Realistic or Modern The Elder Scrolls: 5th Era.

[OppositeInverse]

ARC #1 ~ The Betrayed One ~

SOLSTHEIM

Rusty of Shackleford

“On this third Sundas of Sun’s Dusk.. I write knowing my fate is sealed. The island of Solstheim has been ransacked and our armies obliterated. The citizen seem to be relatively unharmed, but for some reasons all our garrison have been slaughtered like skeever. We’ve set a perimeter around the island, to ward off the foreboding threat. None of my men have reported back to describe what it is that’s tearing through our ranks. Morale is at an all time low. We’ve lost countless men. I’ve lost countless men. Good sisters and brothers, fathers, and compatriots. The threat moves closer and closer to us, on the southern perimeter. As my men prepare to assemble a final clash with whatever this thing is, I send this message on the reach of hope that you will do what we failed to. Tensions between our sides of law have kept us at bay for all this time, but now something presents itself that could bring the end of all our livelihood. Know I would not write this to you if not for dire reasons. My only wishes are that you take this heed with utmost certainty, and tell my wife and daughter back in Cyrodiil that I love them very much. I…


IT IS COMING. THE END REAPER.”

​

The shouts and screams of Imperial men and women rush to their closest outpost to gather their weapons and armor. General Leonahl Romus steps out of his tent, looking around to the frenzy of his army prepping for the oncoming onslaught. The thing that has laid waste to all in its path, the figure they’ve dubbed as the End Reaper. He puts his helmet on and equips his Claymore, as the sound of thunder and the distant flashes of lightning begin to close in on the mortals below. A storm was coming, in the literal and metaphorical sense. He watched his Captain with courage and ambition to help his fellow soldiers prepare for the coming bout, however, the General boldly walks over to the Captain and grabs him by the shoulders. “The Divines have a different task for you Dacius. One I only entrust to you.” The General then shouts to his men to get ready, as he guides the Captain Rorik Dacius to the edge of the river which leads out into the seas. A boat with supplies has already been prepared along with two other Imperial troops. They finish loading the things on as the General hands Rorik the sealed letter, in which its recipient is titled ‘High King Stormcloak’. The General did not know the hand of fate he was playing, how the tides of destiny was even at that very moment bounding him to a greater calling. He didn’t know, through all the years of training and battling alongside his underling Captain, he was now giving a letter addressed to the High King, to the King’s very own son and bloodline, a descendant of the Stormcloak name. “They will probably be apprehensive on sight, since you’re an imperial and would have no reason to be at the Palace of Kings, but stand your ground and make no threat, he needs to see how important this is. Go now! I trust you Dacius, the stake of interprovincial life is on the line!!! Get a move on!” Whether the Captain attempted to stay and fight or rushed quickly home, the General shoved the young man into the boat with his soldiers, turning with a look of absolution towards the warring storm. He would not look back at the Captain as they sailed away, only drew his Greatsword, and walked back into the coming fray. The Thunder was now monstrous as the sky darkened past recognition. Lightning begin to strike and flash all over. The End Reaper was upon them.

A soldier sounds a horn, before warning the soldiers. “Get readyyyy!!!! The End Re--” A strike of lightning steals his breath, as a sharp and jagged thud hits the ground, the residual electricity faltering surrounding troops. Archers and swordsmen alike all brace themselves with hardened faces as the storm places unconditional fear in their souls. If the Reaper wouldn’t best them, the random strikes of the Divines would from above. The area blackens in total darkness, despite it being midday. The General looks at the fallen bodies, a grim expression on his face. “If you think I’m scared of you, you’re fuckin’ mistaken! I will not cower to you! I am the might of the Empire!” Suddenly, the sound of airwaves breaching past sound barriers could be heard, unknown source to the men below. They begin to tense up and ready their weapons, as the sound grew louder and louder. Grunts and battlecries can be heard from below, as the glorious shouting of men echoed through the island in confidence. Even Imperial mages were at a distance ready to distract and enforce the mystic ways. “Stations! Let the cur come…” The General spoke as the sound of lightning, thunder, and a sonic boom all hit the ground at once, with a dark figure in the midst. The soldiers wasted no time, it was now or never. “FIRE!” They didn’t even give time to make out an appearance as the archers shoot arrows towards the being. They impact the dark clad armor like rocks, bouncing off with no effect whatsoever. The Reaper didn’t budge. Even as the arrows bounced from the head area. Soon, the assault teams moved in from all directions on the being. The first sword it thrust, and even as the figure had a blade as well, they didn’t bother to unsheath it. The being easily dodges the swing and delivers a hardcore punch to the gut, knocking the troop back along with dozens of soldiers. The figure spins around and swift brings a hard palm to another soldier, before picking him up as a flash of lightning strikes the soldier dead. A fleet of soldiers recharge on the being, with the General waiting in silence, almost brooding. They slash at the armor, only for the cuts to appear on themselves instead of the foe. They stumble back in shock and grief as they leak blood from their own cuts. Curses mumble about as the soldiers now freeze with fear on retreating or fighting. The Reaper would not give them time to think. The figure swiftly moves fast from troop to troop, delivering a flurry of blows that snapped and cracked on each hit, paving way towards the General. Suddenly the archers shoot upward to unleash a volley of raining arrows down on the Reaper, with the General commanding the magic users to unleash their assault. A clash of lightning, fire, and ice all direct at The End Reaper as the arrows fall down on the vicinity. For once the being was slowed enough to be seen by eyes… it was in armor, very dark, unheard of armor. Was it a man? Or mer? Something else? The General finally could put a physical form to the name, as for a small time he lost the figure in the darkness and volley of arrows. He seen the Reaper appear to fall down. The magic elements bounce away from the figure as the General saw his golden chance. He charged in with the roar of a champion, as he launched in the air to plummet his Greatsword down into the final volley of arrows, striking right where the being was. The crunch of dirt and mud was all he felt under his blade, as there was nothing there. “Fuck! Archers, give me eyes! What do you see!?” Silence rung through the air, as the General looked along the hills and cliffs to see every last one of his archers, stilled and unresponsive, crimson holes pierced them from all sides, the blood dripping down into the soil of Solstheim. The mages appeared fearful to the point of quivering, and the infantry on the ground looked around in panic and confusion. Thunder and lightning drowned out the communication of the garrison as the horde of troops were dwindled to a few dozen or so.


Another flash, as one of the mages disappears. Then another. Another. Thunder booms overhead as the faint screams of life can be heard before fading out completely. The General experiencing fear for the first time. Kyuck! The sound of a troop could be heard briefly as a body dropped behind the General, as he turned to see a head rolling to him from a decapitated lifeless Imperial body. The General’s fear becomes rage as he screams to the top of his lungs to see the head of his second in command, his Legate. A snatching of another troop as a scream fades. One by one in the lightning and thunder, the Imperial army in Solstheim was becoming no more. General Romus grabs a bow and keeps his greatsword on standby, as he aims in the darkness, the flashes of lightning his only source of light now. He sees the dark armor with a flash and fires, nothing. He moves closer, only to hear the footsteps of his army behind him. “...General…!?” Romus turns around to see all of his remaining soldiers floating in the air, incapable of controlling their way back down. They grip their weapons and hold steadfast to fight even in midair, but like the sixth sense that comes the moment upon danger, they all froze with nerves. Their bodies suddenly ceased ascension, as they all looked at the general. “Something’s going to hap--” Their speech is replaced by their faltering screams, as the entire masses of men flew like darts into the sky, launched by some unknown source. They became tiny specs into the sky above, as they would drop in the seas to their doom. Romus knew exactly who it was… or what it was. The End Reaper had yet again destroyed an army. How? He did not know, but he knew this was no ordinary being, a scale of power only reserved for the lore of ballads and old tales. The General pierced the dirt with his greatsword, and dropped the bow. “You’ve taken everything. Wanted to save the best for last eh? Well! On with it then.” The General speaks to darkness, not knowing the location of the figure. “COME OUUUUUUUTTTTT!!! WE CAN END THIS! YOU AND ME, UNDER THE GODS!”


A thud. Romus’ senses and training kicked in as he instinctively delivers a swift punch behind him, his fist met into the palm of another. The Reaper. Romus’ eyes go wide as the sheer strength of the figure was overwhelming. A flash of lightning shows the being’s form, a dark helmet, jagged but not gritty nor was it lavish. The accompanying greaves and gauntlets were of like nature… but that armor. He knew that armor. It was literally one of a kind. A relic and artifact not known by mere men and mer, only those who knew of the legend behind real power. “That armor… is that--” The General’s mouth is met with the other palm from the being, covering his mouth and jaws as he murmured under the pressure and weight of the force. Rainbow aura energy begin to sprout from the figure’s hand and over the General’s face, the inside of his skin lighting up with the energy as he starts to wither and resist. His skin becomes dry gradually, with wrinkles and flushed appearance coming over him. His hair turned deathly gray as his toned body became soggy and depleted, and with one crushing snap, the figure squeezed the General’s jaws horizontally, blood, bone, and teeth shattering as the being ripped it from Romus’ face, a draping tongue all that was left. Romus drops dead at the Reaper’s feet. The figure just stared for a moment, the heavy silent breathing filling the air as the storm above still raged. A hand is placed on Romus’ old corpse, the energy burning an imprint into his chest armor as the being stood back up and looked. The Reaper then looked up to the maddening sky, absolution surrounding the aura. The figure would then walk over among the cliffs, stepping over the masses of dead archers and looking out to the sea. A tiny boat could be seen in the immensely far distance, as well as the floating bodies of the flung soldiers. Just more silence and ghastly breathing, as the figure was tied to fate just as everyone else would be. The Reaper turned back towards the inland of Solstheim, gathering and building more multicolored energy inside, before the ground begins to tremble violently… and then a blast of energy could be seen as the being thrust into the sky and darted away from the brutal massacre left behind. The storm then subsides, leaving the sun to shine through the clouds once again in midday. The Reaper was coming, but not before the purpose was served.

 

[OppositeInverse]

SKYRIM

​

In the ice fields north of the mainland of Skyrim, a secluded place among a glacier stands hidden yet bold among the snowy tundras of the Nordic Province. Inside the makeshift tower, darkness filled the loft. There was rarely a time there was ever a candlelit fire, only the light of day from the skies provided the source of radiance. In it, was silence. Complete and sheer silence. No one hardly knew of this place, and by no one, literally no one other than those who’ve stumbled across such a hidden place, traveling from Skyrim to Solstheim or vice versa who got lost along the way, as it wasn’t on the direct route. Those who did manage to come across this place would be greeted with nothing, and those who dared even more bold to pick the lock and breach in… were never heard from again. As the icy winds blow through the horizon, a lone figure looks into the vast land of Skyrim on the other side of the Sea, her young Nordic eyes full of longing, yet also full of security. She sighs as the chill from the air had no adverse effect on her, her Nord blood welcoming the cold. Snow drifted into her brunette mane as she turned from the window and headed down into the foyer where there was food already set at the small table. Some venison, carrots, and apples along with some ale to drink. MaJhuna sat down in seclusion as the faint rumbles of thunder could be heard in the distance. However alone she may have seemed, she knew she was not alone. There was another presence with her, the only one that mattered. “Are you not going to eat with me?”


Steps with no sound came from behind Jhu as a pair of faintly golden eyes flashed from the darkness, moving into the light as a woman stood smiling at MaJhuna. She drifted a hand through Jhu’s hair and sat across from her smoothly. “I was just making sure the doors were locked. You can have my carrots if you’d like.” Jhu laughs at her mother’s words shaking her head at the ancient woman who could pass for an older sister. “As if anyone would ever stumble here. We’re in the middle of nowhere in the middle of nowhere. And isn’t that backwards? Isn’t the child supposed to be the one to reject vegetables?” Both exchange witty smiles as they prepare to eat. MaJhuna knew that it was hard for her mother to eat regular meat since she got over her… condition. What she didn’t know was her occasional run in with the rare wayfarers that would find their way to the Tainted Tower, only for them to be drained of their life and stored in the frozen sea beneath the tower. Only the ones who dared break in while Jhu was asleep. She would do anything for her daughter. She sacrificed the only life she’s ever known just to have her, shedding herself of her godly like status to live another path, a path that lead to MaJhuna. MaJhuna eats away at her meal, her gaze reluctant to her mother. Not because of fear, but because of uncertainty. Her mother was the closest thing she had to a best friend. How could she not be with so much time spent together? Training, schooling, bonding, but something still tugged at MaJhuna. Her heritage. What legacy would they leave behind if she didn’t even know where they came from? “So Jhu, Headmaster Ervine tells me you’re coming along exceptionally. She tells me you’ve managed to hone your Alteration and outbursts into controlled force. You’ve learned some pretty impressive feats she tells me, Adept level faster than anyone in the college’s memorable history. Show me what you’ve learned.” Jhu wanted to refuse, but she knew her mother would persist. She sighs mildly and looks at a piece of bread over by her mother. She lifts her hand as a red energy shoots from her hand to the bread, as she lifts it in the air and directs it in front of her mother with her mind, even nudging the bread back and forth to her ma’s lips until she chuckled and got the hint, biting the bread as Jhu relented the spell. “It’s called Telekinesis, it’s pretty useful if I do say so myself.” They continue eating, their company making the other feel warm and safe, a true sense of belonging. They were both outcasts by society standards. A Nord magic user and a Nord Vampire, and they were perfectly okay with that, because the had each other. The rest of the world would be wise to never cross that bond. A few jokes and small talk later, and Jhu was back to her pondering self. And her mother could read her like an open book, as Nord mothers tend to do. “What is it? I can see the thoughts on your face.”



Jhu hesitated for a bit, her mother raising a brow at her suggesting her to spill the mead. Jhu then opens to speak, before her mother stopped her swiftly. Her head darts in the direction of the upstairs window, her senses focused on hearing rather than seeing. Even with her newfound path and walk to humanity, she retained most her instinctual senses and abilities. She couldn’t make it out clearly what it was, but she knew she heard something. “Jhu, upstairs.” “But mothe--” “Get up there now!” without another second she guides Jhu in the direction upstairs, as she herself peers out the window from the back of the foyer, her vision acute enough to see out into the ice fields, without whoever or whatever it was seeing her. She wasn’t sure if it was anything serious to be cautious about, but her primal intuition has never failed her in all the ages she’s lived. Something worth noting was outside. Her mother's eyes seemed to get a bit deeper in gold color as she fades into a dark corner.

 

[Mook-LandStrider]

Skyrim
Whiterun Inn

"What are you doing here Harnon?" A voice spoke from across the counter. "Another bodyguard job aye?" The breton spoke to Kruber. Adjusting his seat Kruber waved him off before motioning him to come over. "Fuck it, give me something heavy. Its going to be a real long night." Kruber mumbled out distastefully. Sensing the bait for conversation the Breton took it. "Body guard? Let me guess? The bratty man eating a three course dinner in an Inn is who you are guard." The breton spoke handing Kruber a bottle. "On the house." He finished. Kruber tapped the top of the bottle to the side of his head "Will go to a good home." Kruber joked. Keeping watch, the man finally finished his fine dining and appeared to be in a game of dice.

Seeing him complacent Kruber finally turned around and began to drink again. Putting a few septims on the table he bought another and grabbed it before making his way over to the bard. Taking a seat Kruber leaned back and kept a close watch on his charge. Seeing the game going rather well for Harkon, Kruber turned back towards the bard. Listening to the music it wasn't anything he was very fond of but music was music. Hearing a slight disturbance Kruber looked back over to see the man wrenching Harkon out of his chair. Watching for a moment the man dragged Harkon off towards one of the rooms. Taking a deep breath he downed the rest of his bottle before standing up and putting a hand on the bards shoulder. "Heres twenty septims. Dont stop singing as loudly as you can without it being obvious." Kruber spoke dropping the coins into the Bards hand. "Have at it." Kruber finished before picking up his halbred.

Hearing the voice of the bard pick up louder Kruber couldn't help but step slightly to the beat of the song. Stopping in front of the door he took a moment and began to adjust outfit. Placing his halbred to the side of the door Kruber knocked three times. Muffled voices could be heard from inside before it went silent. "Fuck off, this doesn't involve you." A voice responded to Kruber knocking. Eyes narrowing at the response Kruber took a step back. Pressing on the door in a few placed he finally leaned back before stepping forward and bringing his foot up. Kicking the door the wood gave way allowing kruber to step through the ruined door.

Inside he found two men, one of them with a dagger now coated in blood. Without saying anything the first man went after Kruber. Unarmed in the confined room Kruber didn't have anything with the exception of a short sword to defend himself. However, his outfit was leagues beyond his assailants. Swinging the dagger in close the man tried to stab through the studded leather. Hearing a clinging noise, it was then that the man realized the leather was a ruse. With the mans hand dragging down with the movement of the dagged Kruber grabs his wrist and pressed down hard on the pressure point below the wrist.

Dropping the dagger the now disarmed man tried a swing at Kruber as the second individual, an Argonian reached for the dagger. Falling backwards on the Argonian, Kruber made sure to bring the man with him. The clusterfuck of a fight on intensified as the dagger was picked up and swung at Kruber's face. Nearly missing him he managed to grab the Argonians hand as he continued to struggle with the Nord. However, not able to restrain the Argonian's other hand the reptile simply took the knife from his restrained hand.

Realizing the fight was starting to spiral he knew he wasn't in immediate danger, but the dagger was small enough to find a weak point in his armor. Feeling it sliding along the gap of his cuirass Kruber recoiled and snapped the nords arm. Kicking the Argonian back he reached for his short sword. Unsheathing it he saw the argonian coming back at a run. Leaping at Kruber the Argonian tried for his head. Moving the short sword up the Argonian essentially stabbed itself in its act. Hearing the blade drop to the floor Kruber moved the Argonian off him as the other Nord mewled in the corner clutching his broken arm.

Breathing heavily after the struggler Kruber went over to his charge. Not seeing the mans chest rising Kruber cursed. Moving his body he saw the slid mark in the mans back. However, it wasn't deep. Checking for a pulse he realized the man was already dead. "Well, fuck." Kruber cursed before picking up the blade. Bringing the blade up to his nose he took a deep breath through his nostrils. The scent was of a local herb. Dropping the blade he coughed, the intense aroma overpower his senses for a moment. Knowing that the man was poisoned, Kruber made his way out of the room. The Bard seeing Kruber drenched in blood suddenly stopped. "Yeah, yeah.. just get the guards."​

 

[Abendrot]

Vivienne

Location: Windhelm | Interacting with: Marcel | Mentions: N/A

Vivienne leaned against the carriage window, watching the city pass as she rode back to the Palace of Kings. She sat in silence for the moment, a single thought pushing everything else out of her mind.

Why am I here?

She put on a confident face in front of everyone else, but she had always been good at hiding her worries. True, the opportunity to represent her nation in a foreign court was an appreciated one, but she knew her situation well. She was alone in an unfamiliar country, politically bound to a court that did not trust her. It was a daunting, lonely feeling.

You've been lonely before, Vivienne, she reminded herself. You'll get through this. Just find something to occupy your mind. You have an entire new court to explore. Enjoy it.

With a sigh, Vivienne turned her attention back to the city. Windhelm's Stone Quarter was its bustling hub, but its heart beat strong in Valunstrad, the Avenue of Valor. The streets in this quarter were wide and well-maintained, the people on the street were well-dressed, save for the occasional beggar. To one side, a group of brown-robed priests walked quietly through the crowd, each chanting a prayer to Talos. The carriage passed dozens of fenced-in mansions, each one built in the austere, Nordic style of architecture. Overall, the Valunstrad reflected none of the post-war economic hardships Skyrim was supposed to be facing. The elves in the Grey Quarter might be starving, but here -- in the center of Windhelm's aristocracy -- no one appeared to have noticed.

They turned at Candlehearth Hall, a welcome sight for weary travellers, and at its tail, the Palace of Kings stood proudly; built towering, imposing, and nigh-impenetrable. The castle had been the seat of power for Ysgramor's Dynasty, the First Empire of the Nords. The archaic design reflected the hard Atmorans who had laid the stonework back in the Merethic Era. There wasn't an older human structure left intact in Skyrim, barring the Skyforge if the stories were true.

The carriage slowed to a stop, and a heartbeat later, Marcel had leapt down from the driver's seat to open the door for her. Vivienne descended carefully, grateful for her steward's steadying hand. They surrendered the carriage, and Marcel took his place a few steps behind her as they strode toward the palace gates. "So, Marcel." she said, finally. "Has our agreement been finalized?"

"So long as you remain in Skyrim, Madame." said Marcel in his deep voice. "At least, that is what the contract says. As long as you stay here, King Ulfric must honor his neutrality pact with Daggerfall."

"We'll have to do better than that." Vivienne mumbled with a sigh. "We need an alliance. Alinor is expanding its influence at an incredible rate. Five years ago, we would have said we didn't need to worry, that the Thalmor would never be a power in High Rock. But now..." She shook her head. Things had changed so much in the past few years. "We should not have kept ourselves so removed from Skyrim these past few decades. We probably wouldn't be in this predicament if we had forged stronger ties with Ulfric's new government all those years ago."

"Queen Helene was afraid their political turmoil would infect Daggerfall." said Marcel. "Not to mention the Dragon Crisis -- no one was certain that whatever struck the Nords wouldn't seep into the other provinces as well."

A pair of guardsmen moved to pull open the palace gates for them, which is when Vivienne decided to drop the topic. Friendless or not, she was here to stay, and Daggerfall was depending on her. She had to prepare the world for the war that was coming -- a war that had become inevitable the moment the White-Gold Concordat was signed.

code by Ri.a

 

[Elysium]

Spoiler

SKYRIM

​

In the ice fields north of the mainland of Skyrim, a secluded place among a glacier stands hidden yet bold among the snowy tundras of the Nordic Province. Inside the makeshift tower, darkness filled the loft. There was rarely a time there was ever a candlelit fire, only the light of day from the skies provided the source of radiance. In it, was silence. Complete and sheer silence. No one hardly knew of this place, and by no one, literally no one other than those who’ve stumbled across such a hidden place, traveling from Skyrim to Solstheim or vice versa who got lost along the way, as it wasn’t on the direct route. Those who did manage to come across this place would be greeted with nothing, and those who dared even more bold to pick the lock and breach in… were never heard from again. As the icy winds blow through the horizon, a lone figure looks into the vast land of Skyrim on the other side of the Sea, her young Nordic eyes full of longing, yet also full of security. She sighs as the chill from the air had no adverse effect on her, her Nord blood welcoming the cold. Snow drifted into her brunette mane as she turned from the window and headed down into the foyer where there was food already set at the small table. Some venison, carrots, and apples along with some ale to drink. MaJhuna sat down in seclusion as the faint rumbles of thunder could be heard in the distance. However alone she may have seemed, she knew she was not alone. There was another presence with her, the only one that mattered. “Are you not going to eat with me?”


Steps with no sound came from behind Jhu as a pair of faintly golden eyes flashed from the darkness, moving into the light as a woman stood smiling at MaJhuna. She drifted a hand through Jhu’s hair and sat across from her smoothly. “I was just making sure the doors were locked. You can have my carrots if you’d like.” Jhu laughs at her mother’s words shaking her head at the ancient woman who could pass for an older sister. “As if anyone would ever stumble here. We’re in the middle of nowhere in the middle of nowhere. And isn’t that backwards? Isn’t the child supposed to be the one to reject vegetables?” Both exchange witty smiles as they prepare to eat. MaJhuna knew that it was hard for her mother to eat regular meat since she got over her… condition. What she didn’t know was her occasional run in with the rare wayfarers that would find their way to the Tainted Tower, only for them to be drained of their life and stored in the frozen sea beneath the tower. Only the ones who dared break in while Jhu was asleep. She would do anything for her daughter. She sacrificed the only life she’s ever known just to have her, shedding herself of her godly like status to live another path, a path that lead to MaJhuna. MaJhuna eats away at her meal, her gaze reluctant to her mother. Not because of fear, but because of uncertainty. Her mother was the closest thing she had to a best friend. How could she not be with so much time spent together? Training, schooling, bonding, but something still tugged at MaJhuna. Her heritage. What legacy would they leave behind if she didn’t even know where they came from? “So Jhu, Headmaster Ervine tells me you’re coming along exceptionally. She tells me you’ve managed to hone your Alteration and outbursts into controlled force. You’ve learned some pretty impressive feats she tells me, Adept level faster than anyone in the college’s memorable history. Show me what you’ve learned.” Jhu wanted to refuse, but she knew her mother would persist. She sighs mildly and looks at a piece of bread over by her mother. She lifts her hand as a red energy shoots from her hand to the bread, as she lifts it in the air and directs it in front of her mother with her mind, even nudging the bread back and forth to her ma’s lips until she chuckled and got the hint, biting the bread as Jhu relented the spell. “It’s called Telekinesis, it’s pretty useful if I do say so myself.” They continue eating, their company making the other feel warm and safe, a true sense of belonging. They were both outcasts by society standards. A Nord magic user and a Nord Vampire, and they were perfectly okay with that, because the had each other. The rest of the world would be wise to never cross that bond. A few jokes and small talk later, and Jhu was back to her pondering self. And her mother could read her like an open book, as Nord mothers tend to do. “What is it? I can see the thoughts on your face.”



Jhu hesitated for a bit, her mother raising a brow at her suggesting her to spill the mead. Jhu then opens to speak, before her mother stopped her swiftly. Her head darts in the direction of the upstairs window, her senses focused on hearing rather than seeing. Even with her newfound path and walk to humanity, she retained most her instinctual senses and abilities. She couldn’t make it out clearly what it was, but she knew she heard something. “Jhu, upstairs.” “But mothe--” “Get up there now!” without another second she guides Jhu in the direction upstairs, as she herself peers out the window from the back of the foyer, her vision acute enough to see out into the ice fields, without whoever or whatever it was seeing her. She wasn’t sure if it was anything serious to be cautious about, but her primal intuition has never failed her in all the ages she’s lived. Something worth noting was outside. Her mother's eyes seemed to get a bit deeper in gold color as she fades into a dark corner.

Somewhere in the mountains between Windhelm and Winterhold

Wicked eyes gleamed into the darkness, staring hard at a small group of bandits. A large dinner worth of bandits to be more accurate.

It wasn't his usual hunt, but, unfortunately, vampires couldn't chew on other vampires, at least not sustainably. Humans could eat rocks of they wanted to, but it probably wouldn't do them any good. Last he checked, there were better ways to get your minerals.

With a malicious grin, Aesoroth sped toward, his dulled ebon platemail clanking loudly as he charged towards the group of six. One even managed to draw a sword.

But that was before a palm caught him in the face. Aesoroth's fingers, strengthened by undeath, latched around the poor sod's skull. Aesoroth lifted him off his feet, and drove his fingers together.

The bandit wailed in agony, sending a scream that could probably be heard from Riften. But feeble yelling was not a defense against a grip that could crush rocks. The bandit's head caved in, spraying the monster with hot blood and gore and skull bits.

Aesoroth licked the blood off of his gauntlet slowly, staring at the remaining bandits.

"Now then, gentleman. Any volunteers? I am ever so... starving."

His face split into an intimidating grin, one that seemed to end at the tip of his pointed ears. And of course, no one volunteered. One ran.

"Wrong move, s'wit."

Aesoroth chased him down with blinding speed, barely fazed when he bull rushed his way through two of the steadfast idiots. Running man got ten feet before his doom was upon him. His death was in front of him now.

The big, terrified nord didn't have time to react before Aesoroth's jaw clamped around his throat, and then closed completely.

Aesoroth jerked his head around to face the remainders, taking the nord's throat with it. A horrid gurgle filled the air as the remaining four looked on, stunned.

As the gurgle died, Aesoroth began to chew on the flesh within his mouth, grinning while eating and staring at the friends of those he just slaughtered.

Phoo.

He spat the bit of chewed flesh out, and jumped at at four. A quick, violent mess of fists and weaponry clashed, but eventually died out. One remained, and was pressed up against a cliff, babbling for mercy.

"Please, no. Eat them. I got a kid man, I'm just trying to feed him and my woman. No, come on, no no no."

It continued in the same vein until the simp stopped for a breath.

"Your child and woman will be better off without you, scum."

The bandit went to speak again, but Aesoroth roughly pressed a plated finger to his lips.

"You are an unfortunate victim to my hunger, but you are not worthy of mercy. An eye for an eye, a tooth of a tooth..."

Aesoroth's mouth opened, revealing bloodstained fangs. The bandit whimpered as they shot forward and pierced his throat. Several seconds of silence went by, only cut by the heavy gulps of fulfilling lifeblood.

"... And evil for evil." Aesoroth finished as he tossed the lump aside.

"If you are unlucky, you will survive that. Pretty sure you would rather not."

And with that, he vanished into the night, his unending energy and powerful physical capability carrying him tirelessly over the miles. He had a hunt. And it wasn't for bandits.

Several hours later, Aesoroth stood near a tower of ice, where one of the oldest vampires still "alive" was supposed to reside.

Aesoroth couldn't wait to kill it.

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

Captain Rorik Dacius
"The Lost Stormcloak"

It had been a hectic morning for Rorik, to say the least. He had been jolted from the barracks at the signal of an attack, and he had quickly donned his Imperial armor and grabbed his sword and shield to defend the fort. But now the General, the man who had been a second father to him, told him to run. To say that Rorik was apprehensive was an understatement. He hadn't even said goodbye to Riria yet. Rorik tried to fight back, saying, "Sir, I can't leave. My place is here, with my men." But the shove onto the boat secured that this was of the upmost importance. He swallowed, saluting his mentor as he said, "Divines Guide you, Sir." He ordered the men to set sail, putting the letter away as they left Solstheim. He hoped Riria was okay, that she'd somehow gotten out of Raven Rock. He knew that Solstheim was on the brink of collapse, and that only his father could aid them. If he would aid them at all. He took the letter out once again, remembering his old life back in Windhelm. He sighed, his Lieutenant standing beside him and saying, "Where are we headed, Sir?" Rorik steeled his resolve, saying, "We sail for Windhelm." The Breton officer looked at him as if he was insane, saying, "Windhelm? They'll sink us before we even get into the harbor! Why there?" Rorik stopped leaning in the side of the ship, saying, "I have urgent news for the High King. Tell them to unfurl the sails. We need to get there as soon as possible." The Lieutenant saluted, saying, "Aye aye, Sir! Set course for Windhelm! Unfurl the sails!"

Rorik soon retired to the captain's quarters, sitting at the desk. He was writing a letter to Riria, telling her to leave Raven Rock with her family, and head for High Rock. He had some old friends there who could help them for the time being. He sighed, rubbing his temples as he placed the letter on the table. He read the title over and over again, "High King Ulfric Stormcloak." The name brought back a strange mixture of frustration and nostalgia. He missed his home, yes. But not his father. He didn't miss the stubborn old man's insistence that Skyrim belonged to the Nords and the Nords alone. And that he would not have his son marry a Dunmer girl. Of course, Rorik didn't care anymore. But still.

He suddenly began to feel sick. He wasn't used to riding on a boat at all, so he had to drink a potion to avoid losing his lunch. He soon doffed his armor, crawling into the small bed he was given. It felt lonely without Riria, as he'd been sleeping with the short Dunmer every night since they had gotten married. He eventually fell asleep, though, passing out from exhaustion. He had a dreamless sleep, as he always did. Which was good, because if he did dream, they wouldn't be very pleasant.​

 

[Keidivh]

Rolard Seton, The Dragonborn
The Reach

The Reach was a treacherous place indeed. Covered in ravines, crags, mountains and river, few holds could be considered as treacherous to navigate were one to ever wander from the road. Canyons twisted through region like a labyrinth, offering the potential for one to become hopelessly lost for days on end. Many bandits had made the myriad of caves their lair, using the terrain to hide from the wrath of the Stormcloaks since the end of the Civil War. And then of course there were the Reachmen, the Forsworn, that would descend from jagged hills like a landslide, butchering those they came across before disappearing once more. It was a dangerous and unforgiving place. Truly, Rolard was home.

Standing atop one of the taller cliffs in the region, Rolard couldn't help but smile somewhat as he gazed at his home. The grey mountains and hills jutting out of the ground like teeth, small rivers that even now worked diligently to carve the ravines ever deeper and a few trees scattered about, indicating that there was some life in this harsh place. Despite the joy he felt at being in the region he had once considered home, Rolard would have avoided it if he could have. Even after all of his years away the memories of what occurred here were still to vivid, the wound it had left on his soul as fresh as the day it had happened. Yet still he had to come.

It was his father's call that had brought him back to the land of the Nords after all. Rolard had been hunting Thalmor in Hammerfell at the time, trying to assist the hard pressed Redguards as much as he could. Truly there were few other peoples desrving of as much respect as they, for even after all these many years since being abandoned by the Empire. Despite fighting the Dominion to a standstill and forcing a treaty, they were still under heavy pressure from Alinor, and Thalmor agents worked ceaselessly to weaken the already taxed kingdom. Rolard was in the middle of assaulting two such agents when the Thu'um of his father thundered through the sky, causing all three to look up in awe and shock. Thankfully the Altmer were more surprised than Rolard had been, using the distraction to butcher the knife ears where they stood.

Ever since departing for his home the young Breton couldn't stop thinking of what this meant. After all he had been sent out into the world to train, hone his talents and discover for himself exactly what it was Akatosh had in store for him. Matthias had told him not to return until he had found his purpose. So to be called back home in such an abrupt and indiscreet method meant that something dire was happening. Hmm, perhaps fate has found me instead? He pondered for a moment before continuing his journey, armored feet thumping against the stone beneath him. He didn't travel by road however, instead wandering into the depths of the Reach.

The Breton barely paid attention to the path he tread, having walked it so many times it had become as second nature to him. Pulling his tattered cloak tighter around him to help ease the bite of the frigid winds, his azure eyes soon saw a familiar sight that filled his heart with a bittersweet nostalgia. Standing in the center of the largest river cutting through the Reach was a large island, a mountain jutting out from it's center. At it's base, the Cave of Karthspire, a place long lost to the rest of Tamriel. It took him a little while to find where the ford was where he could cross, a testament to how long it had been since he had departed, before finding his path and continuing on through the ice cold water. Before he had even fully crossed the river he could feel eyes on him, watching him from one of the many vantage points in the area no doubt.

As soon as he stepped foot inside the cave the sound of steel rasping out of its sheath could be heard as two warriors dressed as Forsworn approached him, though he knew there were likely more of the lot hidden away somewhere. Just by glancing about one could tell this was no simple cavern, with strange architecture littered about looking like no other to be found on the continent. "Well now, what do we have here, another adventurer wandered into our den?" The female Breton hissed a dangerous tone, her body scantily clad with furs and bones, while she wielded two primitive yet deadly scythes. The other, a male Breton with similar attire and a well used claymore stalked around him. "It would seem so sister, another offering to the Hagravens it seems."

Despite his best attempts to hold it back he couldn't, and Rolard busted out laughing much to the confusion of the two 'Forsworn'. "The fuck are you laughing at dead man?" The girl barked, gesturing at him with her scythes. Rolard simply held up a finger as he continued to laugh even harder causing the man to grab him by the collar, knocking back his head. Once his face was revealed the pair practically yelped, backpedaling quickly as they let their weapons fall from their hands.

Rolard clapped all the while, his laughter finally dying down. "A wonderful performance you two, I must say, though you still look a tad bit clean for Reachmen." The colored seemed to drain from the faces of the two disguised Blades as they fell to their knees. "A thousand pardons Dragonborn, we had no idea you were to return so swiftly." The girl stated with a shaky voice, obviously distraught that she had just threatened one of the men she was sworn to.

Shaking his head, Rolard approached the two of them, dragging them up on their feet before clasping their shoulders. "There's no need to apologize my friends, it is your duty to protect this entrance after all. I would have been disappointed if you hadn't acted like raving lunatics who wanted to sacrifice me to some bird-woman." The statement brought an uneasy laugh from the two, still rather embarassed from the incident but Rolard had already put it behind him. He had a meeting to attend, and as nice a distraction this was, he couldn't afford to wait any longer. "If you'd show me to my father Dragonguard, I'd be most obliged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Karthspire had changed greatly since Matthias Seton first wandered through it, using his Thu'um to overcome the many traps that had been laid for any who entered. Since then the ancient Akaviri ruins had been slowly repaired, the once crumbling tunnels now laid with fresh stone, with new carving being inlaid throughout it depicting the journey of his father during the Dragon Crisis. It had even been expanded some in the years since, with accommodation made for the growing number of Dragonguard. Living spaces, kitchens, armories, a smithy and storage room honeycombed through the mountain. Where once it was a place housing a handful of people, Sky Haven had grown to the size of a small village. "We've come a long way." Rolard said to no one in particular as he watched the Blades that lived here go about their lives eating, sparring and chatting away. Eventually they emerged from the underground fortress on the peak of the mountain, where Sky Haven sat in all it's glory. Standing since the First Era, neither the millennia that had passed since or the two dragon wars that occurred had been unable to lay low this epic structure, still standing proudly nestled in the peak. The entrance had been repaired and fortified, what once was a simple an open, roofed structure now a fortified gatehouse with no less than ten Dragonguard standing atop the walls. Each saluted as they saw him approach, immediately opening the gates wide for him to enter.

Approaching the temple itself, Rolard was approached by commander of all Dragonguard. His very own mother, Delphine. Without hesitation the two embraced, his mother holding him tight before stepping back to look over him to ensure he was in good health. Despite being a career warrior, she still had her maternal instincts. "Welcome back son, I'm glad to see you haven't managed to lose any limbs since you were last here." She stated in her usual stern demeanor, though the faintest smirk played at her lips.

"Well mother I can assure you it wasn't for a lack of trying." He said with an easy smile before feeling a gauntleted hand smack him upside the head. "I can see you've become no less of a wise ass either. How unfortunate, I was hoping the trials you faced across Tamriel would have matured you a bit. Or did you spend the entire time whoring and drinking while you were away."

"Well the latter of course! Why bother training myself to be Dragonborn when there are so many fine brothels to be seen in this wonderful land." Another smack to the head. He had been expecting it, but that didn't mean it was any less painful. Still, his mother was cracking a smile now, so he was happy. It wasn't easy making Delphine the Stern do that.

That smile faded however, as they both knew there was no time for catching up. "He is waiting for you. Just... Don't start anything Rolard."

"Tch, you say that as if he never instigates." He bit back, scowling as he recalled the many arguments he and his father had in the last two years before Rolard had been sent forth. Ellia's death had shattered their already strained relationship, the two at each others throats, with Matthias making it clear he blamed him for his daughters death, while Rolard blamed him for raising them as Dragonborn and soldiers instead of as children.

Taking his head, Delphine drew him down and planted a kiss on his forehead. "I know my child, but you would do well to keep your cool. He has been on edge as of late, he won't say why... But enough of this, you should go. We've kept him waiting long enough."

Taking a deep breath, Rolard bid his mother farewell before making his way into the temple. Despite the Akaviri look on the outside of the Temple, there were clear signs of Nordic influence on the inside, with statues and designs calling back to the earliest days of Nordic civilization. The most prominent feature of the main chamber was of course the Wall of Anduin, which depicted the prophecy of the Dragonborn. What caught his attention was the man that stood before. Even in the simple cotton clothing he wore and leaning on a staff to support himself his figure was imposing. A well kept beard framed a weathered face, two deep scars cutting across his right cheek, narrowly missing his eye which bore a similar coloring to Rolard.

"It's about time you arrived." Even though he didn't speak with his Voice, his words still had a strength to it, as if they were heavier than another mans speech. His eyes never left the wall as his son approached him.

"Ah, well I figured I had time to stop the Imperial City, pick you up a souvenir." Even though he couldn't see his fathers face, he could picture it twisting in annoyance.

"I have no patience for your foolishness boy." What little playfulness Rolard had quickly died at his fathers rebuff, his voice sounding like the growl of a predator. Father though he may be, there was a price to pay for angering him. Even Rolard couldn't escape that fact.

Standing beside him, Rolard simply stared at the wall depicting his fathers journey years ago, neither bothering to look the other in the eye. "I know father. You certainly wouldn't have called me back here if it could be avoided. I know how much my presence pains you."

Matthias responded with little more than a grunt. "At least you have enough brains in you to realize that... There's been an incident in Solstheim, the last I heard 200 Legionnaires had been slaughtered."

Azure eyes widened for a moment at hearing this. Such a slaughter was unprecedented to put it mildly. "Dragons?"

The elder Dragonborn was silent for a moment before responding grimly, "Dragons don't use a sword. A single sword was responsible for that massacre Rolard. A single man took down 200 warriors by himself. And since then, I haven't heard from any of the Blades I had stationed on the island. I imagine they're dead now as well, and if that's the case, then the rest of the Legion could be wiped out, if it hasn't been already."

For a time Rolard was silent, disbelief overtaking him. It couldn't be possible, even a Dragonborn as seasoned as his father couldn't take down an entire Legion by himself. Yet the Blades were as reliable informants as one could have. If that was the case, then Tamriel was in even more dire straits than he could have possibly imagined.

"Silence? Hmm, you must understand the gravity of the situation then. Good. Then you understand that this threat is more than even we can handle alone. An Imperial messenger from Solstheim has been spotted making his way to Windhelm, likely to seek aid or warn High King Ulfric of the coming danger. You shall go as well."

Ulfric Stormcloak. The kingslayer that started a Civil War that fractured the Empire. How his father could have ever supported a traitorous lech was beyond him. It had been a point of contention for some time between the two of them. Now to have to work alongside him... It left a poor taste in his mouth. "Ah good, always wanted to work alongside a pawn of the Thalmor."

As soon as the words left his mouth he silently chastised himself, already feeling the glare from his father dig into the side of his face. "Tamriel's fate could hang in the balance Rolard, I will not have you fuck this up. For once you will do this right, you owe your sister that much."

Now Rolard could feel his own blood begin to boil. Not even five minutes had passed and he had already hung his sisters death over his head. His mother words flashed in his mind, but he found himself caring less and less about that. "Well if you hadn't supported that traitor then it wouldn't be an issue, honestly he'll be as likely to applaud the slaughter as to render aid."

His father held the bridge of his nose for a moment, both of them knew where this was going, and while neither truly wanted it, neither was humble enough to back down. "And you'd rather the Empire be in his place? their bureaucracy would make it so there isn't a response for years. That is if their Thalmor masters would let them!"

"Pha, the Empire at least knows they are being used by the Thalmor! That dullard you put on the throne hasn't the faintest clue, and now mankind is more fractured than ever before! You read that missive you found at the embassy, you knew he was playing into their hands and still you supported him! Do you resent the Empire so much for letting your family die that you'd make such a foolish choice!?" Upon the mention of his deceased family his father turned towards him once more, but he didn't yell. At least not in the tongue of man. Rather Matthias Thu'um suddenly filled the room, knocking Rolard back and forcing him to his knees. As his father continued to use the Voice he felt as if his head was going to explode, breath escaped his lungs. It took all his strength not to simply collapse.

When his father stopped Rolard fell forward, gasping for breath desperately. Had he been a mortal he likely would have been deaf. The echoes of his Thu'um slowly died, leaving Rolard's desperate gasps for air as the only sound. Looking up, he met his fathers eyes for te first time in years. Eyes filled with rage, disappointment and regret. "You will leave for Windhelm immediately. Go."

With shaking muscles the son pushed himself up, making his way towards the exit.

"And Rolard..." Pausing for a moment, he wondered what else there was to be said.

"Do not fail, or I'll see to it that you join your sister."

Grimacing, Rolard offered no response, instead making his way to leave. While he would have loved to stay behind and continue bonding with his family, his destiny awaited him.​

 

[OppositeInverse]

Elysium

North of Winterhold; The Ice Fields ~ Mysterious Tower

Jhu trusted her mother to always do what was best. Somedays she was like a best friend, sister, and mother she'd always desired and had, and other days she'd be so distant and mysterious. Rare the days came where a mix of both would occur in one day, much like the scenario they faced at the moment. Her mother stood in the dark corner, listening to the echoes of pained screams carry with the wind as they drifted by the glacier-clad tower that was their home. Thunder boomed in distant lands as Jhu remained upstairs quiet, almost non-existent as she waited for further instruction of her mother. So much legacy hidden from her about her lineage, and now it was more of the same fending for her family under pretentious causes. Moments like this she longed for a father, the strong Nord man who'd kick open the door and best any peril that awaited, a grandfather to coddle and soothe her into a state of serenity. Aspects that were lost to the ages of the unknown. Someone that's lived literally for eras upon eras like her mother, only to shed herself of her imminent godhood and immortality had only left Jhu more befuddled than at peace. Jhu had researched every book on Hemophiliac diseases and conditions, and not once was there ever a full tale of a halfling passed down with the gene, so why would her mother give it up? Only for a father who was as invisible in her life as Aetherius?

Now, Jhu's mother could sense the presence of the life around her... She honed her senses on the flowing of the icy waves, clashing as loud as steel to her. The movement of fish and sea life, and the quiet... too quiet release of air different from the stroke of wind outside. A different source. Jhu while upstairs unknown to her mother gather her magicka to her hand, a bright electric-blue light surrounding it before releasing it. In a whoosh the light went outwards and Jhu could now see light orbs all around the tower, moving, flowing, living. It was a recently learned spell, one she hadn't been able to use as of yet. Detect Life was cast, as she could see the life of fish around the tower and nothing more. There was nothing else out there, alive at least. Jhu starts to sneak back to the stairwell to check on her mother, not getting to much as an inch before her mother responded from downward. "Don't even think about it. And stop casting spells! You're going to attract attention! Magic isn't like unsheathing a blade, it takes the essence of Mundus to utilize." Jhu retorted quietly "I know that! I was just seeing if anyone was out there, but there's no one! Just fish!"

Jhu's ma took a deep breath and emerged from the dark corner, her golden eyes just as fierce as when she did have her former immortality. Her hands glowed a red energy of her own, a beckoning source of power only reserved for a select tier of potency. If it wasn't living, but yet there was breathing...

Jhu's mother was the master of stealth and sneak. Many beings had proclaimed such a feat but with her it couldn't be more true. Centuries of honing herself and adapting to her former state has done nothing but made her body a living, instinctual tool of the night, yet now even in the day her ancient blood and longevity retains traces of her extreme caliber, those traces still more than enough to best the best. She cracks her neck as she moves towards the window, seeing a Dunmer with the eyes of lava and blood. He was staring at the base of the tower, and in that moment she knew exactly who he was, or rather, what he was. A grand total of about 5 people come out this far into the reaches of nothing, and so far he'd made 4. The other 3 were having a nice eternal rest in the trenches underneath the tower. She had no idea how this dunmer came to find this place, but given the current... state of his existence, she knew he was here for her. She wasn't stupid. She literally had ages of wisdom over the unknowing dark elf. She could only pray he'd turn around, and never come back, or it'd be his undoing. Out of instinct, she curled her lips to show her teeth, expecting fangs. But when nothing but regular molars showed, she'd almost laughed at herself. It was still after these few years been something to adapt to. Her first brain slip in decades. She goes to grab some parchment, but instead of using ink, her hand turned a deep purple as a dagger was bound to construct, taking the ethereal blade and cutting her thigh, the blood seeping out. She marked the phasing blade with her blood, and began to write upon the paper. She finished and folded the paper up. It was an old way of vampires scenting to each other, the scent of blood tied to the old soul of the vampire. Even though she was no longer one, her ancient blood had only been rich and full of the sweet powerful nectar that had driven her to live through the ages, and once this dunmer smelled the scent, he'd know exactly who he was dealing with. He'd know that it was a decree from the utmost form of fear. The Child of the Sun Tyranny. She dropped the letter from the window, the wind and fate would carry it to the dunmer below.

She would only hoped he'd heed the message.

Don't make that mistake

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Abendrot and Indirectly Keidivh & Rusty of Shackleford

The Palace of Kings. Windhelm.

There was a noble silence that stilled the air. The Stormcloak Army was proudly bold and resilient amoung the Avenue of Valor, leading indoors to the profound and cultivated etching and craftsmanship of the Palace of Kings. Even as the still of the sky and winter winds push through the city, they stood unmoved, almost inviting of the brisk conditions of their service. They'd watch with sharp attention at the ambassador Breton known as Valmont from High Rock, the province of the ancients, moved into the palace with her steward. They muffled quiet chuckles under their breaths as the wealthy noblewoman entered into a dark and brooding foyer to oppose her seemingly lush and lavish aura about her. The court stood confident as they watched the two approach the High Throne, yet the throne chair vacant. Standing beside it, the two oldest Stormcloak brothers, seed of the very High King himself. They nodded a head to their guests. However, the third slot was replaced unto Ysin Stone-Fist, son of the late Galamar. A slot that was supposed to be by rite reserved for the youngest Stormcloak seed, a seed that had withered in Ulfric's eyes for some time. Ysin speaks up.

"HALT." As they stop in place, a side door opens, and a very menacing figure forths through the opening into the main chamber of the High King. He stood brooding and ripped, accompanied by the gruff and weathered appearance of only a warrior who has seen endless blood and lived to come out impossibly victorious. Even in the chill and damp air of the climate, he remained with no tunic or armor, only toned definition of past war and adept battle. The look of the man from the ballads and paintings of conquest was now rebooted with the appearance of a man grisled by time and steel. His voice deeper and weathered than the hardest booms of thunder. A Voice. High King Ulfric Stormcloak had entered and spoke unto the ambassador.

"Madame Vivienne. Welcome to Windhelm and the Palace of Kings. I take it your travels went with no trouble?"

He steps into his posture before taking a seat on his throne, still as upright and bold as he was standing. The warhammer on his back thuds with weight as he makes himself comfortable. "Relax Ysin. So Madame, My sons have informed me that your council would be beneficial longstanding for the merry of High Rock and Skyrim. Our... my neutrality pact will ensure you no harm will befall your province by sake of Stormcloak or Skyrim, as long as you offer resources and services to the land and my people. You hail from House Valmont correct? I heard they have as much coin as they do offspring. But, wealth isn't what I'm interested in. What can you usher for us staying in Skyrim that will enhance our provincial status?"

Ulfric listens with a very keen ear as he provides the ambassador to explain herself. Faint thunder booms overhead as Ulfric remains unhinged and stoic. For some reason while the Madame was talking, the High King bore his eyes into her steward's soul, a deep fire coming from behind Ulfric's. When the steward seemed a bit uneasy and intimidated, the High King then looked away and back to Vivienne with a lighter gaze, still piercing however. The ambassador was cute, no doubt garnering the eyes of the sons probably, Ulfric however saw past that. Ever since his lover, there had been no other woman he had an eye for. But he perhaps did see a union of sorts forming, maybe an arrangement between Ysin and the Breton, for he would hold way for his sons to find capable and alluring Nord women to wife. The thoughts leave his mind as he further entertains the ambassador's proposings.

And then, suddenly, the palace doors opens as a Stormcloak officer jogs in, aware of the interruption and holding his hands up in submission as he runs to the High King. "My apologies High King, but I just returned from a patrol near The Three Farms, and there was... sir I thought it important that you know this. There was a loud boom across the skies.. much like the tales of old about the summoning of the Greybeards, except..." Ulfric was suddenly ignorant of the ambassador and diverted all attention to his private, so much so he even leaned forward in his chair with a grim expression. "...except that it wasn't the shared voices of the Greybeards, if they even exist anymore... this was one voice, and it sounded like he said.... Kul."

Ulfric rose from his throne, his sons and Ysin looking at him with curious eyes. Ulfric speaks in a bellowing tone. "Son." One of his sons spoke up, but he lifted a hand to silence them. "No... the word. Kul. It means Son." Ulfric knew what this meant, but no one else did. It was a call from an old friend, not for Ulfric, nor even the Greybeards. The legend of power himself had bore a child, Ulfric almost laughed in a grumbled baritone as this was the first news hearing of the Dovahkiin in... a very long time. He'd knew of his seclusion into Skyrim after the Civil War, and knew he was around in some way or another, but to finally hear tale of him again, in the world, calling his very own, Ulfric was both happy he'd had a family, and troubled at the call across the skies. Was there something afoot that Ulfric needed to be on way with? He steps down from his pedestal, patting the fatigued private on the shoulder. "Thank you, Private. See to it you rest well tonight, I'll have the parchment for your promotion in the morning. Take your leave." You could almost feel the joy underneath the helmet of the Stormcloak soldier as he nodded in pride and willfully walked from the foyer.

Ulfric then attended to the rest of the inhabitants in the court. "Never mind the intrusion." ​

 

[Elysium]

OppositeInverse

Aesoroth the Predator grinned maliciously when the little piece of paper floated past him. He made no move to catch it, never taking his eyes off of the two heartbeats thundering from the tower to his elongated ears. Unfortunately, this meal was not going to be made with love.

Of course he caught the whiff of old vampire, tinged with the stink of life. And he had been chasing this one of nearly a year. Every rumor. Every link. All researched.

He would not allow himself to kill an innocent, unless necessary. One of the heartbeats above did not have to stop tonight.

The note was obviously a warning. Did this formerly dead n'wah really think anything but a fight to the death was going to make him leave? No one but the obsessed would come out here. Fool. Mortality made her complacent.

That is what bothered him. Serana was mortal again. He had searched for a cure. Aesoroth had spent the first decade of his vampirism searching. He had found nothing.

He was fed. His quarrel was not with the living. This was her domain. He would have to learn the terrain, find the traps, figure out which one was the former vampire, all while fighting on two fronts. Aesoroth was not an idiot.

And his curiosity outweighed the calling of his lifeless blood.

"Muthsera, my first intention was to put down a vampire. And the other one in there, if necessary. I would show no remorse. If I died, at least I am not undead anymore." Aesoroth called up to the tower, making no move nearer or further, "I heard there was a vampire who found the cure. Didn't know it was you. And now I can confirm."

He lowered his hood and removed his plate-mask.

"I am not leaving, until you tell me how. I have no reason to kill the peacefully mortal. But we can do this either way, talk or combat." He shrugged, as if neither option bothered him too much.

With a practiced series of movements, Aeosorth quickly set up a sparse camp, a few meters from the front door.

They were mortal. He was not. They would eventually leave. He would sit out here until they died of old age.

 

[Abendrot]

Vivienne

Location: Windhelm | Interacting with: Ulfric | Mentions: OppositeInverse

Vivienne figured as much when she saw the High King's throne was empty. In his place, three of Ulfric's retainers -- sons, she presumed -- stood on the steps beside the throne, all thin and shrewd-faced. Servants rushed to clean the dining section of the hall after midday meals, but kept their gazes away from her. Admittedly, Vivienne knew scarce little about the Bear of Markarth, but she supposed there had to be a reason he was so loved by the people.

Speak of the Daedra...

Ulfric Stormcloak strode into his throne room with the gruff confidence characteristic of his kind. He was old and white-bearded, though no man alive could ever call him frail. Years spent in court had taught Vivienne to be a connoisseur of noble character. The king’s actions and mannerisms gave her an idea of his character. Ulfric was a man with a strong personality, she decided -- one with a definite idea of how he wanted things done. It wasn't a bad sign. Tentatively, Vivienne decided that this was a man with whom she might be able to work

"Madame Vivienne. Welcome to Windhelm and the Palace of Kings. I take it your travels went with no trouble?"

"No, Your Majesty," she replied, giving the deepest curtsy she could muster. "We extend our gratitude for your accommodation".

Vivienne remained attentive as Ulfric spoke, though only years of courtly training kept her from reacting at the insult he delivered unto her house.

"What can you usher for us staying in Skyrim that will enhance our provincial status?" said the king, narrowing his stark gaze. Vivienne felt herself grow tense beneath it, as the words left his mouth.

Here goes nothing,

"Your Majesty, I believe we both know that if the Aldmeri Dominion weren't standing at our doors as we speak, I would not be standing before you today." Vivienne began, her tone remarkably even for a reality that brought such dread within her. "As far as your courtiers are concerned, I am an inconvenience at best and a dangerous liability at worst. I know this. But let me assure you that a fresh, unbiased perspective will prove invaluable in regards to the matter at hand. Put simply, the Kingdoms of Men have reached a dangerous crossroads. Decades of war have robbed many of us of our better judgement and has allowed for conflicts that make us vulnerable as a whole. I -- on behalf of Queen Helene, the Divines illumine her -- would like to play a larger part in restoring our two nations to what they should be, rather than the realms of squabbling feudal lords the Elves believe us to be. Daggerfall may be a small kingdom, but it cannot be dismissed as inconsequential. Even your Jarls will understand the importance we hold in due course."

"It is therefore that Her Majesty, Queen Helene of Daggerfall, wishes to build close--"

Thunder cracked, and words died in her mouth. Somewhere behind her, the palace gates were creaking open again. Ulfric turned as one of his messengers approached to whisper something in his ear. They whispered in hushed tones, and Vivienne silently took that as a signal that she was to remain silent and await permission to continue. The messenger scurried away soon after.

"Never mind the intrusion." Ulfric announced.

"May I continue, Your Majesty?"

code by Ri.a

 

[Keidivh]

Rolard Seton, The Dragonborn

The journey to Windhelm was a rather uneventful one all things considered. The presence of Stormcloaks alongside the Provincial Guard had seen the threat of both bandits and beasts fall to an all time low. Of course that wasn't to say that his trip had been completely uneventful. After all, the Reach was still dangerous, and there were plenty of Forsworn who still dwelt there that weren't Blades in disguise. And what lousy disguises they were. Rolard chuckled to himself as he stepped just out of reach of another Forsworn bone weapon, slashing harmlessly through the air before Rolard struck back, white ebony easily cutting through what little 'armor' the poor bastard had on before him. Crimson flew through the air as the body fell, joining two others. Azure eyes regarded the two remaining Reachmen before him as a predator would regard it's wounded prey. The two remaining men slowly were stepping away, now realizing the gravity of their mistake.

"The fuck kind of monster are you?" The larger of the two barked at him, holding his bone-axe in front of him as if it would provide some kind of protection. "Isn't it obvious?" Rolard asked in a too friendly a fashion. "I'm a dragon." Extending his hand, a gout of sapphire flame burst forth, engulfing the poor bastard, his screams echoing loudly through the valley. The final Reachmen watched in horror as his companion burned alive, a fourth, charred corpse hitting the ground. Dropping his weapons, the hopelessness of the situation seemed to hit the man, all of the color drained from his fates.

"Please mi'lord, let me live! I-I'll never steal again, I'll put my weapons away for good. Please!" Striding up to the sole survivor of this poorly executed 'ambush', he took out a cloth, wiping off the blood from his ornate weapon before holstering it on his back.

"You know the men of the Reach are distantly related to the Bretons. A bit more of that Altmer blood in you, but still a halfbreed like the rest of us. In a way that makes us kin of a sort." As Rolard spoke he circled around the still trembling Forsworn. It was an almost pitiable sight, seeing what was supposed to be a fearsome warrior begging for his life. He was certainly younger than most of them, likely barely old enough to properly wield a blade. But it made him no less of a murderous brigand. "But unlike the rest of your distant kin we remained loyal to the White Gold Tower, to the Empire. Meanwhile your ilk took Markarth. Your ilk led to the rise of Ulfric Stormcloak and the sundering of the Empire that brought peace and unity to Tamriel. So, kin or not, retribution must be had." Before the remaining Forsworn could speak, Rolard took hold of his head, giving it a sharp twist. A sickening snap, and it was over.

That was the most eventful part of the trip for certain, the rest of the Holds he traveled through far more tamed than the treacherous Reach. While a tad dull, it was nice to enjoy the rolling plains of Whiterun without having to worry about a bandit raid. To wander in the autumn colored forests of the Rift. It wasn't often Rolard had the time to 'smell the roses' so to speak.

Reality soon set in once more as the City of Kings came into sight, it's imposing snow covered walls standing tall and proud over the hold of Eastmarch. Countless Stormcloaks could be found guarding the bridge leading up to it, with Nordic farmers bringing in their harvests, merchants travelling from the distant holds of Skyrim. It all showed how prosperous the capital of Skyrim was. It was a beautiful city, yet the young Dragonborn couldn't help but scowl upon seeing it, for it represented something much darker to him.

Pulling his cloak tight around him, Rolard made his way across the long spanning bridge before stepping through the imposing gates that led into the Stone Quarter of the city, bustling with all manner of citizens going about their lives. Candlehearth Hall stood at its center, warm and inviting, the sound of ballads and laughter echoing from its interior. Pushing his way through the crowds he made his way to the Valunstrad, the oldest district of the city, where the greatest of clans made their residence, their lineage's stretching back centuries in some instances. All of it led to the most awe-inspiring sight in the city, the Palace of Kings itself. Here he found a large contingent of Stormcloaks standing at attention, the once ragtag militia turned into an actual military force. It was impressive for certain, but would it be enough in the times to come?

Stepping forward, Rolard quickly found himself surrounded by said Stormcloaks, evidently not to fond of some cloaked stranger trying to step into the home of their king. "The king isn't seeing random travelers stranger, I suggest you make your way back to the Stone Quarter."

A derisive laugh could be heard from beneath his cloak, and Rolard made no move to leave. "You'll find I'm not so easy to be rid of gentlemen. Tell your king that Matthias sends his regards, I imagine he'll want to speak with me after that."

OppositeInverse ​

 

[OppositeInverse]

(Placeholder, full post today after work)