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> To The North, the warm-up RP
jack cloudy
post Jun 11 2012, 09:09 PM
Post #81


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From: In a cold place.



Kogobal

He kept his eyes on the bard while Alvara healed him. Just in case he tried to strangle or stab her. Celdryn didn't, but he did notice that Alvara chose not to heal him fully. Somewhat relieved, Kogobal averted his eyes.

"So non-crippling or immediately life-threatening injuries are best healed by the body? I wasn't aware of that. Then again, I try not to get injured in the first place. And well, keeping the crazy guy slowed down might not be such a bad idea." He thought to himself and slowly began to walk after Vaultren. As for the Imperial, he wasn't sure what to think of him. Yes, the man was capable of truly monstrous acts but on the other hand, he had not shown to release his constraints unless provoked. The Altmeri girl, unless the letter was planted by Vaultren himself which seemed preposterous, had forced their confrontation. Likewise Celdryn had, after Vaultren had said bluntly that he was acting in self-defence.

Kogobal glanced at his staff, seeking the clarity of mind that eluded him.
"I guess the man is no problem as long as I'm not too kind to the Thalmor. But on the other hand, he's probably just as bad if that 'message' is any indication. Ah well, at least it doesn't rain."

The Altmer looked over his shoulder at Alvara and Celdryn.
"Come on then. Unless we plan on camping in the woods, we'd better make the most of the day."


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Darkness Eternal
post Jun 11 2012, 10:04 PM
Post #82


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Vaultren, Outside of Chorrol.

Vautren did not know what to say on Celdryn's response. But he did know how to act. He frowned for he found it annoying. The bard had lost his mind. His rantings about losing blood and being attacked by predators made Vaultren uneasy somehow, as was the Breton's speech. He did not deny that he suffered from mania nor did he hide the fact that he could slit the throats of the others. It was more than enough proof that this man would have to fall one day or another. But who would deliver the killing blow? Vaultren was not sure. Alvara struck him as the typical women he had come across countless times before. A healer, not a fighter. Kogobal, while displaying skills with the arcane, did not seem one to favor conflict.

If it were any regular person with the confused mindset on philosophy, they would allow Celdryn's words about evil to sink in. But Vaultren cast them aside as irrelevant. Petty concepts of good and evil are established by the moral codes of people, who falsely dictates what is right and what is wrong in this natural world. Fate and destiny holds no regards. He knew that. Suddenly he felt himselt traveling back in time when he was in the Legion in his earlier years.

He kept silent as Alvara tended to Celdryn's wounds, not bothering to heal him completely. The Imperial held his breath and forced himself not to breath in the air. The smell of blood and even the sight of it made him squeamish.

Kogobal looked over his shoulders to speak to the Man and the Mer. His plan was to walk before nightfall, and not make camp. He agreed.

"Camping at night can be dangerous. We would all fare better in a civilized place. Celdryn's wounds would better heal at a tavern or at a healer's chapel rather than the wilderness where animals can devour him. Besides, it would be better to avoid any confrontation with highwayment or bandits."

Looking to his wound, Vaultren noticed it was bleeding more profoundly than before. His lip curled in annoyance as his brows furrowed deeply. He would have to heal himself later when he could.





--------------------
And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.”
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Darkness Eternal
post Jun 15 2012, 12:14 AM
Post #83


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Darkness was encroaching on the northern hemisphere, though signs of celestial starlight above the beleaguered territory was obvious. Well under the sky, a congration of torchbugs gathered in a midair dance, though slowly scattering off as the Imperial, Vaultren, walked past them. The group was well past the Orange Road, well past Bruma, and now standing at the Jerall Mountains. There were trees around them, but all manner of green was dressed and replaced by nature's white cloth. Lining the naked branches and the stones were crystalline snow, their exterior thick with icicles. The sounds were expected as well, the crunching noises of boots and shoes stepping over the snow was audible.

Vaultren began stomping his boot on the solid ice to better accomodate his feet. His skin was slightly pale and blue from the cold. In these past days, he was able to make purchase for himself and the others, buying supplies from Khajiiti caravans that were en route to Skyrim. Venison, drinks and other items of worth was provided.

"The land of the Nords. We are here." Whether by nature or choosing, Vaultren's words were slow, sibilantly.

He glanced at the group and exhaled, his cold breath materializing in front of him. The cold was even greater during the night, and unfortunately for everyone in the group, there were no Nords at all. A Dunmer, a Breton, a High Elf and an Imperial who were known to be supceptible to cold. For him, he carried a blackish grey robe and hood he used to cover his pants and shirt. On his shoulder was a bag filled with blankets and extra shirts. He wasn't sure if the group had purchased any, for he was eager to keep his pace the moment he exited the Khajiiti merchant camp.

On the edge of the hillside above a most frigid peak, he could spot a settlement miles away from where he stood, though a blizzard threatened to shroud them, especially in this time of the year. "If we press on, we can reach Falkreath Hold by morning and seek rest. But ultimately, the decision lies with all of you. We could make camp and remain beneath the higher ground, but I fear we will be sieged by a snow-storm."

He glanced at Kogobal, Alvara and Celdryn, more cautious and worry in his face rather than any malice or rage. He rubbed his hands together slightly. Perhaps I should of purchased gloves, he remembered. He flexed the rim of his robe's sleeve to cover his frigid hands.

Those past days he made an attempt to reconcile with them, strenghten his relationship. He understood there would be incoming headaches during the strenuous trip with the group. It was not something he desired, not at all; he would mend their broken trust soon enough, by rectyfing the situation. Celdryn's attack was a setback, and an issue in which he did not foresee. As a madman and a misguised lunatic as Minan'Kherus was, Vaultren understood that it would do him no good to form a grudge against the man. In any case, first thing was first; their current situation.

"What shall it be?"

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Jun 15 2012, 12:23 AM


--------------------
And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.”
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Uleni Athram
post Jun 15 2012, 02:07 PM
Post #84


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From: From: From: From




By experience, Celdryn knew that Alvara had pulled her real strength in the healing of his wound; he knew that the usual rituals involved focusing on the wound itself, not on the body. Plus, he still felt stiff. But that couldn't be helped. Well-intentioned extremists are rarely kept on a long leash after all. He smiled his thanks and went ahead of the group. Their journey was a tranquil one; no bandits that they met, no predators near that stalked, and most importantly, no Thalmor. As they slowly woved their way to the cold North, Celdryn retreated to his mind and became unnaturally silent. Such signs point that he was thinking. And the object of his thoughts were that of the Companions in Skyrim. Astoundingly, however, he began to rethink his plans on joining them. For him, it was a confusing matter. Ages ago, he enjoyed his flirts with death. Now, to join an organization that promised lots more, it began to.... stale. Somehow, it did not hold the sweet nectar of adrenaline as it used to.

Strange.

He would have to find out this sudden feeling of... whatever it was.
--------

They reached Skyrim in the night. The breton, red-nosed and shivering, looked towards the blanket of stars up above. Millions and millions of holes made by aedra who fled Nirn or some such religious ravings. Celdryn does not have faith in any gods or demons; but the sight of those little starlamps lighting it up with the Twin Moons was certainly etherial in its beauty. He blew a wasp of his breath and watched as it mingled mid-air before disappearing in a whisper that joined the banshee-shriek of Skyrim's harsh winds. He rubbed his hands, and blew into them.

"Better to suffer now and press on and received comfort later than sleep and be buried in snow come morning. My legs are still fine and dandy, and perhaps I can still walk a mile or two."

He turned to the elves.

"What does the fairy folk say in this matter?"


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Colonel Mustard
post Jun 16 2012, 02:47 PM
Post #85


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The journey to Skyrim's borders had been a much tenser affair than Alvara had liked. Vaultren had been watching Celdryn, Celdryn had been watching Vaultren and Alvara and Kogobal had been watching them both. Fortunately for the Dark Elf, Kogobal had proven to have full control of his mental faculties, despite his somewhat outlandish appearance. They had had some respite with staying at inns, and earlier when they had met a Khajiiti trade caravan; there, Alvara had manage to exchange some coin for some of the more exotic ingredients she sometimes had need of, as well as swapping a few pieces of advice and anecdotes between her and the caravan's herbicier, an amicable old cat whose fur had lost much of its lustre and thickness with age, much to her discontent in this chill land.

Night was falling, and biting cold wind was beginning to blow. Alvara pulled her battered, weather-worn cloak tight in an attempt to ward off the chill, but even though it helped it failed to dissipate it entirely. Of course, it hardly helped that she was naturally more inclined towards living in the volcanic plains and steamy marshes of Morrowind; Dunmer were not made for the chill of Skyrim, and she wondered why such a large portion of her people had chosen to migrate to Windhelm when their homeland bordered much more hospitable lands. Then again, a refugee hardly had the luxury of being choosy.

Alvara glanced at the horizon as Vaultren what they might do next. While snow was quite far removed from volcanic ash, she remembered an old piece of advice her Ashlander mother had given her about surviving on the plains of Vvardenfel; 'When an ash storm blows in, only a fool tries to walk through it; a wise Mer finds shelter and bunkers down to wait it out.'

"We should go a little further," she said after a moment. "See how far ahead of the blizzard we can get, and if we can reach town in time then that's all well and good; if not, we should find a lee or a cave to shelter in and stay out of its way. If we try and just go through it while it's blowing, we'll probably just end getting lost and eaten by a sabre cat."
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jack cloudy
post Jun 16 2012, 06:39 PM
Post #86


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From: In a cold place.



Kogobal


He hated the weather. It wasn't as if he was unfamiliar with the cold, or flesh-rending gales. Elsweyr had both, though the former only occurred at night. Skyrim was cold all day long. The fur-lined cloak and scarf he'd bought kept the worst from his body, but he still felt it in his toes, his brow and fingers.

Now with the sun setting and the first stars shining above, he felt tired. Tired of walking and tired of watching. Fortunately, both Vaultren and Celdryn had been remarkably quiet these past few days and the Altmer slowly began to relax in their presence. But still he watched them. Even as the question of continuing or stopping was asked, he found it hard to bring his eyes on the mountains around them rather than the Breton and Imperial.

They were getting close to the tree-limit, he saw. Those that remained around them were short, hardy needle-stacked ones. They stood far apart, fighting to survive against the tides of moss and ice. Beyond the sparse forest rose the Jerall themselves, tall and foreboding. Kogobal shook his head. The weather in Skyrim could change without warning, so he was told. But that change was rarely an improvement.
"I'd say we find shelter. The mountains are treacherous and the wind will only get worse as we ascend. I'd rather not stumble around over slick stone and loose gravel under moon and starlight. Not when we are already tired of a day's march."


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Darkness Eternal
post Jun 16 2012, 09:41 PM
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As Vaultren, Celdryn looked to the Mer to ask their opinion on the matter. Alvara expressed her desire to continue walking and depending on the condition of the weather, press on to a town or locate a safe haven lest they fall prey to ravenous predators.

He looked at Kogobal and noticed the man's obvious discomfort in the cold. High Elves were not bred for snow and ice, they were more accustomed to their tropical climate in the Summerset Isles. Kogobal wanted to find a secure abode to rest in, not directly confronting against Alvara's will to possibly find a place to sleep. Vaulren thought for a second, his hood shuffling in the blowing wind as was his sleeves. Even so, he was not as warm as he should of been. He realized they needed to find shelter soon; A place to rest his head and to eat.

He began to reflect on his earlier travels and patrols he had performed over the years against the Nordic barbarian raiders which attempted to rob khajiiti caravans for material goods. He knew the bandits themselves were slain by the Imperial Legion who guarded the roads, yet their hideout remained intact to this day. True, the cavern was looted and the stolen treasures recovered. But the there were left over barrels and crates that could serve to be made into a campfire. All he needed to use was a fireball to create heat to last through the night.

Vaultren smiled, nodded and exhaled to the three other travelers. He pointed his icy index finger toward the area north-west of the Jerall Mountains. "During my time in the Legion, we patrolled these areas to answer to a distress warning from the khajiiti merchants. There is a cavern about a mile and a half from here, left behind by Nordic raiders who were responsible for their thievery."

He wiped snowflakes that gathered on his face, blinking twice. "If we can press forth now, we should avoid any complications with the weather. All we need to do is remain as a single unit, lest we be picked off one by one."

The Imperial man treaded on the snow, making various crunching sounds as the snow failed beneath his boot. As he walked, he spoke to his companions regarding his last statement. He was not sure if they listened to him or if they never even cared, but he saw fit to warn them anyways. "There is much more to be concerned about than just loose gravel or famished felines. We also have to be careful for those Daedra worshipers and necromancers who seek to kidnap the unsuspecting for their vile experimentations."

"We would be blessed if we even found this cavern abandoned and unoccupied."

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Jun 19 2012, 08:02 PM


--------------------
And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.”
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jack cloudy
post Jun 19 2012, 08:57 PM
Post #88


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Joined: 11-February 06
From: In a cold place.



Kogobal



It was Vaultren who cut the proverbial knot when he told them he knew of a nearby cavern. For a moment Kogobal was surprised, then he remembered that the Imperial had mentioned he'd had contacts in Skyrim. There was a very good possibility that those contacts were cultivated during his tour in the legion.
"I just hope his friends aren't as outspoken as he is. I'm not sure if my nerves could handle it." He thought and cringed when a wet snowflake hit his nose.

"That sounds good. Lead the way, sir." He said to Vaultren as he followed the man's footsteps. What did not sound good however, was the expectation that his cavern had been reinhabited. If there were any occupants, he hoped they were travelers such as themselves seeking shelter, but he knew that they couldn't rely on optimism and travel guides did warn against using caves. If they didn't hold dangerous wildlife, they held dangerous men. He found himself agreeing with Vaultren's warning to stay on guard.

Kogobal did not agree with his assessment of the occupants being Daedra worshippers or necromancers. Those in his personal experience, tried to get as far from civilization as possible. But bandits were another thing. The path they'd been following was one of the major trade arteries. While their group had been able to take a slight shortcut due to not having any wagons, they were still close to the main route.

"I will be honest with you all. I am not a mer experienced in battle. I know a few theoretical approaches, but mostly I just fled the area when in trouble. But more importantly than that, what do you remember of this cavern? If we do run into a conflict, it would be best to know the lay of the land before walking into it." He declared, already going over those theories as they walked.

"The frost atronach would be our surest bet, I suppose. I'd have to find a place to hide myself first, but it can be done. However, the local temperature is rather low. That Daedra would be right in its element and quite wilful. Can I even suppress its spirit here?" He shuddered involuntarily, both from the cold and his thoughts. An out of control summon was every summoners worst dream. While an apprentice's scamp was easily subdued, an Atronach was something else. An enraged mass of living ice, striking at everything that moved and more than a few things that didn't. It wasn't a risk he'd like to take.



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Darkness Eternal
post Jun 23 2012, 03:01 AM
Post #89


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Vaultren.

Kogobal had announced his desire for Vaultren to lead the way, and so he did. In the back of his mind he thought himself leader, then he remembered he was not in the Legion and he was not on tour with the Legion. Titus Mede II had excused his title of Tribune and placed him on watch. Most would certainly be flogged or imprisoned, but not him. Having influential allies was indeed beneficial. In any case, dealing with the Dunmer or the Breton could be dangerous and he would be wise to not enforce his own ideals upon them. The manner they looked at him told him enough that they distrusted him. Kogobal on the other hand showed genuine kindness, or at least respect. He had no personal qualms with any of them, for they offered him no true harm. Save for Celdryn who was the only one who attacked thus far.

His feet kept sinking beneath the snow as he marched on toward the cave. He used the trees and the landscape to recall the location of this cavern. He breathed deeply as he continued on with the group. True, the circumstances were not favorable and were less than desirable. But even amidst this all, Vaultren rejoiced in his misfortunes. He might of been a fugitive of the Thalmor, as of that week. He might of been injured in a fight with a maniacal Breton and he might of been drowned and crushed by an avalanche or lost in a blizzard, but he kept his frigid emotions and only smirked. Life was too grand and too long to be complaining. He still held his life and still had his riches and influence somewhere else, and that was all that mattered.

As always, Kogobal seemed to offer his ideas. He explained he held little knowledge in combat and sought to use more tactical approaches to any violent situations. He also inquired on the information of the cave they were now making their way to.

Vaultren pulled back the hood to reveal his cropped black hair which was dotted rapidly by the falling snow. He scoffed as he remembered about his time against the Bosmer bandits who made the cavern their home one time after the conflict with the Nordic raiders. "You need not worry about being inexperienced, most of the bandits of these areas are weary by the cold, unless they are Nordic of nature. My men and I were ambushed here once two years ago by Bosmeri archers after the conflict with the Nords. Poor creatures had as much cunning as a school of sardines. Those cowardly little shts, they never even bothered to leave their cave!"

He wasn't sure if the others had laughed, but he found it comical. The tree-hugging savages attempting to use their base animals and archery to bring down the Legion soldiers. It was all amusing. He looked at Kogobal with a weary stare and began to explain. "The cave itself has three corridors that lead into the side of the mountain. The third corridor to the left, as I recall...leads to the exterior exit if taken upon. There is plenty of room to set up a small camp and the left over supplies may be used as firewood in the south halls.

He paused to reconsider his path. He scratched his hair and erected a haughty breath. "Provided it has not been looted after all these years."

The tribune continued as he recalled the path to this place. "It would be best if we encountered others who were not willing to sink their blades into our flesh. Chances are, the cave might yet be uninhabited, but I've been wrong before."

They were walking over the Jerall Mountains now, heading deep toward it. There was evidence of a small battle that had taken place in the area. Fallen broken weapons and shields littered the snow. Burnt wagons and damaged crates could be seen a few kilometers away. It appeared nobody had even bothered to clean up the remains. In this weather condition, it was obvious why. Though this was a different battle altogether, and more of a raid rather than a skirmish. It appeared as if it had been some time since it occured, considering there were no bodies yet located. It was understandable; the Jerall Mountains was an insignificant spot: too few resources and too few people for the Empire to worry about. For all intents and purposes, this particular spot was forgotten by men and cleaned spotless by natural predators.

In the side of the mountain, there was a large opening that was surrounded by naked trees. The cave opening! Vaultren pointed over toward the direction. "There!"

He rushed over to the entrance of the dark abode, only to stand on the outside. "Best get inside before the storm. Sadly, it is not the most accommodating of places to rest. I would rather be resting in my villa, plowing my fields, collecting grapes from my vineyard and copulating with my beautiful servants."

Vaultren briefly winked to the Dunmeri woman, Alvara, before extending a gracious hand to admit the trio entrance. He fortunate to purchase a bottle of wine at the Khajiiti caravan. Not that swill that could be found in the local abysmal tavern. Though he would be cautious at that very moment, for he knew not what dwelled in the cave and he wasn't sure if the others even had torches to be able to see in the dark. He would have to hold onto his blade rather than his bottle of wine. At least for now.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Jun 23 2012, 03:40 AM


--------------------
And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.”
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Colonel Mustard
post Jul 1 2012, 09:43 AM
Post #90


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From: The darkest pit of your soul. Hi there!



Alvara resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Vaultren's last comment as she entered the cave, shaking the dusting of snow that her shoulders had acquired from her cloak. The occasional comments that he had aimed in her direction had been somewhat tiring, and while she supposed he was attractive enough if one was into refined, older men, his insufferable self-righteousness, general lack of charm and the lingering memory of the way he had dealt with that Thalmor assassin meant that she was quite definitely not interested.

She pushed her thoughts to one side as she scanned the antechamber of the cave, and she was relieved to see it was empty, a few stalactites hanging down from the ceiling and the walls glistening with slight damp. The air within was cool, but warmer than outside, separated as it was by the threshold of stone and frosted moss that separated the innards of the mountain from the outside.

"I'll go check the southern passage you mentioned," she said to the others, raising her staff in one hand and summoning the energy needed for a fireball to the fingertips of the other. With luck, she would be able to find some of this firewood and kindling Vaultren mentioned, and all without running across bandits or a bear.
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jack cloudy
post Jul 3 2012, 09:54 PM
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From: In a cold place.



Kogobal

Kogobal wasn't exactly pleased with Vaultren's continued displays of confidence bordering on the fanatic. But he kept his thoughts for himself.
"We are also weary and unacustomed to this climate. That does not give us an advantage here." He realized.

As they followed the Imperial, the man called their attention to the remains of a raid in the distance. There were no bodies visible, but it didn't look quite as thoroughly looted as one would suspect. Perhaps the bandits had been interupted by the weather, a legion patrol, or were simply shorthanded to carry everything. The Altmer made notice of the spot for later. If the storm let up, they might be able to scavenge something useful from it.

Fortunately the cavern, or at least the entrance, was empty. Vaultren cracked a joke to ease the tension and winked at Alvara before stepping inside. The Dunmer however was not amused and resolutely made it clear that she would check one of the three passages, whether it was to ensure their solitude or to get away from the others. Kogobal thought of following but decided not to. She looked like she could handle herself and was smart enough to know when to run. Vaultren and Celdryn on the other hand. Well, he simply didn't thrust to leave those two alone with no company but each other.
"Be careful. I'll take the middle passage then." He said to her.

Once Alvara had disappeared among the stone spires, Kogobal looked at the Breton and the Imperial.
"Yes, I really don't feel good about leaving them now." He thought and sighed.
"I'm going to summon a Scamp and have it scout out the cave. Just thought I'd inform you first."


OOC: So I'm going to get dragged off to england for a week starting on Thursday. Please try to drag Kogobal along though I doubt much will happen in the meantime.


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Darkness Eternal
post Jul 7 2012, 05:40 PM
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Vaultren.

Alvara had shrugged off his minor attempt at wooing her. It seemed like most Dunmer, she was a cold one with a tempered and reserved demeanour. He watched with a frigid stare as she voted to wander the cave, implying she would like to do so by herself in solitude. She used her staff to create fire as her form dissapeared into the darkness. If she was brave enough to explore the unknown alone, then by all means no one would stop her.

Vaultren felt a familiar ire grow and fester in his breast, but his outward appearance bespoke tranquility. He nodded silently at Kogobal as he studied the cavern around him. It did not change as much as he last saw it, but there were notable differences. He resisted looking at Celdryn and Kogobal as he had his back turned to them.


He doned his former self and sighed, composing himself as a nobleman instead of a soldier. He held out his hand and brought about a flame that flickered and lived in his palm. With Kogobal pulling a scamp from Oblivion into the material world, Vaultren saw no need to summon anything of his own.

As he vanished deep into the dark tunnels, he extinguished his flame and continued his path through the corridors. He looked back to see if anyone followed. Kogobal could be a threat , even if he did not admit to being one. Vaultren grew weary of him and the others. They potentially could be just as harmfully dangerous as Celdryn. He reflected on his words: "I heard some rather far fetched rumours. About a god or gods appearing in Skyrim. Normally I'd be sceptical about mere rumour, but when that Nord started talking about Elder Scrolls..."

Vaultren had a history with Elder Scrolls, though he never remembered reading one, he knew the White Gold Tower held many of them before it was sacked and looted. What does the Elder Scroll have to do with a god returning to the world? Vaultren had to wonder as he made a turn in one of the tight tunnels to his left. And what is this man's intentions? Surely that talk about witnessing an Aedric or Daedric being manifest into the world was one of many reasons. Perhaps his curiosity was born out of the interest of amassing great power? Vaultren would be careful around this man, for even a scholar could be traitorous and a madman. Likewise for a Dark Elf who fancies herself a healer and even the mad Breton.

Still pacing toward the cave, Vaultren picked up a few strange sounds coming from the end of the tunnel in the large chamber. His nose also managed to capture a peculiar scent. His eyes adjusted as his hand resisted on the hilt of his sheathed word. His steps were eerily silent and absent sound, he melded in with the darkness in a prudent fashion.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Jul 8 2012, 11:44 PM


--------------------
And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.”
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Darkness Eternal
post Aug 6 2012, 12:15 AM
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Vaultren.

In the end, the sound came from a small skeever being devoured by larger ones. They were warded off by Vaultren's presence. The Imperial knew this cave extensively from his time in the Legion many, many years ago during the Great War. He understood every corridor, every path and route, and he understood the layout of every single chamber. He knew the strengths, and he understood the weaknesses.

During his time with the group, he studied Kogobal, analyzed Alvara and tried to comprehend Celdryn. They hated him, and with good cause. But hate was such a powerful thing, he knew, for his entire life was full of hate. Hate is a passion, and passion gives way to strength, thus presenting powerful opportunities, which then leads on the victory. And his victory was in his grasp. But even hate can be manipulated and self-destructive. He would use his against them, instead of allowing it against him.

Alvara, peeved and obviously infuriated with his actions, was repelled by a simple gesture of the eyes, and he thrived in the knowledge that he made her that way, for she was seperated from the rest. Being a healer, how could she possibly save herself and Kogobal from an impending collision? The ceilings were infested with armies of sharp stalactites, with a gentle nudge, could pierce the cranium of an unsuspecting victim.

Kogobal knew the tenuous relationship between Vaultren and Celdryn, and was guided by his own concept of morality and righteous nature to leave the two seperated, which in the end would be his own undoing. So Vaultren believed. With Kogobal and Celdryn together, and Alvara alone in the dark tunnels, all he was required to do was to seal their fates once and for all.

Celdryn, adrenaline-dependant lunatic and instrumentally gifted storyteller, had all the reason to believe in his instincts. Vaultren's treachery was speculated, but not expected. It was imagined, but not foreseen. With his words, they believed in him, albeit mistrusting him. And they fell into his trap as cattle to the slaughter. He would not make his mistake again as he did with that Thalmor assassin. By leading them out into the wilderness by taking a path through the Jerall Mountains, especially in this time of year, they walked into the fateful snare.

Traversing through the dark corridors, Vaultren's eyes adjusted to all of his surroundings. He saw where Alvara went, and he knew where the Altmer and the Bard went, thus he returned the way he came, certain they walked in their intended paths down a place where none of them had ever visited before. His layout, a lie. While there were seperate tunnels, there were no stable chambers, only a large chasm that led deep into the frozen abyss. If they did not watch their steps, they would fall to their deaths.

There was only a single entrance and a single exit, and they were both congruent and one in the same. Vaultren went the way he came, and crouched until he reached the exterior of the entrance. No sign of the brooding trio, for they were exploring the cavern in their own accord.

Stepping out into the wilderness, Vaultren stood at the end of the cave and pulled away the small scroll he had purchased from the trading caravan days ago. He planned to use the arcane parchment for other things, but this would serve its purpose quite well.

Such a small scroll containing such power. To his advantage, his honeyed words and sharp tongue and superior persuasion skills, he was able to barter his purchase without losing too many coin. The khajiiti were great merchants, but they lacked a touch in the art of negotiation.

Thankfully for their not-so-shrewd capabilities, he read the scroll, adopting spell with his studious eyes. Fire, indeed, was a destructive force. It licked away and devoured everything in sight. But in snow, it would serve no use, unless it was an explosion. A fiery one. By rolling the barrels onto the cave entrance, he was ready to commence his plan.

Filled with pure rum from the cart of Redguard travelers before their untimely demise at the arrows of Bosmeri archers, the barrels were a liquified explosive. He rolled them upwards and set them at the entrance of the cave. With a proper blast, the snow collected above the mountain would fall over and trap them inside, along with the stones.

With a gesture of the hand, Vaultren formed sparks in his hand which morphed into a concentrated fireball. His hands shook, his eyes were set and focused on the cavern entrance. With a long, prideful exhale, he forced the fiery blast from his fist. His teeth gritted into a terrible scowl, darkening his countenance amidst the bright light.

A raging inferno formed at his feet and formed a powerful funnel that twisted and turned through the air and toward the doomed barrels. Yellow and orange mixed in a beautiful illumination of deathly flames which exploded on impact.

The cave interior was obliterated by the blast, and continued to spasm through out, sending shock waves through the stalactite-ridden ceiling. Cracks spread like a web, triggering a tumultous rumble throughout the
interior. The slumbering snow above the cave trembled, and stones and large icy boulders tumbled down to block the path. Layer upon layer of stone collapsed within.

Vaultren's actions, however, had their repurcussions. The blast radius was enormous, that he himself was impacted by a shockwave and was sent back a few feet by the invisible hot battering ram. He crashed onto the snow with an audiably frustrated grunt. At first, he felt no injury.

Long enough, though, that when he climbed to his feet his legs quivered and some of the dust from the
blast had settled. Only when he walked back did he realize that the clash of fire, rum and stone had not left him
unscathed. At some point, perhaps when he was focused entirely on murder, a rock or some other large debris had struck the middle area of his lower back, and now the black robe he wore was drenched in blood.

Despite the dissipating dust, he took in a deep breath, eliciting a piercing pain from his rib cage and a cough that spat cold blood into the frigid air. Drawing on the moment, he numbed himself to the agony and forced his body to limit the damage as best it possibly could. When the injury stopped in its interruptive procupation, he surveyed the area, anchored in place but twisting into a full circle.

As the dust and snow cleared, he saw the door to the cavern completely blocked from the outside, and possibly even the inside as the impact was enough to sent shards of rock to barricade the tunnel. Some minor projectiles did make its way into his skin, and he felt a brief regret that the Dunmeri healer wasn't there to provide her services. In any case chose to remember and honor the souls who might have been lost in the cave.

Alvara, the one who worried about him bringing the Thalmor on their heads, when the sharpened stones of a cave's ceiling would suffice. So volumptous, undoubtedly a succulent one! But her healing would truly be wasted just as her average beauty. Unlike him, she would age and perish. Perhaps? Vaultren believed so.

Kogobal, a scholar who devoted his time in understanding and traveling, may his time in that cavern be enough for him to dream of a life he never truly lived. Feeding himself the knowledge of his fate. If knowlege is power, perhaps you can be powerful enough to teleport out of this place?

Celdryn, the mad Breton, perhaps he could sing and entertain the others before devouring them in an orgiastic abandon induced by demented cannibalism. I passed your Nine-forsaken test, mad one, perhaps you can pass mine? Think of me as the lion who outsmarted a lamb who believed itself a wolf. You now have my consent to die.

A natural avalanche, some would claim. A terrible tragedy! Indeed, a sad catastrophe, Vaultren remarked with a shrug. In any case, the incoming blizzard would impede anyone from discovering this cavern, and the snow would surely cover any trace of magic activity. By the time those inside would be discovered, they may be piles of bone settling as a reminder that hubris and lowering one's own guard can indeed be their downfall.

Raising his black cowl, Vaultren allowed himself a satisfactory smile of triumph and duty. With limping, but vigorous steps, he marched his way through the wilderness to reach Skyrim - -To the North!

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Aug 6 2012, 12:36 AM


--------------------
And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.”
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Uleni Athram
post Aug 9 2012, 04:57 PM
Post #94


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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.


--------------------
I wanna slap people and tell them I love them
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