Fantasy Twin Calling of the Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls High Fantasy)

[Gian Greydragon]

Character Sheet (Apply to your first post and I'll add it here for all of us to see):


Name: 


Race:


Character Class: (Mage, Thief, Warrior, or some other sub-class) (Include Armor: Light, Heavy, Robes/Clothing) 


Inventory: (Anything your character owns. Includes items on his/her person, and any homes and other property) 
Non-Combat Skills: (Includes non-aggressive magic schools, and crafting skills)


Faction Allegiance: (Greydragon Alliance, Al'Hazatu's Vampires, Other Factions)


Short Bio:


Name: Gian Greydragon 


Race: Nord (Born to an Imperial Mother and Nord Father)


Character Class: Dragonborn, Blademaster, Master of all weapons. Prefers light armor, but uses heavy shields. No magical skill.


Inventory: On his person, Gian carries a Skyforge Longsword and Greatsword, Wuuthrad, two Skyforge Steel Daggers, and a full set of Dragonscale Armor. He owns many weapons, but many remain in Jorrvaskr. 
Non-Combat Skills: Gian is a masterful blacksmith. 


Faction Allegiance: Greydragon Alliance, Leader


Short Bio: Gian was born and raised the son of a Nord man and Imperial woman, both of which were Imperial soldiers in the Great War. Their romance is a storied one, too long for a short introduction, but that is for another day. He grew up to become a member od the Bruma militia and worked as a guard and garrisoned soldier for many years before traveling to Skyrim and ultimately beginning his journey as the Dragonborn, becoming the Harbinger of the Companions and engraining them into an army, with goals to take on what is left of the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion, in an attempt to claim the throne for himself. Not before absorbing or stamping out the race-driven Stormcloak rebelliion.


Name: Kassan al'Hazatu


Race: Redguard, Vampire


Character Class: Dragonborn. Combat Rogue (Assassin/Warrior hybrid), with some skill in magic


Inventory: Harkon's Katana, and a matching Blades Sword, Ebony Blade, the Blade of Woe, Full set of darkened Glass Armor, though he rarely wears a helmet. Castle Volkihar is home to his vast collection of weaponry, and armor, even possessing Boethiah's Ebony Mail, as he is also her champion. He has plans to collect them all, gaining the favor of the Daedric Princes. 
Non-Combat Skills: He is an adept Illusionist and utilizes shock Destruction magic, in a pinch. 


Faction Allegiance: Al'Hazatu's Vampires, Count of the Court.


Short Bio: Born the bastard son of a Nord pirate, in the seaport city of Stros M'kai, Kassan grew up fighting in the pits to eat as he lived on the streets. Eventually running into his father many years after his birth, the boy left with him to pilage and plunder the ports of High Rock, Hammerfell, and Skyrim. It was around the time of the discovery of the Dragonborn when he was caught in Skyrim, selling weapons to the Stormcloaks. He was almost executed but those same Stormcloaks saved him from the chopping block. Once free, he let himself loose upon the province of Skyrim as a member of the Companions before being kicked out, and taken in by the Dark Brotherhood, for his skill in combat and in the shadows. He was soon named the Listener, and brought the Brotherhood back from the dead, before taking the Volkihar Vampires with the help of Serana and his assassins. He now reigns over them with a bloody fist, crushing any opposition with swift and exacting precision, earning him the nickname "The Ice Viper". 

Twin Calling of the Dragonborn
​

Years after the destruction of the World-Eater, the Dragonborn musters an army of his own, in order to usher in a new era, pressing against a failed Empire, while fighting back the winded Aldmeri Dominion. The Dragonborn, a Nord, by the name of Gian (Gee-Ahn) Greydragon leads the march on the Stormcloaks' capital, Windhelm. Behind him, the Companions; the honorable mercenary group that defends the heart of the Nord homeland, in exchange for coin, a faction headed by Gian himself. The Companions know Gian to be of pure heart and fund his ventures to bring peace to the region and reign in the new Era, as it is his destiny to be Emperor. Behind them, are a volunteer force from the many towns and villages, who pledge themselves to the true Emperor.


There is also a force mustering further in the North, after the fall of Harkon, by the hands of one of his own lieutenants, a Nord-born Redguard by the name of Kassan Al'Hazatu, who was named by the Aedra as Dragonborn as well, to contest the true Emperor, though for now, he sits at the throne alongside the rest of Castle Volkihar. His skills in dueling and assassination, as well as his Dragonborn heritage, have made his name a feared and obeyed name among the Volkihar Vampires, thus making him a great ally and potential target to those brave or foolish enough to attempt to stake his un-beating heart. 


A dark Champion of the dead makes plans for expansion soon enough.


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

Part 1: The Siege of Windhelm
​

Gian marches at the front of the line, along with his trusted lieutenants, Vilkas and Farkas, the newly nicknamed the Twin Dragons of the North for smashing the Forsworn to little more than a memory in the Reach. They are heroes in their own right. Behind them, the rest of the veteran members of the Companions head the small battalion of newly trained members of the Companions, trained and molded by Gian himself. They stood ready, many of them trained with a sword and shield, Gian's own preferred style of combat for open combat. In such an environment, wielding a large shield allows for one to wear less armor and move more freely. Though Gian was a master with a blade and shield, he fought with all types of weapons, though his Skyforge Longsword was his most trusted blade. He stood tall, a man above average height, even for a Nord, and every bit as powerful. On his back, he carried a Skyforge Greatsword and Wuuthrad. His left hand held the fabled shield of Ysgramor. His Dragonscale armor glimmered with shards of ice forming in various areas, shone like a beacon to his men. 


Only when Windhelm's grand bridge was ahead of them, did the Dragonborn stop his army. Calling upon the Thu'um he cast forth a thunderous voice, bellowing, and echoing through out the province, almost as if his voice bounced off the very mountains that surrounded him, "Ulfric, your hate-mongering has drawn forth the wrath of the Divines, and I am their messenger! Command your men and women to lay down their arms and join my ranks, or perish under the heel of the Dragonborn, the true Emperor!"


There was a piercing silence. Not a soul stirred in Hjaalmarch. 


"I will bow neither to you nor the Empire! Come and get them, you ambitious fool!" Ulfric called from the walls, clutching tightly onto his War Axe. The General knew taking on the Companions and the Dragonborn would be nigh impossible, but the obstinate nature of Nords didn't allow him the luxury of surrender. 

 

[AlbaGuBrath]

(Hello, friend. It might help somewhat if you provide a basic overview of where you're going with the story so that people can decide if they're interested or not and determine what sort of character would be a good fit. That said, I'll put this in and write from the other side and see how it goes, though of course, you're still free to decline.)


Name: Saorat


Race: Khajiit


Character Class: Archer, Light Armor


Inventory: Stormcloak cuirass, remaining armor is leather, fine bow and steel arrows
Non-Combat Skills: Saorat is a skilled sneak and is quick with her hands and feet, though she refuses to use them for thievery. She is also observant and persuasive.


Faction Allegiance: Stormcloak


Short Bio: Saorat was born in Riften to a pair of traders who decided to settle down. She was happy in the city, but eventually developed a distaste for the shady goings-on and the suspicion of the townsfolk. Eventually, she decided to return to Elswyr but found it to be even more foreign to her than Skyrim and became homesick. After working hard to save up enough to return, she began the long trek north, but immediately walked straight into an ambush and, in the confusion, was taken prisoner. When the remnants of the attacked patrol returned with reinforcements, they freed her as well, and she followed them back to their camp. When she saw that it was a camp of Nords, she began to leave before she could be driven away but was welcomed by an old friend and by some of the rebel soldiers. On an impulse, she asked to stay with them and, despite some difficult times, has remained. Today, she is happy and satisfied with her place among her brothers and sisters and is very loyal to Ulfric.


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


When Saorat first heard the news of the Dragonborn returning to Skyrim, she dismissed it as idle gossip. Guarding the cities, even one as glorious as Windhelm, was often a tiresome and dull duty and the soldiers sought ways to keep themselves amused, including tricking the gullible young newcomers into believing wild stories. There hadn't been a Dragonborn in generations, if ever there was one (Saorat had her doubts), and there was no reason for there to be one now. Even if there was, why would he come here? Shouldn't he have more pressing concerns on his mind, such as the dragons? No, it was surely just a silly story or some lunatic running around seeking attention. There was no way, therefore, for him to arrive with an army at the gates of WIndhelm.


As she stood on the ramparts above the bridge, Saorat saw the great mass of men standing ready below. Even though they appeared to be outnumbered, she still felt only the usual apprehension before a battle, nothing unusual. She had confidence in her brothers and sisters and knew that each of them would fight to the death for their king. They had proven themselves in battle many times and were strong and capable warriors. Besides that, the walls were thick and well-fortified, and the streets were more familiar to the defending soldiers than the attacking army. Yes, if there was to be a battle, she felt that they would be able to repel this ambitious army. It was then that Gian let loose a Shout, sending many of the assembled soldiers stumbling back a step, and Saorat felt a cold knot form in her stomach.


So it was true...


One of the soldiers standing next to her, an old friend, nudged her with an elbow and murmured "Some story, huh?" Saorat wasn't sure if it was sarcasm directed toward her previous skepticism or a comment on the drama of a match between the Children of Skyrim and the Dragonborn. She wanted to reply, but could manage only a weak smile. It seemed as though the battle would be more dangerous than she thought. There was still hope for diplomacy, of course, but from the fierce words of the attacker and the defient nature of the defenders, she doubted it would be possible.


When the Dragonborn shouted out his order, a chorus of grunts, grumbles, and assorted measures of displeasure rippled through the ranks and some drew their weapons, though Ulfric silenced them with a raised hand.


"I will bow neither to you nor the Empire! Come and get them, you ambitious fool!"


The soldiers erupted into a roar of approval and raised their fists into the air. Saorat remained silent, but notched an arrow to her bow and watched Ulfric carefully for his order.

 

[Gian Greydragon]

Gian snarled at the obstinate fool. 


"Your funeral," Gian said, in a low growling tone as he stepped to the front of the formation. "Suit yourself, Ulfric!" he shouted, and ordered the formation of men to take a few steps back. "OH-DAH-VING!" he shouted. There was seemingly no effect from the shout, until the roar of his indentured Dragon servant Odahving landed just behind the Dragonborn. With a mighty roar, the Dragon made his presence known to the whole of Hjaalmarch.


"What is your bidding, dovahkiin?" Odahving inquired, as he erected his long neck, peering at the stocked walls of the Windhelm garrison. "I presume you wish to gain entry to the city?" he asked. 


"Break down the gate," Gian commanded. Shortly after, the dragon erupted into the air, and barreled, full hilt, into the large gate, denting it substantially. The men on the opposite side of the gate, who had only heard the calls of both the Dragon, Gian and Ulfric beyond the wall. The dense bones and scales of the dragon made him perfect for taking down a gate. A second ram knocked one hinge loose. The dragon would  then, blast the door with Ice Breath to weaken it further. 


Gian pulled the Shield of Ysgramor from its slung position on his back, and drew his Skyforge steel longsword. "Archers! Loose your arrows on the walls! the rest of you, on me, we're going in with the dragon!" he shouted prompting the energized soldiers and Companions behind him, as they drew their weapons. A hail of hundreds of arrows were shot in an arc toward the wall, as the bulk of the force clamored to the gate. 

 

[MorgathosTheRussian]

Name: Hiltas


Race: Nord


Character Class: Warrior


Inventory: Full ebony armor, enchanted ebony axe and shield. He recently seized control of Bleak Falls Barrow to add to his already large underground nation.


Non-combat skills: Hitlas has expiernce with forging and enchanting, along with excellent necromancy skills.


Allegiance: Imperial


Short Bio: The son of a necromancer and a blacksmith, Hiltas was born to kill. For years, he trained with his father in depths of the world, helping him build a small undead empire in crypts and barrows throughout the world. Before his father's passing, he was given command of the entire empire, including the resurrected corpse of countless champions struck down with Hitlas' brutal weapon. In the months after he rose to power, he greatly expanded the empire, eventually using magic to gather more troops and permnantly infuse a fierce bloodlust at all times. Armed with his trusty axe, Doom-Bringer, he proved his worth in countless skirmishes and hunts against the Stormcloaks, even personally slaying and resurrecting a Stormcloak huscarl and his elite band of warriors. Though the Imperials don't approve of his necromancy, he is an important asset in the war against the Stormcloaks, able to continue the fight even after an entire army is destroyed, thanks to the ability to raise the dead soldiers and defeat the weakened enemy.


"I. Need. SLAUGHTER. I. Need. BLOOD! Windhelm will burn, the Stormcloaks will be slaughtered! Kill! Kill! KILL!" Hiltas roared. He stood at the head of the Imperial host, and was determined to be the first to enter the city to murder and burn. He watched the dragon and Gian stand at the front of the host, so Hiltas strode forth, blocking arrows with his shield till he reached the front. "I must kill, for the glory of the Imperium... Let me in, yes, yes, LET ME IN!" he roared. He slowly began to gather magic to resurrect as many dead as he could after the battle.

 

[AlbaGuBrath]

Well, so much for diplomacy. Not that she had really expected to witness a peace conference, but she had still hoped this could end without bloodshed. As it was, there would be a hard-fought battle and many lives lost, and it could still be a defeat. The city would be taken, the soldiers killed or made prisoners.


No, no time to think of that. There was still a chance, slim as it was, and it was her duty to fight for that chance and to protect the others. Thinking about the consequences would only prove a distraction, perhaps a deadly one.


The assembled soldiers watched in bewilderment as the leader of the attacking army stepped forth and shouted out a foreign word, followed by silence. There were several confused glances and a couple of guffaws at the apparent failure, but all was silenced as the piercing roar of a dragon echoed against the walls. Saorat ducked reflexively, searching the sky for the origin of the terrifying sound, for it seemed to echo from all around. Horror swept over her like a flood, and she was reminded of the temptation to desert when she first joined the army. Not that it would do any good now. Where would she go? No, she had made her decision, and despite all terror, she was determined to stand by it.


"By Ysmir... It's true..."


Saorat was brought back to the present by the sound of Ruadh mumbling to himself. The Nord was an old friend of hers, the one who spoke when the army first approached. She wasn't sure whether or not the Nord's dieties were watching them or not, but she certainly wouldn't object to their aid. They surely would need it.


There was a period of stunned silence as the dragon first advanced on the gates, but the soldiers soon recovered their wits and began to rain arrows down on the men below, while the soldiers inside positioned themselves in strategic locations along the streets. The citizenry had been evacuated into the Palace, women and children guarded by their men, and the defending soldiers with orders to keep themselves between the Palace and the attackers. The gates weren't the best battleneck, but they could serve as a good location for a last stand. The twisted, narrow alleys of the city would serve the defenders well in this regard, for they knew how to navigate better than any stranger. In the meantime, the archers on the walls were to thin out the ranks as best they could, to concentrate their fire in the crush of men crammed against the gates, and to cover their men for as long as it was safe to do so. When it was no longer safe, for fear of hitting their own men, they were to return to the Palace and prepare for a final assault. The warriors would then make their way back, if necessary, and enter the Palace under the cover of the archers, where they would defend. The archers too would enter and hold them off as best they could as the citizens made ready, though hopefully it would never reach that point.


Saorat continued to shoot into the mass of men below, aiming at the first attacker to fall into her sights. When she saw one of the commanders, she tried to take them, but mostly shot by reflex. If she focused too long on individuals, she would see them in her dreams and would imagine every woman to be the man's mother and every child his son. She hated to have to forget the worth of their lives, but it was the only way to cope, the only way to protect other sons and fathers. When she caught sight of Gian striding toward the gates, she felt a surge of anger towards him. He was supposed to be the Dragonborn, the guardian of Skyrim and her people. Why, then, was he attacking her own cities, and at the side of the Legion as well? Had he forgotten who he was, who he was destined to protect? He was the reason many good men would fall today, the one who chose to march on this city without provocation and who called forth ancient and furious beasts against common soldiers. Turning her attention away from the anonymous mass that was her target, she began to shoot specifically at the army's leader.

 

[MorgathosTheRussian]

In the ancient tongue of the necromancers, Hiltas began to chant an ancient verse. He could hear the whispers and tortured cries of the dead as he summoned ghosts and other shades to bolster the ranks of the Dragonborn and his forces. "Serve me, and you shall once more know as glory. Slay those archers, and bring their souls to me." He hissed as ghosts were slowly bound to his will. "Break the gates, I need to maim! These cravens must be destroyed!" He roared after he bound the ghosts to his will. "You Stormcloaks will die this day! You will bleed, you shall burn, you will join the Legions!"

 

[Gian Greydragon]

(Posting order: Myself, AlbaGuBrath, MurgathosTheRussian) 


Gian was confused at the Necromancer and his ramblings, cutting off the ritual by pressing his shield to the man's chest. The shades fell back to the ground, into a puddle of ectoplasm. With a cold expression, he pressed the man against the wall next to him. "Raise the dead here again, and I will send you to the Soul Cairn myself! I have been there. No soul deserves the desolate wastes that plane has to offer. Fight here if you must, but your sickening magic has NO place on this battlefield!" he erupted, only inches away from the Nord's face. "I am no ally to your dying Empire. Mine own Empire will rise from it's ashes, once these bigoted fools see their bitter end," he continued. 


Just as his last words left his lips, the gate burst open, and without second thought, Gian released the Necromancer from his pinned position. "Heed these words, Necromancer; If I catch a whiff of your twisted magic, your head will adorn the walls of Jorrvaskr before the year's end. You've been warned." 


With that, the Dragonborn stormed the gates, wielding his blade and shield, taking on the first soldier wearing the Stormcloak uniform, charging one with his shield and bashing him hard across the head, knocking him out cold, saved only by his guard-style helmet. The second soldier to approach was not so lucky, receiving a Dragonscale gauntlet and flanged sword pommel to the chin, breaking his jaw. 

 

[AlbaGuBrath]

Saorat was relieved that the Dragonborn stopped the dark man from continuing his foul, unnatural necromancy, but there was no time at the moment. She took advantage of his distraction to send a couple arrows in his direction, but the one that would have found its fatal mark missed as the Dragonborn turned away and ran toward the gates. The walls of the city seemed to tremble against the power of the dragon and the army and the gates gave up their stand with a sickening crash. It had the sound of a portent, though the cat immediately pushed away such foolish superstition. There was no way Windhelm could fall.


She lost sight of the Dragonborn as he entered the gates, though the angle would be poor anyway, and she immediately ran along the wall to reach a better position and find a target. As the mass of men swept into the city, she quickly scanned the crowd for Ulfric. He was there, fighting like mad with his axe and surrounded by his men and the bodies of the defeated, though too far away for her to cover him effectively. But, no matter. While she looked to defend her king, she knew that the other soldiers would as well and trusted them to do their jobs. Most of them, at least. Though the majority of the soldiers were loyal to Ulfric and to Skyrim, there were some who looked out only for themselves and would follow any man who offered them enough gold. Saorat wondered if one of them was the reason the gates fell so easily. But, she could see none of them fighting against their brethren or charged with guarding anything important, so she worried less, though she kept a sharp eye out.


As the attackers and the defenders intermingled into a confusing mass of blue, red, black, and brown, the archers began to withdraw. They had no set signal, for there was no way they could watch or receive one in the thick of battle, but were trusted with their own judgment. As the seniors among them began to fall back, the younger ones followed after them, all still shooting as they moved. Saorat ran and jumped nimbly, her small size and quick reflexes saving her life as they often had. Of course, that also depended on her maintaining distance from the warriors, which would be difficult to do if they had to retreat to the Palace. For the time being, though, they had a good perch where they could pick out a few good targets and cover the novices as they made their way into the city. Saorat still couldn't see Ulfric, but she did find the attacking army's commander. She kept one eye on him and the other on the young archers, ready to choose an enemy target in either direction as necessary.

 

[MorgathosTheRussian]

With a grunt, the necromancer-berserker of the Barrows simply began chanting the rites of battle. Hiltas was among the first into the city, wielding his axe with deadly skill. The Blessing of the Steed Stone prived to be of great use, allowing him to be as agile as a man in normal clothing. All those that were slain by the axe had their soul drained and added to Hiltas' collection. Raising his shield, he began to sing a song of death and slaughter as he stormed into a crowd of Stormcloaks, and began to hew them to death. "I. WILL. SLAUGHTER. FOR. THE. SAKE. OF. SLAUGHTER! " he roared, with each word being said as he cut his way towards the palace.


It would simple for the attackers to cut their way to the palace. He had cut down many Stormcloaks, his lust for blood and glory growing with every kill. As an arrow whizzed past him, he howled, "Someone kill those damn archers!" 

 

[Gian Greydragon]

"Keep an eye on the Dark one. I will deal with him, after Ulfric," Gian spoke to his Dragon, Odahving, commanding him to keep an eye on the Necromancer. With that, the Dragonborn and several Companions stormed the walls, in an attempt to get to Ulfric Stormcloak and assert his point that he and his army should bend knee to the Dragonborn. 


With Aela the Huntress, and Athis at his side, they ripped through the enemy ranks on the wall, with Athis and Gian swiftly closing the distance as Aela covered them with precise arrow fire into the ranks of Stormcloaks. One well timed Unrelenting Force knocked several units of soldiers off their feet, some unlucky souls fell from the wall, as the trio approached Uflric and his guard consisting of several footsoldiers, one general, and a small unit of ranged troops, He raised his shield and charged forward, angling his body so the openings of his helmet were the smallest they could be. 


"Step aside, all of you, or be struck down in defense of this bigoted fool," Athis bellowed approaching the group, holding his shield and sword at the ready.


"Ulfric Stormcloak.The True High King as you call yourself. You care little for those who inhabit Skyrim not of your blood. This is an obstinate and racist approach to rule, and as the impending Emperor of all of Tamriel, I demand you either set aside these views, pursue the throne of High King, under the Greydragon banner, or fight me here, in your ignorance and die, like the rest of your closed minded cohorts!" Gian spoke with the authoritarian dominance akin to Dovah. His tone offered no room for compromise. Gian knew many of the generals within the Stormcloak ranks did not share the same prejudiced views as Ulfric, but sided with him against the Empire. Reaching out to them could turn some, if not, all. of the Stormcloak Soldiers to his cause. It mattered not, for if Ulfric wanted to be High King, Gian would allow him to do so, under his banner, so long as he remained a fair ruler to all inhabitants of Skyrim.

 

[AlbaGuBrath]

Saorat watched the last of the novices disappear toward the Palace and began to make her way toward it as well. But she stopped short when she turned a corner and almost ran straight into the circle advancing on Ulfric and his guard, though she managed to avoid a collision without being noticed. Once she skidded to a stop and regained her sense of direction, she started to continue on her way toward the Palace, where she had been ordered, but hesitated. The menacing trio was obviously outnumbered, but each had already shown the skill of multiple men and she harbored a secret convention that the guard wouldn't last long if worse came to worse. Galmar was there, and would likely be very displeased with her disobeying orders (the two had a bit of history in this regard), but so was Ulfric, and her first oath had been to him. Athis' bellowed demand made the decision for her, and she immediately whirled around to join the guarding archers. Galmar gave her a hard look, but she paid him no mind as she found herself in a tense staredown with Aela, each woman daring the other to move.


The group remained mostly silent in response to the attacker's demands, besides some disdainful snorts, but stood at the ready, waiting for their orders. At the two men's accusation of Ulfric, Saorat hissed angrily to herself, earning her another glare from her commander. She caught that one and gathered control of herself, settling instead for a glare and irritably twitching tail. True, the Jarl was not necessarily the most fair-minded man in Tamriel, but in her experience, he was no worse than most of the races of men. While this didn't excuse any prejudice he might have, he had given her a chance and treated her with a dignity that no man, elf, or beast had ever offered. This had earned her loyalty, and she treated any assault upon his honor as a personal one. She stared hard at the Dragonborn, trying to fathom his purpose. The fact that she was standing there, and willingly, should have been some evidence against his false claim. Perhaps he would soon recognize his error.


However, in the long silence that followed, there was no indication that anyone had changed their mind. Saorat could hear movement behind her, but didn't dare take her eyes away from the three attackers.


Ulfric stood and glared across at Gian, searching for any indication of weakness or indecisiveness, anything that could be used to present a solid defense against him. He saw none. Somewhere out of sight, he could hear clashing steel and screams of men and a terrible shrieking that he could only assume was the great dragon. The citizens of Windhelm still should have been safe within the Palace, but the defenders were growing thin and would soon be overwhelmed. Even the strength of his own blade and the soldiers circling him, though they outnumbered the trio over three to one, would likely soon fall. He held a mostly inaudible conference with Galmar, except for a couple instances of whispered shouting, then faced the Dragonborn with a disgusted scowl.


"Bah, so be it, then!" he grumbled angrily "You've caused enough death this day. Call off your soldiers, the city is yours."


There was a ripple of protest from the nearby soldiers, some in confusion, others in anger. This was not at all what they had been expecting. They had been prepared for a glorious death in defense of their king, but shameful surrender was another matter entirely. Some turned their protest to Galmar or Ulfric himself but were quickly silenced.


Saorat turned to look at him with a mixed expression of surprised hurt and relief, but glanced uncomfortably at the trio and relaxed her grip on the bow, though she did not yet put it away.


(Sorry for the wait guys! I really had to get some work done...


Something that might be helpful for me to mention about my writing is that most of the time, even in narration, I'm writing more-or-less from the character's point of view. So, just because something is said in narration and isn't a direct thought, it isn't necessarily the objective truth, just the way that character sees and would explain it. I don't know if that made any sense or not, but hopefully it did!)

 

[MorgathosTheRussian]

"Seventy souls have fallen to my axe... This is a glorious day for me..." Hitlas whispers, watching Ulfric surrender. The surrender of the Stormcloaks had changed everything. There would be no glorious murdering of Stormcloaks, no resurrection of heavily armored warriors. No, now the Empire would face the wrath of the Dragonborn, and perhaps he would as well. With a single swift motion, he cleaned the blood off his axe and put it away. With a chuckle, he thought of how he would use the souls. He could forged mighty metal men, and pour ten souls into each to animate them and make them his undying champions. He could enchant countless weapons, making his army that much stronger. "Be patient, Hitlas... We have time..." he whispered to himself. Some thought him mad, others thought him a monster that needed slaying. He began to leave the city, sprinting to the broken down gate and over that infamous bridge that so many armies had crossed. To the south he went, taking hidden paths to reach the pass in the far south of Skyrim. Oh, they will see a true monster soon. Not one undead beast, but rather thousands of undead warriors and insane creatures, each marching to kill and conquer in the name of Hiltas.

 

[Perghi]

Name: Bjorn Oakshield


Race:Nord


Character Class:Clothing (heavy armor soon)Warrior (Mage, Thief, Warrior, or some other sub-class) (Include Armor: Light, Heavy, Robes/Clothing) 


Inventory:Farmer Clothes,Old Iron Axe,owns an old abandoned building, however he has no money to restore it for now (Anything your character owns. Includes items on his/her person, and any homes and other property) 
Non-Combat Skills:Beer Making,Farming,Speechcraft (Includes non-aggressive magic schools, and crafting skills)


Faction Allegiance:Greydragon Alliance (Greydragon Alliance, Al'Hazatu's Vampires, Other Factions)


Short Bio:Bjorn was born to a farm hand,his family coming from merchants who went poor for making wrong enemies, the story how his father ended up as a farm hand is unkown to bjorn, and it will probably never be known, however, bjorn grew up in rorikstead working for the properous farms there, when his father died to the abuse of the farm owner for being his worker (which he had to endure for years) bjorn said enough was enough, he took up vengance to his own hands, grabbed his father's old axe, and killed the farm owner in the night, nobody saw him and he took his money, bjorn went out of town and joined the Greydragon alliance for hopes of finding a new life, he has been training in combat for months, and he is preparing to get to real combat soon, in any case, most people regard him as an inferior, but bjorn knows if he manges to survive enough time and become a decent warrior, they will start to respect him, not much else is known about him, he has not told much of his life, but only time will tell the rest of his hidden story.

 

[Gian Greydragon]

Gian's stone expression was broken by a small grin. He sheathed his sword, as did Athis and Aela. Shouting the word in the Dragon's tongue, "Peace," his men and the dragon he called to battle. With little else to do, the dragon bellows something in his own tongue, and flies away. The men and women, who fight under the Greydragon banner, sheathe their swords and promptly left the city walls. "Good man," Gian said, through his grin, as he approached, with open hands, to show he wasn't armed. Once he was close to Ulfric, he extended a hand. "I am glad this didn't go further than it needed. All I ask is that you fly our banner above yours, as this will be my Empire's banner once I usurp the fool that sits upon my rightful throne. You will help me achieve this, and Skyrim will be yours, to rule as a fair and just leader." Gian explained, "The Empire is weak, and so are the Thalmor. We can beat them back and restore the realm of men, as our ancestors did those many eras ago." 


Gian's heart was pure, but the need to rule and dominate pumped through his veins, along with the blood of the Dovah. His need to assert his strength was fostered by this gift of Akatosh. His heart went out to all of those who lived in his people's homeland, and a sense of ingrained pride washed over him as he was able to become a true warrior in his father's homeland. He stood with his hand extended for a short period, before Ulfric took his hand, fostering a grin of his own. "So long as we have mutual enemies, my men and I will fight for your cause," there was a pause in his speech. Ulfric's voice was easily distinguished and could be heard throughout the city, "but I will soon test your right to rule, as a True Nord," he added, with that, dropping the Dragonborn's hand and stepping back. 


"Very well. Once peace is restored, we shall measure personal strength. I will be embedding men here, to make renovations to your 'Grey Quarter'. Athis and our Bosmer Companion, Ruvilor will oversee it's reconstruction for the next couple of months. Once you are ready to discuss tactics, send word to Jorrvaskr."


Gian hailed Athis forward. "Athis. We've discussed our plans for the Grey Quarter. See to them. And get Ruvilor from the square."
 


"Yes, sera," Athis replied and rushed off of the wall. 


Aela approached Gian, with her typical wolfish grin, "I'll get the troops in order, ready to march to Whiterun." the said, then promptly vaulted off the wall, nonchalantly using her super human strength and agility from the beast blood. Gian bid his fellow Nords farewell and walked down off the wall as well, ready to make the march back to Whiterun. The few casualties and the wounded were picked up and carried off on hide stretchers. The attacking army was small, but elite, and thus could travel quickly and hit hard against larger armies. 

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Later that night, off the Coast of Haafingar Hold's Coast
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The Vampire Prince, Kassan readies himself for travel, in the Northernmost region of Skyrim. His castle stayed just out of view due to a mystical fog that shrouded the castle in mystery. A small roboat acted as the ferry between there and the mainland of Skyrim. His brethren typically glided over water in the Vampire Lord form, but Kassan, being so keen on his own abilities opted out of using the form so wantonly. The short trek lasted maybe 30 minutes. Moving silently through the night, the Vampire prnce encroached upon the Thalmor prison nearby, known infamously as Northwatch Keep. Some of the Thalmor remained there, making it a small base of operations. Kassan cared little for the Thalmor, but saw them as a source to feed upon. Molding himself with the shadows, he creeps silently through the night towards an unsuspecting guard, seducing her with his Vampiric influence, and leads her behind a tree, only to feed on her, until an unhealthily low amount of blood was left in her veins. Slowly the woman fell back, faint, against the tree, facing the way of Castle Volkihar. When she would wake the next day, she would seek shelter there, and receive her fist orders from her newfound family of darkness. 


Wiping away the small drops of blood from his lips, Kassan continued through the moonlit night along the road, sating his bloodlust on passersby, before finding his way to Solitude. By this time, his thirst was sufficiently quenched, and very little of his vampiric appearance was noticeable, to the simple commoner of the city. 

 

[MorgathosTheRussian]

Hiltas had disappeared into the north of Skyrim after going on a killing spree in Falkreath and driving his undead minions in a labyrinth of caves beneath the surface. Traveling north, he left a bloody trial of bodies, drained of their life and soul by a mighty axe blow. Yet he was not gone, merely gathering strength. He had heard legends of the Vampires in the ruins of some old castle. He desired to join them, or possibly even to subjugate them and make them his undying minions. So from the shores of Solitude he went, walking west with a small group of undead. Hopefully they would reach the ferry soon so they could cross over to the Castle.

 

[AlbaGuBrath]

Saorat involuntarily flinched as the Thu'um flew from the Dragonborn's lips, followed by a deafening bellow from the dragon above. She didn't understand the word and thought it was an order for the dragon to return, so when it flew away as quickly as it had arrived, she couldn't help but watch with a sense of awe. The massive and powerful beast, but controlled by a single word. It was an unusual and somewhat disconcerting thought, but a fascinating one that she would think more on later. While she watched the dragon with wide eyes, Gian approached Ulfric, causing the soldiers nearest him to tense and reach for their weapons. When they saw his open hands, Ulfric motioned for them to stand down, and they parted reluctantly to allow the two men to speak. There was a moment when it seemed that the hostilities had not been entirely dropped, but then it seemed that diplomacy had won the day.


Saorat wasn't entirely sure what to make of Ulfric's final statement, but she was sure it would be the source of several conversations beside the fires that night. She was also surprised by the civility of the Dragonborn. From his brutal attack of the city, she had expected for the city's defenders and citizens to be put to the sword or taken captive, not for him to allow Ulfric to keep command of his men. The act of mercy wouldn't be forgotten, though neither would his threats.


There were many wounded among the defenders and every individual who could walk unassisted was called to help bring them to the healers or to take care of the bodies. Saorat hurried from soldier to soldier checking for movement and calling over the nearest team if the soldier still lived. There were a few remnants of the attacking army that were missed by the search parties, and she called a pair over to pick them up. The soldier was still alive, but barely, as he bled from a great wound in his leg. Two Nords with a stretcher picked their way over to where she knelt over the wounded man, anxiously watching for continued signs of life and struggling with a minor healing spell. One of the Nords, a newcomer to the ranks, scoffed as he approached the two.


"Aren't you cats supposed to have good eyes? This isn't one of our men."


Saorat closed her eyes and took a shaking breath, determined not to make a fool of herself or become distracted from the task at hand. Calmly, she answered the soldier's objection, ignoring his former comment.


"He's a citizen of Skyrim, is he not? That makes him one of our men, and he's dying."


"But Galmar said..."


"Forget Galmar!" she snapped, immediately realizing what she had said "We can discuss protocol later. I gave you an order. Now, get him help!"


The Nord looked like he wanted to argue further but apparently decided against it, perhaps planning to bring it up to their commander that night. Saorat watched them carry the injured man away and heaved an anxious sigh. That  was going to come back and bite her...


There was much work to be completed before the soldiers could rest. There were citizens to calm and relocate, missing soldiers to find, resources to manage, damage to be mended... Finally, after many hours, there was enough completed to allow the men a chance to rest. Saorat sank onto her haunches and settled into a spot among a small group huddled around the fire and eating from their rations. She often had to settle for a place further from the fire, on account of her fur, but tonight was actually able to warm her paws by the flickering flames. A pair approached through the gloom, a man and a woman, and sat down in an empty place. As they entered the light, Saorat recognized their features and let out a yowl of delight.


"Ruadh! Fira! It's good to see you, my friends!"


She jumped up and embraced the two joyfully before admitting "In truth, I was afraid you were dead... I didn't see you among the search parties..."


Fira smiled gently and patted her friend's shoulder. "It's alright, I was taking care of the citizens and my brother was mending the gate." At his sister's comment, Ruadh broke into a roaring laugh and winked mischievously. "You're not getting rid of us that easily! You'll have to arrange a better 'accident' for that to happen."


Saorat chuckled and was going to say something back when she noticed Athis walking around in the darkness. "Look there!" she whispered, pointing him out to the two Nords, who blinked slowly to wash the firelight from their eyes. "He was one of the warriors from Whiterun, wasn't he? What is he doing out there? I thought all the workers turned in long ago..."


She stepped away from the fire to improve her vision and watched him carefully. There was something about the Whiterun warriors that had disturbed her. She wasn't sure what it was, but they had feral eyes and a predatory smile that was unnerving. He didn't seem to have these same attributes, but she still didn't like the idea of him prowling around without someone keeping an eye on him. He was probably just out for a stroll, but one could never be certain.


(Well, that ended up a bit longer than I expected...


@Gian Greydragon I assume that you're writing for Greydragon NPCs, so I left a couple places with the wounded soldier and Athis. Alternatively, you (or anyone else, for that matter) could pick up with Galmar or one of the unnamed Nords if you wanted to, but I guessed you'd prefer to stick with members of the Alliance. If nobody wants to pick up from this post, I guess can let it be the end of that scene and I'll look for a spot to bring in Dubha, yeah?


Something I'd like to note... I don't think I've ever actually been in a roleplay that was set up like this (with more parallel stories than actual face-to-face character interaction), but I think it's pretty interesting! It doesn't get stuck as easily, I don't think, since characters don't actually have to be in the same time or place as the others. I don't know how to explain it very well, but I like the way this is going.)

 

[Gian Greydragon]

(I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. I've always preferred parallel stories. Ones like this that have a bit of direction, have always been more fulfilling.)


Athis assisted the soldiers in taking the Greydragon soldier to the infirmary. "I'll take care of him from here," he said, dismissing the Nords, After which, he gives the young Nord a healing potion. It doesn't fully cure his ailments, but he was further from death. He'd taken the backlash of a strike from the Necromancer's axe, and it tugged at his soul, but he was able to remain alive to stave off the effects. After a few moments, the man had been able to sit up and speak coherently. Athis would letto man rest but would get started having men clean up the Grey Quarter. This project would take several weeks, even months, possibly, but Athis felt strongly about the message being sent with this. The days of closed mindedness were nearing their end in Skyrim. Dunmer, Argonians, and Khajiit alike would soon see themselves on equal footing with the native Nords, even if the more ignorant ones kicked and screamed along the way. 


That night, Rolff Stonefist made his rounds around the Grey Quarter hurling drunken insults at the Drk Elves. Athis, who was around a corner, cleaning the street of filth, overheard him and rounded a corner. The foolish Nord thought him to be another inhabitant and began berating him. 


"Hey, you... Greyskin! Go back to your ash-filled huts! This city belongs to the Nords!" he stammered drunkenly. 


"Call me 'greyskin' one more time, N'wah. It'll be the last words to leave your mouth," Athis spat, walking toward him, quickly and with purpose, balling his hands into fists as he does so. 



"Gre-" the drunken fool began, but before the first syllable left his lips, a gauntleted fist crashed into his cheek, knocking him off of his feet, onto his posterior. A heavy boot met the same cheek, knocking the fool out cold. Some fleeting Dunmer in the area cheered, as the man had been an unchecked thorn in their side for ages. Placing a heavy foot on the unconscious Nord's chest, Athis exclaims to the Dunmer citizens, "Under my watch, these hateful Nords will not go unchecked as they have been. The hardworking Dunmer will be recognized for their contributions! This extends to the Argonian dockworkers, and the Khajiit, who roam the roads, unable to enter the cities due to the fearful prejudice! Gian Greydragon, the leader of my order, and the rightful Emperor of Tamriel will make this a stone-cold certainty!" he spoke, as an orator in front of a cheering crowd, even though it was only a few Dunmer that were in earshot, and the few huddling in front of the fires in the square. 

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The bulk of the Greydragon army, save the relief force that was left in the care of Athis at Windhelm, had made it to the gates of Whiterun later that night. The men and women were exhausted from the journey and were promptly dismissed to the Guard's Barracks and Jorrvaskr. Those who sought rest crashed upon their pallets. Those who sought drink rounded the table at Jorrvaskr. Some sang, a few mourned their fallen comrades, most of them simply relaxed. Gian, however immediately went to his chambers in Jorrvaskr and immediately began formulating the next step of his campaign. Through a show of Force and minimal casualties on either side, even with a Dragon, and a crazed Necromancer joining the battle, they had forged a military alliance against the Empire. Bolstering Gian's small force of 7,000, with an elite group of two hundred warriors handpicked and trained at Jorrvaskr, he also had a Dragon, and the full might of the Stormcloak rebellion. Things were looking grim for the Empire and the Thalmor, as they had the man power now to take them both on on Tamrielic soil. In a few months time, they would march through all the the Imperial-occupied Holds, together, and take back the land from them, before eventually taking Solitude. He'd write down his plans, in the language of the Dovah in his journal. With that, he returned to the great mead hall above him, as no man under the foot of the rowdy Companions would gain any shut eye, so it's best to join them.  


They would rejoice the victory to the wee hours of the morning. Some had fallen to the floor, others had drunkenly clamored atop the table. One fool had made a Goat Haunch his pillow for the night, promptly resuming eating it after he awoke. Gian himself found his way to his bed once everyone lost consciousness. The man rolled over to see Aela standing at his door. 


"Good morning, Harbinger." she said, cheerfully. 


"Mmm... 'Morning. " Gian said, sleepily, being blinded by the torch behind Aela, "Ready the warriors. We'll be beginning drills within the hour," he ordered, to which Aela promptly followed. Her shrill but authoritative voice cracked through the air like a whip, into the Whelp' Barracks, as they've taken to calling it. Soon the men and women would bound out of bed, and equip their armor and make their way to the vast courtyard.

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The night had come and gone, and the vampire had his fill of fun for one moonlit night. Firmly satisfied, Kassan wandered as he did when he was a wayward traveller before his turn to Vampirism, just one decade ago. On his way back to the castle, he spied a curious stranger, accompanied by many undead thralls. 



"Hmm... A Necromancer... To be so open with his abilities, he must be powerful. We'll see soon enough." he said to himself, crouching behind a rock, blocking himself from view while he forms an invisible cloak around his body, causing him to vanish entirely. He swiftly moved up on them, from the rear, and drew his two blades, the Blade of Woe and an Ebony Sword he's enchanted with magic and health draining properties. In a whirl, he'd cut down several thralls, moving so quickly, the cloak only lost it's potency after the undead rejoined their undisturbed kin. Two more turned to him and charged but were blasted with a gout of flame from the Redguard's extended fore and middle finger. The Thralls fell as ash, and the Necromancer stood before him. "Hello. On your way to my castle, I take it? It'd be the only reason I could think of for one such as yourself to be out this way, parading the undead so openly." 


(Sorry I took so long. I thought @Perghi was going to post, and then I got busy. @MorgathosTheRussian, I was unsure how many thralls you had with you, but I thought this'd be a cool way to introduce Kassan to Hitlas. I think it'd be neat if the two did some sparring, as to sort of have the two understand the other's power. That would make for a strong alliance later on, for sure.) 

 

[MorgathosTheRussian]

As a necromancer, Hiltas could sense the undead relatively well. Hiltas drew his axe, and unleashed a skillfully placed flurry of blows down upon the Vampire with a loud howl. "YOU. ASSAULT MY THRALLS. I. ASSAULT. YOUR. SKULL." he roars. The rapid assault combined with the ferocity of a bloodthristy berserker and the experience drawn from countless battles, along with the Vampire lacking any sort of shield, would eventually result in the Vampire being hit with a truly powerful blow. Calling upon the Spirits of his Ancestors to aid him, Hiltas felt the dead whisper advice on how to defeat his foe, giving his blows even more potential as they were aimed at weak points in the Vampire's armor. "I SHALL FEAST ON YOUR BLOOD, AND USE YOUR HEAD TO DRAW OUT YOUR CRAVEN COMRADES."


I would say the spar has begun. 

 

[AlbaGuBrath]

As Saorat watched the elf, Rollf's customary ranting reached her ears and the fur raised on the back of her neck. Pig... she thought with disgust, though of course, she didn't dare voice the thought aloud. Galmar already disliked her, so insulting his brother wasn't going to help matters at all, and somehow he always heard of any stray word or action he disapproved of. She suspected that he had informers in the company, though neither she nor her friends ever found enough evidence to know for sure. Until such time, she would just have to put up with him and, with wicked amusement, make him put up with her.


When Athis knocked Rollf to the ground, she briefly wondered if duty required her to intervene. But, she then decided that even the keen eyes of a cat couldn't be expected to see everything, especially in the darkness and muddled by firelight.


"Ahh well..." she remarked to the Nords, turning back towards the fire "I don't suppose it was anything."


She didn't catch most of Athis' brief speech, but did hear the cheers of his audience, and a small smile stole across her face.


The next morning, the soldiers lined up to receive their orders and Galmar sent them each away until Saorat stood alone. A look of confusion crossed her face as the last group walked away.


"Sir..." she began hesitantly, unsure if he had ignored her or if she simply hadn't heard her name "What are my orders?'


Galmar's face broke into a warm smile and she glanced at him with a look of alarm. He never smiled at her.


"Oh, yes. I have a special assignment for you. Aenrad told me of your 'heroism' with the enemy soldier yesterday, and how inexplicably you've been given the rank to give orders."


The alarm began to turn into panic and her heart beat rapidly as she fought to maintain a calm expression. This is it... He's far too calm, I've done it now... She opened her mouth to explain, but was silenced by an all-too-familiar glare.


"As such," he continued, "I thought you would appreciate working among these "Greydragons", since you obviously consider our enemies to be your friends. You're assigned to the elf in the Grey Quarter. Perhaps that will teach you some humility, great hero, and to obey orders before you give them!" His voice became progressively colder as he spoke, and he almost growled the last statement. "Do I make myself clear?"


Saorat stared straight ahead, not daring to look into his face, and swallowed deeply. "Yes sir..." she whispered "Perfectly."


He waved a hand in dismissal and she immediately darted off in the direction of the Grey Quarter, still breathing heavily. She had been sure that she had finally gone too far, that there was no escaping this time, and a wave of relief washed over her along with an admonition to watch herself more carefully. However, she couldn't shake an uneasy feeling that it had been too easy....

 

[Gian Greydragon]

Kassan danced around the flurry of the strikes, with his superhuman agility, all the while locking eyes with the man, grinning widely. "I like your spirit, Necromancer," he said, as the last strike flew past his face, fractions of an inch away. At the fullest extension of the Necromancer's strike, the Vampire Prince let forth a lightning fast kick aimed at the man's chest. The kick was more of a forceful push that was meant to knock the man off balance. After which, he closed the distance, charging with blinding speed, in a short burst and began an unrelenting torrent of strikes. 


To be such lightweight blades, the shear strength of the wielder made the strikes against the armor of the necromancer could be heard and felt. After displaying a shoe of his own speed and strength, the Vampire set forth a scissor strike aimed at the exposed neck of the Necromancer. 

 
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Athis woke up that morning with a gnawing headache. Taking to his Nord brethren's own habits, he guzzles down a bottle of mead. That was how the Companions fixed aches and pains. After awhile it begins to work, and at this point, Athis was more Nord than Dunmer, these days. After his headache subsided, he walked out of room at the New Gnisis Cornerclub and began working along with the Greydragon volunteers. 

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Whiterun's guard garrison had joined the Greydragons and Companions in their training. The men and women were grouped up into circles, at the center of which, two soldiers from opposing ends to spar until one landed a  'kill blow' with his or her wooden practice weapon. If a winner was declared, after the next bout, he would return to battle another, and the cycle repeated for many hours, until only two from each circle remained mostly whole. This type of crucible-style training banked on the competitive nature of Skyrim's Nords and their non-native kin. A collective want and need to become better than one another drove the men to hone their skills, creating a small in size, but fiercely formidable force to be reckoned with. 


Needless to say, the guards were repeatedly trounced by the Greydragons, sending a shock upward through Irileth's spine. In a fit, she began spouting insults at the guards, while she walked to the center of the grand circle, the final circle, winners from all 20 of the separate sparring rings, brandishing her own blade, coated with a dulling magic, that made the blade non-lethal, an obscure spell used in the school of Alteration magic. She pointed toward a young Breton Spellsword, by the name of Gawain MacCuill, and demanded they fight. The eager young man grinned and took the challenge without a second thought. Stepping out, he coated the blade of his Blade's Longsword in the same spell known by Irileth. The wooden swords were too clunky for him. Taking up a stance with the blade forward, angled upward. In his off hand, he brought forth an ethereal wolf, who stood defensively between the two, before barking and lunging forward at the Dunmer. Quickly, Irileth dispatches the wolf, and casts a middle tier flesh spell, coating herself in a thin layer of magic, and lunging forward. The two lock blades, and push off, only to trade bolts of flamewhich were dodged both by them, and the Greydragons and city guard behind them, after which, the two would engage in a long melee, the momentum changing from one to the other, without either combatant wavering in the slightest. 


Gian stood among the circle observing the fight. The Breton was a warrior in his own right, his skills with the longsword of the Blades were unparalleled even by the two actual Blade Gian remained in contact with. The style of fighting was alike but unlike the style adopted by Nord warriors. It remained grounded, continually practical, but fluid in motion, making use of circular motions and multiple angles, while dancing around his foe like a Bretony fencer. His offhand showed no signs of conjuring magicka, thus his focus was solely one the melee with Irileth. 


(If either of you would like to take the mantle as Irileth,I'd like to draw this fight out, with more dialogue. If neither of you want to, that's cool too.)

 

[MorgathosTheRussian]

Hiltas takes a step back, dodging the Vampire's blade. He quickly casts a spell that causes etheral hands to rise from the ground and grab the Vampire, slowly dragging him to the ground. He aims his blade right at the heart of his foe, screaming, "KILL! KILL! KILLLLL!!!"