Fantasy The Elder Scrolls V: A New Rule

[Yohimitsu]

Redd lifted Faendal onto his horse and hopped up himself. Faendal wrapped his arms around Redd's hips "Were are we headed to today babe?" their armor clattered and rattled at every step of the steed. "Riften I think. We need to get more food and soap" Redd groaned a little as Faendal laughed "It wouldn't be so bad if you weren't so covered in blood all the time" they giggled together as they rode to Riften.

 

[SidTheSkid]

Spoiler

(Vampiric armor)(Sixten J. Stendahl)(Location: Treva's watch )(With: Group of bandits)(Been a while, might be a bit rusty.)
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Thunderous echoes from the haunting screams of the diseased flood rampantly throughout the dense forest, only slightly muffled by the continuous brushing of various leaves which become crumpled underneath the Sixten’s brisk footsteps. The wide-reaching shrieks and wails only increase in quantity as the immense ashy-like trail clouding over Riften gradually descends upon the lush unsuspecting woodland and its inhabitants, scarcely blanketing in the ground in the light sickening substance as he continues onward with his everlasting peregrinate until reaching Treva’s watch, a moderate-sized stronghold that is located only a few miles west from the now smoldering ruins of Riften and escapees, whom may still be camping inside of the damp caverns nearby. Oddly enough, the once outwardly abandoned fortitude was crawling with numerous bandits, some either asleep in their toasty woolly hammocks or indiscriminate chattering about in the courtyard, most of the conversations consisting of the unfortunate event. Despite the random exchange of words regarding diverse topics, all of them were there for one thing and that was to retrieve the remainder of the surviving goods like a bunch of obedient canines awaiting table scraps from their masters.

 
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Only using the thick base of an oak tree, Sixten conceals himself behind it while stopping in his tracks to access the predicament before him, knowing that he’ll need to thoroughly devise a devilish scheme in order to get past them. “Interesting, usually this place is only swarming with rabid skeevers, they must’ve been drawn by all of the commotion. Looks like i’ll have no choice but to persuade my way out of this.” He briefly stated to himself in discernment as he noticed that the side routes had been blocked off with towering palisades, only guiding itself to one solitary opening and that lead into the crowd of marauders inside of the poorly decorated courtyard. Recognizing his lack of options he stood himself up against the uneven surface of tree’s bark and placing his steady grasp upon the hilt of his sheathed sword once more and expecting the worst while sauntering on over to the entrance, each of his steps drawing closer to the entry as his excessively armored greaves brush alongside the swishing blades of grass, coming into the immediate view of one of the menacing guards that had been stationed at the gates. “Halt! Look at we’ve got here.” The burly man utters from his dried-up lips, gradually approaching Stendahl with a couple of lackeys after witnessing his arrival.

Outnumbered once more, yet just by close-inspection it was revealed that a majority of them had limited experience aside from putting on a supposed intimidating front which at best could cause wandering merchants to cough up a few septimes here and there, nonetheless Sixten was not amused by this person’s less than pleasant demeanor, simply staring into the bandit’s scarred mug as he stood only a few feet away from him. “Wait, aren’t you? Ah, yes. The oh so glorious tribune, haha! Aren’t you a bit lost here? Shouldn’t you be hanging around with your fellow Imperial rats, this is quite ironic. Being at the mercy of someone who you’ve imprisoned decades ago for roughing up some bar maiden, dumb wench spilled ale all over me. Fortunately for you, i’m in quite the gracious mood and you’ve done us quite the service by ridding Dawnstar of that dragon! Perhaps i’ll let you slide past unscathed if you fork over all of your septims, seems like a fair trade for your life.” An ear-splitting chuckle erupted from the husky man resulting in a bunch of rambunctious laughter emitting from the distasteful ‘boot-lickers’ behind him, playing along with their mild entertainment, Sixten lurched forward in delight additionally laughing with them, diminishing the nerve-racking ambiance that surrounding the combined mass of people. However the cackling was swiftly drawn to a halt by the docile sound of a rushing liquid scattering throughout the ground beneath them, judging by this noise most of them thought it was beginning to rain but to their dismay they realized that the liquid which had begun to pool out near their feet had a crimson-hue and a sickening smell.
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A series of smiles that were once plastered on the pride filled expressions of the group now turning into quivering frowns as they watched the heavily-built man being lifted up off of the verdant floor with the edge of Sixten’s blade pierced out from his trembling backside. Droplets of blood poured out even further, soaking the sharpened metal in the morbid fluid. With one swift motion his foot forward and knocked the dying man off from his blade then revealing his disturbing vampiric smirk as the herd of minions fall back into the courtyard. “Appreciate the offer, but here’s a better one.” He sluggishly crept into the fortitude, his dusky flaxen colored eyes being brought to light as the brightly lit camp-fire flickers a few embers near his face. “Since, i’m such a courteous individual. I’ll only disembowel a handful of you.”  
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[Xion136]

The hallways was dark, but as she lit the old torches she found herself in what could only be ancient Akaviri. She had spent hours reading when not working, trying to learn more than the musky scent of a jail and the screams of people being experimented on. And the architecture, the markings...this was old. With how the outside looked, it was strange....then she stopped. She had arrived in a massive room, empty save old, rotting chairs and tables. She made her way over to a wall, holding up her torch.


"My god."


The wall was exquisite. It was honestly beautiful. The entire place was quite amazing, and if she had not been able to fly she'd never be able to get here. But what truly made her eyes go wide, was the Wall.


It told of tales, it told of things she didn't understand. But what she did, was that this place was old...and hidden. The Elves could not find her easily....they couldn't get her. She turned to look, and realized this was perfect. She could practice and sleep. She could spend time here, before continuing. It was her secret place, her secret base. 


"...they can't find me here. They won't find me here." She said to herself. "...ever."


She sat down in front of Alduin's Wall, and looked at the carved history. Whatever it said, whatever it was, it mattered not. It was the defining feature of her hiding place. She laid back, and passed out from exhaustion.

 

[LucidSol]

Raz'Mras


       Letting out a frustrated growl worthy of the lycanthrope from across the cave, Raz slams her fist down, "None of you? Not a single one of you have one bloody idea. So we'll be ducks for slaughter then, aye? How 'bout this, I'll go scouting and cover the tracks you lot probably never thought to cover, and of a couple of you want to come- you're welcome to, but you better have a good sword arm or else. The rest of you can hopefully defend yourselves till I get back- kapeesh?" Without wanting for an answer, the Nord woman draws her sword, causing several civilians to step back in distress, but she merely storms through them and past there mercenaries- or whoever they were- and back into the wilderness only pausing slightly. 


        Before she completely made it out, a trio of Altmer popped out of seemingly nowhere. Riaising her sword, Wrathe, in an offensive stance, she cracks her neck, "So far, that appears to be me, though might I ask the for the names of guests that are so finely adorned?" 


       Here, she paused, checking the sky for any magelights or signals that the Thalmor would use, and then stops dead. There was another fire, fresher than the one from Riften, and closer. Perhaps the Thalmor had discovered a farmer of some sort harboring refugees? Feeling a pang from her conscious, she tilts her head towards it, gripping her sword tighter before returning her gaze the pointy-eared mer with a new spark of energy in her eyes, the negative anger kind. 


(I'm not even sure who to tag anymore)

 

[GreenEyedStranger]

@Taure Tavari


Devour gave a small bow, though cautiously looked around at everyone else in the cave. He was confident of his own abilities, but slightly paranoid of the crowd here.


"I am one who devours. You may call me Devours for short. My position is known by many names, though necromancer is short enough. I seek to find more souls and blood, this conflict seems like a good opportunity for it, does it not?"


He nervously stood and waited for a response. Necromancers were hated over nearly all of the mortal world. Even with this crowd of vampires and other ruffians, he felt some judgmental stares glaring into his soul.

 

[Wackadoodle0987]

Amelie chuckled heartily, glancing back over at the Argonian, "Oh," She sighed amusedly, "Aren't you a precious little snowflake?" She grinned widely, approaching the creature, "Your honesty is refreshing, dear, though I disagree with it. The dead should remain dead, however curiously ironic that may seem coming from one such as I." She narrowed her eyes slightly, "What you practice is the art of desecration, a wholly unkind act."


The Breton waved a hand dismissively, "But if you think you can help, more's the better." Amelie turned her scrutinous gaze to the others in the cave,


"As for our names," She addressed the rather impudent mutt, recognisable by the stench of wet dog and drool, "Seems as my sister so kindly elaborated, I may as well also. I am Lady Amelie Henrietta Montclair, First Matriarch of House Montclair, Queen of Shornhelm and Grand Duchess of Evermore. As lengthy as they are impressive, I know." She chuckled, "And still they do me no justice." The Breton exclaimed, holding a hand to her breast in mock offence.


"This," She gestured an arm to her sibling, "Is Lady Annalisa Bellatricia Montclair-"


"Annalise." Her sister growled, "Spiteful little bitch." Amelie laughed, having expected such a response. Annalise despised her birth name, believing that it sounded like a little girl's; hence the slight Imperialisation to Annalise.


"Commander will suffice." Annalise rolled her head side to side, as though judging the title, but made no protest. "And lastly, as I have introduced, Ambassador Taure Tavari. The oldest bastard in the Thalmor."


"Third Aldmeri Dominion." He shrugged at Amelie. If corrections were being made...


"And you?" She questioned, "You owe us the courtesy of your name."


"And a looser grip on that sword," Taure suggested, "For I certainly won't be the one to fall upon it, and hopefully nor shall any here." The Altmer's gaze was stern, almost scolding, as he strongly insinuated for the girl to sheathe her blade. "However, if my eyes don't betray me," As they so often did at his age, "You are intent on investigating the fire. Mayhaps we should. We can discuss later."