchants and thieves, stood a single figure. Female, petite, and with a look on her face that could make fire freeze. Garbed in steel, her breastplate visible under the brown fur cloak on her shoulders, the woman walked forward with an aimlessness, a longing for something. It was the walk of one who is lost in the woods, and cannot find her way.
Her name was Aurora.
She was seeking a new bounty, another job for another warm meal. One could always find work in a place such as this, as a sellsword, a protector, a smith, even as a teacher. But always as a wolf, or wolfhound would this be. As an outcast, nursing wounds in the cold alone, or as a pet, bound to a master.
Aurora was a wolf, and always would be. It was just how things were.
The small woman finally found what she was looking for, a notice board. A small group of men stood in front of it, stroking their beards and their knives as they looked at the various bounties. One of them, an elf by his looks, noticed her. A small smirk came to his face, as he noticed her apparel.
"So, the pretty lady thinks she can run with the big boys." It got a laugh from the rest of his group, who also turned to the small woman. There were six in total, all elves. She ignored them, and began scanning the board for jobs. As she finally reached the most recent bounty, she was shoved. She fell to the ground, her cloak and armor gaining a layer of dirt.
It seemed that the idiots thought they would win something by this. Very well. She would give them their prize.
Getting to her feet, she scowled. The group seemed wary now, as she drew a blade nearly as long as she was tall. The weapon was made of a white steel, and seemed to glow with menace.
Pity the men didn't take the warning. "Oh, the lady has claws. You want me to show you how to use that?" one of them asked, before drawing his own blade. "You know, I think I might just teach you nords a lesson, on respecting your superiors."
It was an old fasion stand off, as the single warrior stood, blade in hand, as her opponents fanned out around her. A small crowd was forming around it, as was apt to happen whenever there was the promise of violence about to ensue, that was also blocking the view from the guards. For now at least.
PARTY PARTY PARTY I WANNA HAVE A PARTY
The Bannered Mare. A quiet little tavern (by tavern standards anyway) where the fires are warm, the mead is cold, and travelers can take the time to rest their weary souls (and soles). The best place in Whiterun if you're looking for a good drink and good company. Well, usually the best. On this particular Morndas afternoon, things were a little... different. She'd come around again.
"Stupid Farengar. What's wrong with my gems? They're just fine! I even pre-filled them for him! You told him that, right Mr. Nibbles?" The pale, hooded young woman resting by the hearth turned to her compatriot in the adjacent seat, a recently-dead zombie dressed in fine linens. This "Mr. Nibbles" merely groaned, a response that only served to prove why most familiars don't make the best business partners.
"Well, whatever. I'm sure I can find some buyers in the Gray Quarter or something." She held up one of the gems to the firelight, turning it between her fingers. The stone was black as night, and shivered, almost as if the gem was alive. A couple more rocked on the endtable, their jittering moving them slowly away from the girl. She sighed, and swept them back up into a burlap sack.
"Anyway, you've done good work, Mr. Nibbles. Here's your cut." A fine silk cowl went high into the air, draping itself over the unwitting corpse, which just groaned again. The young woman snapped her fingers, dismissing the corpse, which promptly fell apart into a pile of ashes and quality cloth.
Sipping on her mead and absentmindedly watching the window, it finally dawned on her that she really didn't have much to do. And a lot of time not to do it in. It looked like it was back to the old standby. A soft glow surrounded the girl as she rubbed the tips of her fingers together, yawning. Pulling her hood even farther over her eyes, she leaned back in her chair and prepared for a long, uneventful nap.
"You know, I think I might just teach you nords a lesson, on respecting your superiors." Wait, what was that? She got up. That boast... was a fight about to break out? She squinted, trying to make out the figures in the window through the glare of the noon sun. She couldn't make out faces, but it looked like someone had drawn a sword. It was a fight! Looked like fun. She might even make some new friends!
But wait... it was outside. She hated going outside! But if she didn't, she'd have nothing to do! She weighed her decisions carefully for all of two seconds, and decided it was better to risk a teensy sunburn than lounge around bored with no Mr. Nibbles for the next few hours. Pulling down her hood as far as it'd go (about to her nose, that is) she strolled over to the door and out into the town square.
"Excuse me! Hope I'm not interrupting, but you don't mind if I watch, do you?"
edited 5th Dec '11 1:51:39 PM by KSPAM
I've got new mythological machinery, and very handsome supernatural scenery. Goodfae: a mafia web serial
Sigh
Even with all I thought about up in the temple of Kyne it really is hard not to be disappointed when my efforts bring about such poor fruit
She could still see the Breton's eyes light up the moment she walked through his door, his lips curling into a little smile that she liked not at all. She had seen such smiles on her fellow hunters when they gazed upon a sleepy big fat rabbit.
To these merchants a woman such as I is nothing but prey...
Ah, but enough of that. Her purse was a little heavier and she no longer had to carry her pelts everywhere with her. She would normally head to Drunken Huntsman... but as she cared little for her coin Aina decided to head to the Bannered Mare instead, try some good Nord Mead to put some ice in her belly.
However, there seemed like some commotion was in the way... but Aina wasn't tall enough to peer through a crowd of her kin. Frowning slightly she checked her surroundings for the nearest store. Their roofs extended beyond their door and it was child's play for Aina to climb unto them to get the high view of the fight.
Her blue eyes could see farther than most people could, and so she got a good view of the brawl.
No, not a brawl. The fools have drawn weapons... Aina thought A single Nord woman and six elves
The huntress stood from her high perch, bow held in her left hand as she scanned the crowds once again until she spotted a guard "Guard of Whiterun! A fight! Steel has been drawn!" she yelled, her voice strong when she wished to raise it. She was a Nord after all.
Then she shifted her gaze back to the battle. She could only hope the guardsman could find enough of his brother's in time to end this before it turned ugly... but if not...
It will take me only the blink of an eye to notch an arrow on my bow. Should things turn ugly it will only take the blink of an eye for there to be five elves and not six
Removed until my character's approval is completely confirmed
edited 5th Dec '11 1:44:25 PM by MacDuffy
The elves tried to surround Aurora, something that could prove fatal in a situation such as this. The elven daggers and shortswords more then made up their lack of reach for their sharpness. The small warrior was careful, knowing that only superior tactics could beat numbers. Just wait for them to make a mistake.
Finally, the elf furthest to her left made a mistake. The bosmer made a stab with his knife, only to find that the weapon was no longer there. There was a small thud as the knife's blade landed in the dirt, it's hilt in the stunned elf's hand. It was not a clean cut. Rather the knife had shattered at the hilt, from the force of the greatsword's impact. Shards of metal fell to the ground, the man's hands only saved by his gauntlets.
A lot of people made the mistake of thinking a greatsword is a slow weapon. On the contrary, with proper training a greatsword can be as quick as any saber, as well as twice as deadly, due to it's weight.
The unfortunate elf who had lost his weapon was gibbering in anger. "She broke my knife!!!" The rest of his words were too incoherant to be made out, but it seemed to be primarily be cursewords in various languages. His companions nodded sympathetically, before turning back to the girl.
The leader of the group spoke. "You'll pay for that one, I promise you." There was none of the amusement that had been in it earlier. The rest of the elves nodded in agreement, with various promises of payback. They began advancing on their foe, too busy glancing at each other, making sure they weren't alone on their assault.
Aurora gritted her teeth, cursing the Eight as she once again got into a ready stance. This would be... tricky. With a battlecry that would make her ancestors proud, Aurora swung her massive blade, aimed at the leader's twin swords, aiming to knock the blades from his Alduin-damned fingers
The Sword of the Morning
Hroji felt his stomach rumble hungrily as he crawled along the porch of the stable house. He couldn't remember the last time he ate. Was the rat on Turdas or Fredas? He wondered idly as he continued his stealthy approach. There, in the window of the house, sat a wonderful whole loaf of fresh bread, cooling on the sill. Hroji's mouth watered. He could almost taste the hot dough. He checked to his right for anyone who might be watching the to his left...
Damn it. He thought, as he spied an Argonian who had just arrived at the stable. He tied his horse to the hitching post and dismounted. He turned towards the city entrance, and Hroji realized he hadn't been noticed. With a victorious smile, he snatched the bread from it's resting place and dived away from the building. He sprinted towards the stables like a man chased by daedra, only to realize when he reached it that he not a single stable hand had noticed him. With a victorious smile, he bit deeply into the fresh loaf, savoring it as he watched the Argonian disappear up the earthen ramp to Whiterun.
It was only when he had devoured the loaf entirely that he realized that there were no stable workers at all. All of them were absent. Hroji's eyes lit up at his good luck. Thank Arkay! He made his way back towards the house, wondering what other food he could obtain before the workers came back. He could most likely get a few...
His view fell on the Argonian's chocolate colored horse. It was packed with saddlebags, including one that Hroji could see bulging with apples. Only then did he realize the opportunity he had. He glanced around. Sure enough, the stables were deserted aside from a few horses.
He approached the beast warily. It gave him a suspicious look, but didn't pay him any mind, and went back to drinking from a trough. Hroji untied him from the post, and the horse merely seemed confused as the young thief mounted him. Despite some initial resistance, the horse soon began to plod east at Hroji's command, leaving Whiterun behind. With a wide smile on his face, Hroji disappeared off down the dirt road.
The Altmer's eyes widened as Aurora swung her massive blade at his slender form. With a yelp, he jumped backwards, dodging the blade narrowly. His companions gave her a cautious distance as well. They had seen the power of this Nord bitch's swing, and they didn't want to be on the receiving end of a blow like the one that had shattered Feynrel's blade. The remaining combatants began the circle her warily, like a pack of wolves.
Finally, a heavily armored Altmer bearing a sword and shield made a feint to her left, before slashing towards her right leg. Behind her, another Bosmer bearing an axe moved forward to take advantage of her exposed back, drawing back his arm to bury the weapon in her.
Outside of the thick crowd, a trio of guards heard Aina's call. The first merely glanced at the others with a bored expression. The middle one made a noncommittal shrug. It was only the last one who muttered something about being in deep shit if blood was drawn on their patrol.
With a sigh, the first began to push his way slowly through the crowd, where bets were already being made, mostly on the elves winning. The guard was clearly rather lazy, however, and it would take him a while to get through the crowd.
edited 5th Dec '11 4:01:54 PM by rabbitRider
Your legacy shall drift away, blown into eternity, like the sands of the desert.
PARTY PARTY PARTY I WANNA HAVE A PARTY
Jeane looked on in disappointment. Now don't misunderstand, she thought it was amazing that someone could use a sword to disarm only, much less a greatsword. But it just wasn't any fun that way, dammit! She couldn't even fill any gems, much less make some new friends.
"Hey, do you mind cuttin' 'em up a bit more? Thanks!"
I've got new mythological machinery, and very handsome supernatural scenery. Goodfae: a mafia web serial
Dancing All Night
As people continued to go about their business, scurrying around and chattering in the streets, a somewhat young Wood Elf made her way towards Whiterun, a hand on her horse's saddle as she guided it and the cargo it was carrying. While she was hoping to hold off until her round trip back to Riften, a particularly prosperous hunt made it so she needed to sell off this lot of pelts and other spoils in Whiterun before she could head back for her next job.
While it would fly over the heads of most, the learned or street-smart individual would notice that the supposed ranger was clothed in the armor and hood of the Thieves Guild, though she seemed more concerned with selling her load of pelts and meat than robbing someone blind.
She noticed a rather pathetic looking petty thief make off with some poor sap's horse as she neared the stables. Well, kudos to him for pulling it off so swiftly, but damn if he failed to be inconspicuous. The next guard he came across would take one look at him and know he didn't purchase that horse. She gave Finny a loving pat on the neck - he was one of the few things she'd actually obtained through legitimate means.
Her dark eyes darted around as she entered the city and made her way towards the teeming market square, scouting for a location as she pondered whether she'd set up shop herself or just sell the lot off to a merchant. She knew she could sell her excess stock of antlers, teeth, and eyes to the local alchemist, and she could easily sell off the leather she'd already made to a smith.
As for the stolen goods. . . Well, the commissioned items had to be brought back to the Guild. As for the items she picked up in her free time. . . She'd either keep ahold of them until Riften or find an unwitting civilian that might buy.
As the feral-looking thief and ranger pondered her options, she noticed a brawl was underway, as well as the guards' lax attitude about it. Hoo, she might actually be able to stick around a bit without worrying about her bounty! Those dopes probably couldn't tell Thieves Guild armor from any other light armor!
Beaming now, Aoife began making her way towards a vendor who would be willing to buy her pelts. She was going to have some fun in Whiterun while she could!
“DAMMIT WHEN I HEAR 'SPACE CQC' ALL I CAN THINK OF IS BIG BOSS WITH A FISHBOWL ON HIS HEAD, STRANGLING AN ASTRONAUT OUTSIDE THE ISS."
Aurora cursed, as the five mercenaries surrounded her. If she let them get near, then they could harass her without giving her room to swing her blade. As they closed in, her eyes jumped from elf to elf. This was when combat became a very dangerous game of chicken.
Idly, she heard a catcall, asking for more cutting. She ignored it.
Appearing as though she had fallen for the feint of the swordsman before her, the Nord warrior actually used the momentum of the swing to catch the hook of the axe of the Bosmer behind her with her blade. There was the sound of metal on metal as the swordsman felt her leg go numb from the sword impact. Luckily, her heavy armor did it's job, the weapon bouncing off the plates on her legs. Aurora responded with an overhead swing, pulling the axe from her rear attacker's hands in the process. The blade, and the axe with it, slammed down onto the armored Altmer.
There was a cry of pain, as the strike sundered the shield of the mercenary. The axe fell into the ground behind him, making a clattering noise as it did so. As the elf struggled to rise, his arm broken, Aurora stomped her numb leg on his sword, knocking it from his hand, before hitting him in the head with the pommel. She then swiftly turned to hit the stunned Bosmer with a well aimed rabbit-punch, her gauntleted hand hitting like a mace to the vulnerables. The elf dropped like a rock.
It took less then fifteen seconds.
With half of their number down, the remaining elves were beginning to feel nervous. Aurora, with cold determination in her face, once again took her ready stance, a two handed grip on her sword, in front of her. "Next." she practically growled.
It does not do to mock Nords, for they are quick to anger, and not subtle at all.
The Sword of the Morning
At a shady corner table inside the Bannered Mare, Athyn blew idly at a lock of his white hair which had been annoying him for the past several minutes. He took another small sip of his wine and sighed.
One week I'm a noble of a powerful merchant family, the next I'm on the run for my life from the Tong, with barely a hundred septims to my purse. He thought sullenly. Not to mention the fact that I had to come here, to this thrice-damned windswept pile of rocks called a kingdom. And that's before you fill it with Nords.
He shot a glance towards the dozen long-haired barbarians swilling mead around the fire. They'd gone from beating the tar out of each other just a few minutes before to holding an enthusiastic drinking contest, trying to see who could down the most of the beverage, while they sung hearty drinking songs.
By Boethiah, it's not even evening yet. He thought with disgust. Gods damned uncivilized peasants.
It didn't help that the Nords probably hated him more than he distrusted them. He'd stopped by Windhelm on his way, and found his people squished into a ghetto called the "Gray Quarter", spat on by the Jarl and his Stormcloaks. His blood boiled at the sight, and he'd come very close to killing a Stormcloak who had tried to shake him down.
He eyed the rest of the inn's patrons suspiciously, looking for possible Tong assassins and trying to draw as little attention as possible. The mage with the bag full of black soul gems had him really worried for quite a while, but she hadn't seemed to notice him and he'd decided she wasn't after him when her... zombie, disintegrated on its chair. I hate this land more and more with every passing second.
The bard was rather annoying, even if his singing was good. It was certainly a step up over booming drinking chants. Other than that, nothing really interesting.
Athyn gave a sigh, before draining the rest of his wine. Should probably start heading west. He thought as he gathered his few belongings, checking his dagger and purse. Maybe sign up with the Legion. He considered. Doubt the Tong would be able to find me there, and I could desert after the Writ ran out...
He stroked his chin thoughtfully as he shouldered his way out of the Bannered Mare and into the marketplace. To his surprise, there appeared to be a full fight occurring, if one judged from the crowd. Some guards seemed to be reluctantly trying to interfere.
The quantity of the elven combatants dropped by two, and the remaining elves seemed a lot more wary now. Except for one that is. A Bosmer gave an exasperated sigh, before sheathing his dagger and taking a few steps backward. He pulled a hunting bow off of his back and nocked an arrow, before leveling it threateningly at the Nord woman.
Your legacy shall drift away, blown into eternity, like the sands of the desert.
Dancing All Night
To Aoife's irritation, the owner of the stall she was going to be selling her hides was one of the many crowded around the fight. She really didn't want to wait around too long, and quite honestly didn't care about the profit so long as she got rid of all of those hides. Unceremoniously, she dumped all the hides she was planning to sell on the counter of the stall and discreetly snatched the coinpurse and gold amulet sitting atop it as payment. Thank Nocturnal for timely distractions. She then proceeded to head towards the Bannered Mare, guiding Finny through the swaths of people crowding the streets. As she made her way towards the inn, the Bosmer accidentally bumped into Athyn as she was busy glaring down a cutpurse who was getting a little too close to her.
"Oh, sorry about that, sir," She apologized when she did. She noticed he was Dunmer, and briefly wondered if he might be a refugee from Morrowind, "Afraid I wasn't paying attention - a cutpurse was getting awfully bold."
“DAMMIT WHEN I HEAR 'SPACE CQC' ALL I CAN THINK OF IS BIG BOSS WITH A FISHBOWL ON HIS HEAD, STRANGLING AN ASTRONAUT OUTSIDE THE ISS."
Here is my target
Unfortunately for the elf who drew his hunting bow Aina already had her arrow notched and ready on hers after she noticed how the guards seemed incredibly reluctant to start working. The Nord woman took aim, considering the wind and the movements of her target. When you shot an arrow you saw a few seconds into the future... and shot your arrow just where the target would be, not where it was.
And thankfully, the threatening Bosmer would not be moving much. Aina held her breath, taking careful aim. She would not seek the man's heart... with some luck she would just disable him. The huntress looked for his shoulder and its surroundings and then let fly.
edited 5th Dec '11 6:34:32 PM by daltar
Aurora froze as one of her attacker pulled a bow on her. At this range, even a shortbow like the one pointed at her, would penetrate her armor, and probably her heart. She just stood there, her eyes staring down the shaft into the eyes of the wood elf. A wolf waits for it's moment to strike. Something went flying past her ear.
Fwsssh.
Aurora rushed forward at the high elf that had been in charge of the once large group, sword in hand. She didn't bother to check whether the arrow had slain the Bosmer archer, just moved to the end this foolishness. Her reaction was faster then the Altmer, who barely got his swords up in time to block the greatsword. However, the force of the Nord's swing was enough to rend the blades.
Swordmakers know that there are two types of steel, based on the percentage of carbides in the metal. Low carbide steel will be soft, bend easy, but won't hold an edge. High carbide steel will be hard, and hold an edge very well, but also be brittle. Most swordmakers try to get the mixture just right, in order to make blades which are neither too hard nor too soft, too rigid or too flexible. But there were limits, and when hit with enough force, those middle of the road blades would be rent, and made useless.
Aurora's ancient nordic blade, for whatever reason, didn't follow those rules. Whoever the original smith had been, he'd invented a totally new technique, something that made it both flexible and hard. It was a peerless weapon. It was Callenfell, bane of weapons and armors.
The High elf stared at his swords, both now bent, the edge ruined. Then he looked into the steely blue eyes of his opponent through them.
edited 5th Dec '11 7:03:28 PM by MaskedAndDangerous
[REPOST]
Ah, Gildergreen....how long has it been since I've basked in your shade?
The orc opened his eyes to once more gaze upon the dormant tree looming over him. It stood quietly in the center of town, seemingly oblivious to the hustle and bustle around it. It's stoic, gray and solemn demeanor heavily contrasted the bright colors of its surroundings. It had no leaves, thus no real "shade" to speak of, but Bugraal enjoyed resting under it all the same. There was a certain nostalgic feeling he held for the tree, the district, and even the bench he was sitting on. Whiterun was the very first city he visted after he left Narzulbur those twenty-six years ago, and it was here that he sat and laid himself to rest on his very first evening from home. It was here that he gazed upon that glorious aurora in the sky and realized the adventure that lay before him. And it was here that he set up his very first shop, eager to show the world what his hands were capable of molding.
Of course it didn't last very long, did it? Who knew you weren't allowed to sell tools for killing on holy ground, huh?
Bugraal chuckled to himself as he sat up on the bench. He's been alone longer than he thought, if he's talking to trees now. To the left of him stood an old man bedecked in robes, standing in front of an altar and shouting and hollering about "Talos and the rights of Man" and whatnot. He didn't mind much, religion was never something he really bothered with, anyway. It was bad for business.
As he looked from his bench to gaze at the sights of a town he hadn't seen in years, he was surprised at what little had really changed. Dragonsreach looked the same as it's always been, and Jorvasskr, despite the new blood in the practice yards, remained just as unaltered. And the Skyforge....the Skyforge, that name has been everpresent in his mind since his journey began. Said to be the best forge in all of Tamriel, run by the best blacksmith in all of Tamriel. He's never seen the smith in person, but on the cold, dark nights on his first stay he could see and hear the forge in action. He can still clearly picture the sparks flying high into the air, gleaming so bright you could mistake them for stars in the sky. When hammer struck metal, the echo boomed all across the city, a symphony of clashing metal. He remembers seeing the weapons forged there being brought down, gleaming steel blades and hammers so completely perfect you'd think the gods themselves designed them. As he looked up at the stone dragon perched forever upon the forge, his arms and legs fidgited on the bench, eager to stand tall and go there, go to meet the king of the forge at the forge of kings.
No...not yet. You're not good enough just yet. You don't feel ready...
Bugraal relaxed his shoulders and sighed. He had to remember the reason he came here. He was running desperately low on coin, and he needed to find work before he set off again. Taking hold of his satchel, he rose from the bench and took a peek inside it: three iron ingots and two steel ingots. Enough for a few good swords, a battleaxe maybe. Just enough to keep him fed for the next few days before he inevitably ran short again. He hoisted the satchel over his shoulder and walked among the crowd.
Maybe...I should leave Skyrim this time, head to a new province and start all over. Plenty of forges and smiths off in High Rock, I'm sure...
He recalled seeing a smithy down the road on his way in. Perhaps he could loan them his arm...
Dancing All Night
Oh hell.
If that arrow had killed that elf, that meant someone just got murdered. Which meant they'd surely bring in more competent guards soon. Upon closer inspection of the board the fight started near, it didn't take long for Aoife to realize that it was in fact a bounty board that may or may not have her name on it. All factors considered, she'd probably be best off making herself scarce. Like, now.
Apologizing one more time to the Dunmer, she made her way to the Bannered Mare and tied up her horse in back. The owner was actually fully aware of who Aoife was, though Aoife had helped with personal favors in the past and this little inn was one of the few places outside of Riften she could actually kick up her feet and not worry about guards or other folks recognizing her and getting her arrested. Finny could put up a fight against any would-be horse thieves. . . He was a bit of a ill-tempered fella, much like herself, at least when a stranger tries to touch or mount him.
She took a look in the coinpurse she just stole. . . not too bad. Adding that to the 20 she had already and she should be good to make it back to Riften on foot - She disliked taking the carriage, as it was so much more fun and lucrative to hoof it. It took longer, sure, but when something valuable gets stolen, one of the first things the guards do is try to intercept passenger carriages. Big no-no if she wanted to get the recently acquired treasure back to the guild.
The weariness from her nonstop travelling setting in, she decided to forgo her normal restrictions and order some food and drink. She could survive on meats roasted over a fire, sure, but sometimes it's nice to have a real meal. She sat down near the bulk of people and lowered her hood, ready to take in the atmosphere and enjoy herself a bit. If someone saw the guards coming in, well, that's when she'd hide.
edited 9th Dec '11 4:40:30 PM by Motree
“DAMMIT WHEN I HEAR 'SPACE CQC' ALL I CAN THINK OF IS BIG BOSS WITH A FISHBOWL ON HIS HEAD, STRANGLING AN ASTRONAUT OUTSIDE THE ISS."
Bohl wondered if he made the right decision by going to Skyrim. First, he had exited the inn as fast as he had entered, after seeing that necromancer in the corner disintegrate a zombie - he thought he'd go out for a few minutes before coming back. No sooner had he left and passed by the bounty board, some group of Elves had decided to goad one of the locals into a fight. Standing in the back of the crowds, peering over the others, he spotted the necromancer again, yelling for carnage. At what seemed like the same moment, he spotted yet another crazy Nordish woman, this one scampering about on roofs with a bow in-hand. He made certain to put one of the carts between him and her, in case the madwoman decided to fire, and then focused on watching the fray. As he thought, the woman on the roof eventually fired, but fortunately her aim was true, making his precautions unnecessary. Interesting, he thought. Back in the circle of onlookers, the woman with the large sword seemed to be doing well enough, but he had no idea how she made the other elf's blade bend that way - perhaps magic, there was always magic afoot.
With most of the half-dozen attackers dead, things were bound to die down soon - literally and figuratively - with the winner clear, unless the guards came in. If the guards here were anything like those in Cyrodiil, they would no doubt swoop in at the last minute, arresting that poor woman after she had bled the cutters dry. Not wanting to waste his chance, he slipped back out of the crowd, or at least as well as a tall Argonian could slip out amongst a crowd of pale-skinned humans. At the back of the building next to where the archer perched, he climbed up to the roof, not needing to take much caution as the entire town by now was watching what was left of the brawl. Lying low, he wiggled to the edge and peered down, spying. Now to see what she does he thought, hoping she didn't look up.
PARTY PARTY PARTY I WANNA HAVE A PARTY
An arrow split the air, spearing the archer in the throat. There was little fuss about the way he died. No gurgling or hacking up blood. He just stood there for a second, eyes locked on the last shot he never took, then slumped over dead on the ground. There was no fuss about it, no melodrama. That came after. The corpse bloody exploded in a shower of light and roaring sound, the elve's soul, his very essence being forcibly torn from his dying body. The noise was horrendous, like someone screaming in the midst of a great wind, but ultimately short lived. There was a great ripping sound, and the elf's spirit fully detached from the body, rising up and over its former container. For a moment it simply hung there. Then, like it still had legs with which to walk, it got up, and lost itself in the crowd.
Jeane grinned manicly, rolling the little black stone between her fingers. "Nice one!" She yelled at the Nordic sword-slinger.
Night. I'll edit it to be a little better tomorrow morning.
edited 5th Dec '11 10:08:41 PM by KSPAM
I've got new mythological machinery, and very handsome supernatural scenery. Goodfae: a mafia web serial
The Sword of the Morning
Whatever reluctance the guards had shown in trying to stop the fight vanished with the arrow's flight. An elf had been killed on their watch, and now vile magics of some kind were afoot. Their previous lethargy vanished in the wind as two of the guards broke through the circle of onlookers, blades drawn as they emerged into the area, the ground littered with moaning, injured forms. They leveled their swords at the combatants, making no distinction between the two sides.
" Drop 'em, both of ye." One of them snarled, a giant of a man whose blond locks cascaded from his helm.
From the other side of the market, another pair of guards approached, wondering what the commotion was about. The third guard from the first patrol hailed them, panicked. " A fight broke out, a man's been killed." He yelled to them over the crowd. " There she is!" He caught sight of Aina, bow drawn and recently fired, on a nearby rooftop. He pointed. " That's the killer, arrest her!"
Two of them drew their axes and rushed towards the building she stood upon. The third drew his own bow and nocked an arrow.
The black currents of the Soul Trap spell weaved over the heads of the crowd and into the Black Soul Gem in her hand, sending the elf's soul into it's depths.
A moment later, a scream rent the air. " Mage!" A young woman, wide-eyed and fearful, pointed a finger at Jeanne. " Black magician!"
The crowd reacted, several women, and a few men, let out high-pitched screams and fled in the carious directions. The rest of the crowd backed away quickly, leaving Jeanne alone in the center of a circle of scared and angry Nords. It was a well-known fact that Nords did not trust or like magic, and casting a spell in a crowd of them was never a good idea.
" She sucked his soul out!" A lanky Nord hissed, glaring at her, running his tongue over his lip. He drew a dagger cautiously, and many others in the crowd did the same and drew their various weapons. " She'll suck all our souls out!" He cried, eyes wide with terror.
Athyn blinked in surprise. The Bosmer girl had bumped into him rather rudely, before shooting off not one but two quick apologies and bolting away like some sort of hyperactive squirrel, before he could get a word in. He patted his purse, concerned he'd been pickpocketed, but his fears were unfounded.
His attention was drawn by the meaty -thwack- of an arrow finding it's mark, as one of the Bosmer took one to his throat. Athyn winced sympathetically.
And then the body exploded.
Athyn raised a hand to shield himself, barely blocking a hunk of gore which would have struck him quite sloppily in his face. He looked down at himself, and then up at the market.
In the center, the guards were finally arresting the remaining combatants, while injured elves rolled in the dust. Beyond them, another patrol of guards chased after some other elusive target. Right near him, the circle of spectators had surrounded a single woman, who was holding a black stone. Angry shouts and screams could be heard above the commotion. Weapons were drawn. And here he stood, blood that was not his dripping off his hand and pooling onto the ground beside him.
By Azura, what the fuck is wrong with this place? He wondered, dazed.
edited 5th Dec '11 11:24:55 PM by rabbitRider
Your legacy shall drift away, blown into eternity, like the sands of the desert.
Not for the first time today, Bohl wondered if he should have ventured to the northern country. The Necromancer from earlier was stirring up a commotion in the streets below, and if he was not mistaken, someone else apparently spontaneously exploded. Adding to all that, the guards were now closing in and climbing the roof to get to the woman he had thought to spy on, which meant they would find him as well. Me and my curiosity. He backed from the edge of the roof and quickly stuffed his outer clothing into his small bag while still lying down, leaving only his black-and-red armor visible. He drew his hood over his face and made sure his tail remained in his pant leg - wouldn't be too hard for the guards to find him if they knew they were looking for an Argonian.
Briefly touching the symbol of Zenithar around his neck and uttering a curse under his breath, he sprang up, bolted from where he crouched, and leaped across to the next building. He could tell from the loud cries that some guards had spotted him, but he continued on. With luck, he'd find a way out of this mess.
Missed...
By Mara this had turned out messy... Not only had she missed and killed the elf by mistake, some foul sorcery was at work here. The elf... his soul had been stolen? She heard the yells from the multitude and the body did explode in light...
However the guards had decided that now was a good moment to do their jobs... and they were coming right at her. She wasn't particularly morally bound to obey the law keepers of Whiterun... But she had just caused the death of a man, even if it was to help a fellow Nord in need. She despaired at not being able to give chase right away to the sorcerer who would pluck the soul of a man. With some luck she could run away... she was fast, agile, her clothing wasn't conspicuous and more importantly she was on good terrain to start her get away.
But no... the guards had a case on her and she did not want to be an outlaw over this. More importantly, the crowd looked like they singled out the mage and wouldn't let him or her get away with this anytime soon.
So, her choice was made. Aina slung her bow on her arm, pulled back on her hood, shaking her hair free and exposing her face before she took a few steps forward to the edge of the roof. There with her hands free of any weapons she jumped down to ground and peacefully waited for the axe bearing guards to make their way towards her.
PARTY PARTY PARTY I WANNA HAVE A PARTY
"Oooh, really? You mean I can? I've never had so many volunteers before! Do you mind if we start by testing the holding capacity of black soul gems?" Jeane strolled up to the thin one pointing a dagger at her, a little bounce in her step. Matter of factly, she told him, "Alright, I'm going to need you to stand still while I do this. Let's see..."
She snapped her fingers, and a pair of snarling wolves appeared at her side, awash in a sickly purple glow. They bared their fangs at the Nord, looking about ready to bite off both heads. Which, the Nord suspected, was probably what Jeane was going to have them do.
"This should be enough to dislodge your soul, I think. Make sure to tell me what's happening once you're inside, okay? Sight, sound, use of regular bodily functions, you know. Everything's helpful!"
edited 6th Dec '11 12:26:33 PM by KSPAM
I've got new mythological machinery, and very handsome supernatural scenery. Goodfae: a mafia web serial
As Bugraal walked through the city streets, he caught some fleeing townsfolk out of the corner of his eye.
"Sorcery!" they shrieked, "Black Magic!!"
At first, Bugraal dismissed them. He knew of the Nords' distrust of the mystic arts, and assumed it was a simple overreaction to some street magician entertaining children. But as he turned his head to the direction of the fleeing citizens, he saw that the whole district was in a commotion. The townsfolk in the area were gathered around what looked like a fairly large tavern. A quick glance to the left revealed a pair of guards rushing toward a nearby building, axes drawn. This made him curious; if the guards of this city were riled enough to attack with so much fervor, something real crazy must be going down.
Just keep walking. Whatever's going on over there isn't any of your business, and it's very possible you could get seriously injured if the guards are involved. You're a blacksmith, not a bruiser.
Ultimately, his curiosity got the better of him, and he headed towards the ruckus at the tavern. 'Just gonna ask a few questions,' he told himself. 'Just to know what's going on, then I'm gone.'
As he neared the front door of the tavern, the chaotic shape of the mob gave way to a circle of nervous Nords, surrounding someone he couldn't clearly make out. Some had even drawn their weapons.
He cautiously approached a Nord standing in the very back of the mob and gently tapped his shoulder.
"Say, buddy." He said with as much friendliness could muster for an angry stranger, "What's going on over here?"
edited 6th Dec '11 6:01:27 AM by MacDuffy
In the land of Tamriel, it is Morndas, noon on the 17th day of Last Seed, in the 201st year of the Fourth Era.
In the north lies a realm of snow and ice, filled with mountains, blanketed by forests and plains.
This is a tough land, home to a strong and proud people.
This is a land of conflict, where a civil war rocks the land, turning the people against themselves.
This is a land of danger, where the wildlife is fierce and deadly and the wilderness untamed. Where undead warriors rest in their cairns and beasts long-dead stir in their graves.
This is a land of adventure, filled with the ruins of the ancient Dwemer, and flooded by bandits and beasts. A land where many come to make their fortune, and few survive.
This is Skyrim.
In the center of this land, on a rolling plain, sits the city of Whiterun. Under the fair rule of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, this city prospers even as it sides with neither the rebel Stormcloaks nor the Empire.
The marketplace in the heart of the city thrives in a sort of organized chaos. Dozens of stalls sit haphazardly, organized by neither rhyme nor reason, while merchants hawk their wares. Alik’r traders, dark of skin and curved of sword, sell their exotic spices, while burly Orcs peddle arms and armor and a sullen Dunmer offers jewelry for the well-off. Thieves and pickpockets prowl through the crowd, liberating loose change and coin purses while various mercenaries browse an extensive bounty board, swarming around a lucrative new one just posted. A small group of Argonians shiver even in the sun, and silently long for the hot swamps of Black Marsh. A hooded Khajiit dispenses skooma to those who know the right words, and a sore-covered beggar beseeches pedestrians for spare septims. A pair of guards strolls through the chaos, sending harsh looks at those they feel are undesirable, not even noticing as a young Bosmer girl picks their pockets. The clang of hammers rings through the air, as stout bearded men forge hot iron into cold steel. Nord housewives chat and laugh as they wash their clothes, while small children dart here and there in a game of tag. Alongside the market, the Bannered Mare, the biggest inn in the city, dispenses mead in generous qualities to quench the thirst of burly Nords. A brawl begins inside, hot words quickly escalating to thrown punches and hurled mugs.
In other words, just another day in Skyrim.
Adventure is easy to find for those who look. Dozens of bounties cover the board, while departing caravans to Windhelm and Falkreath look for hired help. Wizened alchemists offer special rewards for precise ingredients, and thousands of other opportunities await those who search for fortunes to earn.
In a village to the south, a herald of death and destruction circles the mountains on silent wings, searching for it’s prey. It’s arrival will change the face of Tamriel.
But in Whiterun, life goes on.
edited 5th Dec '11 2:27:53 PM by rabbitRider
Your legacy shall drift away, blown into eternity, like the sands of the desert.