To The North, the warm-up RP Options

[Uleni Athram]

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Chorrol, 4E 200


Orange.

That was the color of the skies as Magnus drowned in the west, the final sunburst reaching its extremes in an effort to reclaim its seat in the highest heaven. From behind a veil of space in the east, Celdryn could see the Twin Moons usurping, slowly vanishing the orange with the blue touch of the incoming eve. Such a strange day, or dusk, indeed, to see the three observers in one, vivid moment. Suspicious townsfolk took this as an omen of things to come; indeed, from his conquered spot in the dome of one of the watch-towers, he could hear old naysayers preach on about momentous events that scour and scar all of Tamriel. He could also hear the buzzing of Chorrol.

Even as night stalks the skies, this city was busy as bustling Daggerfall in her drousy day. He turned to glance down and observed the ants as they carried on with their duties; one particular ant caught the green-piercing stare; a fat dunmeri clothed in fine silks, flanked by bored-looking Thalmor, the trio pushing their way towards the Castle. Celdryn watched the dunmer looked wearily at a certain spot in the courtyard; the Breton marked it in his mind and waited until the Twin Moons finally shared a seat on the throne of Magnus; watching from above as Celdryn finally made his move.

The midnight veiled the Breton as he jumped down the tower in one leap, landed expertly on the battlements. The guards posted here drunked themselves to a stupor; at least that would be the explanation they would have after they woke up from their spiked drinks. The ones that walked would no longer recognize the form of Celdryn; to them, he was just a brown lump in a dark setting. A harmless nothing. Fluttering of cloaks as he scaled the outer walls of the castle's closed gate. Reached the top, and glanced down at the courtyard.

There he was.

The dunmeri, now cloaking himself with a nondescript cowl and robe. The guards weren't there; probably bought off to disappear. The green eyes narrowed as the elf flailed his arms about like a madman, muttered some phrases in an alien tongue. The calm wind became enraged, shrieked like a banshee. Torches in the courtyard blew themselves out. Darkness now. Even the light of the Twins faltered as the courtyard became a pit of brooding blackness. Celdryn recognized it immediately as black magic. But to what purpose? And why here, in this very compromising spot?

He got his answer as white tendrils rose out of the courtyard's well, and hovered like hackle-lo smoke around the dunmer wizard, who now looked as if he snorted the sweetest skooma. From this distance, Celdryn saw the elf's nostril flare wide and the tendrils sought it out like it was being pulled... A long, audibe gasp of pure ecstasy from the dunmer. He flailed his arms again, muttered in that dark tongue, and the black mist disappeared along with the banshee wind. The dunmeri shuffled into the confines of the castle, and locked the entrance behind him.

Celdryn, seeing this, could not help but be interested. What manner of thing rose out of the well that the dunmeri snorted? Is it something sinister?

Or what?

He decided to find out. He jumped down with wraithlike grace and tiptoed to the well. The air around it seemed thicker; breathing became labour, as if something covered his nose. The brave breton fiddled with the well's lock for sometime, before he cracked it open and set aside the iron covering. He peered down. Pure darkness. From his satchel, he produced a glowstone; one of those useful tools made by the Dwemer. He dropped it in to test the drop; considerable, but not beyond his skill. He stood his bow against the well and his quiver also. No use for those ranged death-dealers to where he's going. He readied himself for the jump...
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".. himself for the jump... And that is the end of the tale. I should reall-"

The enraptured crowd quickly voiced their complaints against the bard, demanding closure from the cliffhanger he cruelly set upon their curiousities. The owner of the Oak and Crosier had to rely on his loud voice and threats of expulsion to quieten them down on this fine evening. The poor bard, who was on the verge of being manhandled by the mob, shot him a grateful look. He then announced that he would continue the tale of the dashing rogue Celdryn Minan'Kherus tomorrow eve. And until then, here he scooped up his colovian fur helm that full of coins, he bid them au revoir. With the mob now turning to their drinks, the bard approached the counter and sat on a stool closest to the khajiit owner.

He flashed the cat another grateful smile.

"Thanks," he said, breathless from his tale, "I owe you one!"

The Khajiit shrugged and produced a frothing mug of chilled ale. The young bard took it and drank it to the last drop. The khajiit made a remark that had the bard laughing.

"Come now, Tal'Jhiro. A bard is born to seduce; but in order for his tales to have effect, it must sometimes rhyme with the bells of truth. And truthfully? I really did scaled the walls of a castle."

Tal'Jhiro looked at Celdryn with those amber orbs. He then decided that this breton can white-lie all he wants as long as he pays. The cat scooped up the payment and went to service another customer. Celdryn stood up, walked around the counter, and took a bottle of wine from the shelves. He returned to his seat and just as he was about to enjoy being stoned, a young teen of no less than eight winters approached. The kiid tugged on Celdryn's cloak. The Breton turned to face him, annoyed, but it vanished as he looked upon the enquiring eyes of the youth.

"Weh der dwagons undah dah well?"

"Tomorrow child. All shall be revealed.. Tomorrow."

The child didn't took the hint. He stayed, rooted to the spot, puppy brown eyes engaging the greens of Celdryn.

"Ohkay. But.. can I as' you a kweston?"

"Fire it up like you're a professional archer, boy."

A brief confusion on the child's grimy face before it was replaced by the undeniable curiousity found only in the innocent. But before the child could speak, what Celdryn could only guess as the mother appeared from nowhere and pinched the child's ear. Apparently, this child, name of Timothy, slipped out of the house JUST to listen to the tales of the local bard. Celdryn also received a verbal-lashing from the mother bear, who made sure Celdryn wouldn't 'preach his daedric lies' when little Timpthy was in the area.

When they both took their leave, Celdryn sighed. When he turned to his drink, he found it not on his hand, but on the hands of the stern-faced Tal'Jhiro, whose eyes spoke of much amusement at the Breton's suffering.

"Damn it," he cursed.

[Uleni Athram]

Celdryn hummed with unspeakable joy. His heart, beating with such an intensity. His veins, throbbing with mad pulses. And he couldn't supress a dung-eating grin as the cavern all around fell and screamed rocks at its own foundation. Only one man.. no, not man. To call a Vaultren a man would be an insult to alll mankind. An undead beast, is what he was. Vampire. Son of that wretched prince Molag Bal. Spawn of death. Celdryn suspected his unnatural heritage when they first met on that cursed tavern in Chorrol, and kept it in his mind as a weapon of possibility. After all, the signs were there. In plain godsdammned view, no less. But such was the royal game of deception, and as Vaultren was probably of noble birth in his past life, he was an adept at it. Years of undeath didn't help at all. He woved excuses, reasons and lies wwith such a flair, Celdryn had no doubt he would make for a fine, fat-bellied, backstabbing, decadent politician with no true allegiance but to himself and power only. His feet hurried him to the entrance of the cave they refuged in, after dodging so many falling rocks and sharpened stalactites. He was panting by the time he got there. Vaultren's treachery was deep and carefully-planned. Rocks and boulders blocked the entrance, and up above the stone ceilling, cracks began to show. Yes. The Imperial might be a vampire, but like all of his kind, he shared that cursed skill for back-stabbing. The Breton should have seen this coming. He really should have. That, or he should've just let Wicked and Delight bury themselves up his unliving gullet.

This is not a death he wished to go with.

Not. At. All.

And so it was that Celdryn, under unimaginable pain as boulders crushed his entire body, yet missing his head and upper spine by a mere inch, found himself reciting an old incantation. His blood from his smashed lower body would be the oil. His drive for revenge at Vaultren would be the flame. Celdryn was born in Daggerfall. A land of politics, espionage, magic, and witchcraft. Of magical skill, he is a master not, but he heard things. He heard things enough to know that Princes are drawn to strong emotions. What does Celdryn have for emotions right now? Hate. Undeniable, unrestricted hate. Hate so pure he muttered an Incantation of Summoning. Through great pain, he muttered them and invited great darkness.

"I... offer... my blood... and etern,, eternal servitude... to Who.. to Whoever is watching me...." He coughed up blood, began to lose consciousness, but by his hate, he held on. Vaultren was on his mind. "I am Celdryn... Minan'Kherus... and this oath.. I swear to uphold... with my soul... lest I be damned... to Oblivion's pits.. forever more."

He sucked in a breath as all around him, there pervaded an unnatural coldness. Pain became distant, but ever so did it sting. He opened his right eye, and in there, there burned an emerald fire.

"COME FORTH, PRINCES OF MISRULE! I REQUEST AN AUDIENCE BY MY BLOOD!"

Minutes passed. Nothing seemed to happen. Celdryn screamed an unholy scream and cursed Vaultren with all the fibre in his being. He screamed his hate for the vampire, and remained oblivious to a trail of blood that crept upwards from his thigh, through seeps in the rocks that crushed him, and made a puddle just before his face. When all of his energy was spent and he lay there, spent up, waiting for death, did he notice it.

A slow smile unfolded on his face as an eldritch force manipulated the puddle to make an image.

At first, the blood only curdled and churned, as if a raging sea. Then, it calmed, and Celdryn felt a malign presence around him, omnipresent and omnipotent, terrible and wicked, so overwhelming with the power it radiated. There blew a warm wind of sulfur and earth and he knew. And waited. And watched. The puddle seem to fall invertly as if there grew a sudden hole where it lay, and from the center there rose a splendind set of horns, deviously illuminated from a fire below it. A surge energy came from all directions and the boulders that crushed Celdryn crumbled to dust, and the remaining ones crumbled too; as if to make room for the entity that was approaching. He gasped, but watched in paralyzation as the horns revealed its connection to a deer-skull with the eyes of cruel Oblivion itself, and the skull revealed its extension to an unbelievably rippling, muscle-bound body of titanic height.

Celdryn raised his wide, burning eyes to the awe-insprirng figure of the Lord of Hunt.

Hircine.

The Prince looked down upon the broken Celdryn, and growled a wicked laugh that echoed with ten thousand wailling voices of the prey He consumed. He let forth his voice in this unworthy place, and it was a voice of a terrible, and almighty god.

"You have called, and I have answered. Sanguine and Sheogorath each vied for the authority over you, as you show shades of hedonistic flair and madness, but I am Hircine, and I showed them what truly lies in your heart. Do you know what it is?"

Celdryn dared his meek voice to this behemoth of power. He uttered his name with pure, unrelentig hate.

" To... hunt.. Vaul... tren..."

There was a surge of power as Hircine let out an unholy breath of confirmation.

"Yeees. The spawn of the Dirt King. The one who crushed you. The one who gave you a taste of death, the very same death he enjoys now. You desire to hunt him down is strong indeed, if you have to call on powers that be. Is it not so? Then tell me, mortal. Are you worthy of the gift I give to those who hunt the Endless Hunt?"

It was Celdryn's turn to growl. And then he damned himself.

"If I.. have to cover this earth.. with the blood of the lambs... in your name.. then so be it! I am broken, but I beg of you, my lord, my god.. Restore me. Restore me. Restore me so I can skin him alive and nail him to a cross, facing the skies, so he can feel the tyranny of the sun, and lament the glories of the night that will be denied to him! Restore me so I can drink his blood, and eat his flesh, and present his unbeating heart as a trophy to you and mockery of Molag Bal! Restore so I can show him the true hunter, who rightfully reigns supreme in the shade of the moon! Restore me, my Prince, and I WILL BE YOURS, UNTIL ETERNITY'S END!"

So spake Celdryn Minan'Kherus, no longer bound by his desire to flirth with death and the nectar of adrenaline, but now utterly consumed by his desire to hunt down Vaultren. Amd at his vow of eternal allegiance, Hircine simply let out a demonic chuckle.

"Indeed," the Daedra breathed with approval. "Indeed."

WIth a wave of his hand, Celdryn was covered in eldritch light, and the green fire of his eyes grew brighter and brighter and birghter... until there came, from the collection of lightts, an otherwordly roar. There was nothing humane in that sound; the only thing familiar for human ears is that it was full of hate. A massive silhouette rose slowly, of great height but still falling short on Hircine, and it knelt. The lights died down, and it revealed the massive silhouette as a gray-furred werewolf with green, burning eyes.

"Now," Hircine said, slowly disappearing into thin air, "you are my son."

Celdryn gave a howl and lunged at the boulders that remained to block the entrance, and clawed them out of existence. The snow came forth like thunder, like a water from a dam. but the wolf counter-avalanched into them and emerged to the other side. The wolf sniffed the air and bared its fangs in a grin. There was a small aroma of undeath dancing in the air, and the wolf traced it to a flung stone shard, covered in blood. The paws snatched it and from the mouth, came a serpenting tongue that licked the substance off the shard. It was his. Vaultren's.

It looked to the skies. Night was dimly, but clearly arriving. It gave starting howl that echoed all across the nation of Skyrim, whose wolves heard it, and repeated it.

Celdryn Minan'Kherus was no more. Only the hunt remained. And the hut has just began. But before losing himself to his desire, Celdryn had one last thought before his identity destroyed itself.

"Vaultren. I am still the wolf, the predator. You are still my lamb, my prey. Let's have some fun."

It ran off in all fours - to the grim, grim North.