Elder Scrolls: Skyrim

The battle arose to be a loss to the Imperials, and Roan had barely escaped capture by the grit of his teeth. His horse, Forest, carried him unharmed as while he was wounded gravely. Three arrows to his right shoulder and a mortally wounding gash to his left side. It was normal to assume he was not going to make it without help... but he persisted to move on. The cold air of the great mountains were beginning to thin out his blood, if the lack of healing did not strike him, then the bitter cold would. That or its foul creatures lurking close to the shadowing winds of Skyrim.

Roan gripped the rails of his horse with his right hand, while his left lay limb; uses from the arrows lodged in his shoulder. Streams of his thick crimson blood leaked down his armor, leaving small droplets against the ground. He began slumping over as his vision began to blur, his eyes felt heavy Soon his horse began to approach the road as his body began to give. Roan released his grip and fell off his horse, landing in a pit of snow.

His breath picked up the pace as he started to drag himself along, blood laying in the snow. As he stopped he could hear the sound of trotting hooves, hopefully other horses for a farmer. Before he could know, he finally passed out in the cold. His horse curled around him to shield him of the snow. It was a cold way to give in to fate, but the Gods would decide of him now... Hopefully, someone would notice him, by morning.. or at least before something else does..
 
He had made it to Whiterun and for some reason began to despise it as fast as he saw it. A civilized place he thought as he walked the stone road towards the center of town. It was still the midst of night and he needed to find a place to be out of the cold. He walked by the homes that were lit by candle light and passed by a few imperial guards patrolling the streets. He seem to hate them more and more as he saw a new one pass. He knew they hated him because he was a "true" Nord. They would find any reason to throw him in their jail and never let him see the light of day again. So that just means I'll have to get the information I need and get out of this Imperial dog town he thought as he came across a sign near a lodge door.

The words "Bannored Mare " were written over the sign and Dash pushed open the doors to find himself in a much more warm environment. A raging fire was tamed by a large firepit in the middle of the lodge. Their were patrons of all types here but mostly Nords like himself. For once since he began his journey he felt that he was home. They were all conversing and talking about the old days of Skyrims history as he walked by. To his right their stood a wooden counter with the owner standing behind it. Dash made his way over to the counter and laid out some gold coin on the table. "I would like to stay for the evening, ofcourse with some food and mead." He spoke firmly as he continued to survey the room.

The owner who was cleaning a wooden mug at the time raised her hand over the gold and said. 'Ofcourse, what ever you want." She gave him a hot meal and two meads of ale before turning around and continuing the task of cleaning. Dash nodded and walked over to the corner table in the back and sat down across what appeared to be another adventurer. He ate his warm food fast and gulped down his first mead. Praising the god Talos for his tasty mead. The songs of past were ringing through out the Bannored Mare as Dash finished his second drink before asking the adventurer in front of him where he could find the forsworn. "To the west.." He answered and continued. "But I wouldn't go looking for them." Dash didn't need this man's opinion as he stood up and thanked him for the information. He marched up to his room and laid out on his bed, planning his next move. He would need to go west but on foot would be much harder than he could withstand. No he needed some other way of transportation and he had to cone up with help fast.
 
Nahvikin drew her daggers that were still at her side. Pushing the other against the wall, she pressed the daggers against his throat. "You may not be from the Dawnstar sanctuary, but you will respect me. I owe you nothing and with your attitude, the only thing you'll get is the cold tip of my blades. Since you are here, you must come to my sanctuary. After all, you are family. But you should know your place. I'm the nightmothers unholy matron." She finished leaving a nick on the mans chin before backing away. "And if you must know, my targets were many and one slipped an arrow into my back. Besides, for this mission, I left my brotherhood armor in the sanctuary." Nahvi walked over to gather her gear, preparing to go back to the sanctuary. "What is your name brother?"
 
"Wow," Criston breathed, "That sounds wonderful. I think I may like.. to visit Valenwood one day if I'm able. When it still isn't home to me as Morrowind will always be.. it does sound like a great place to see. And you're right... cold and harsh as it is, Skyrim does have its own beauty."
He smiled and looked around to take in the scenery, nodding once in approval.
"Well anyway," he said with a short chuckle, "It's a place to explore."

"And.. as for your dog and horse," he continued, "I'd consider them lucky for being rescued as they were by you. It's only too bad I ran across no such luck as a free horse." He laughed louder at that, "I'm not the luckiest I suppose.."
Sighing, he continued, "Not lucky at all. Things lately haven't been going to greatest. The luckiest thing to happen to me lately was for you to show up and save my life as you did. I still think myself in your debt for that for a long time."
 
"Issac. I'll escort you to your sanctuary. Do you have your horse with you or did you get that stolen too?" Issac had blurted out without thinking. He never early cared much for ranks so he had not treated her with enough respect. Still, he owed it to himself to at least try.

"I'm sorry. It's not place to show such disrespect, but we must go if we are to stay silent and secret."

Issac had started to head out of dragonsreach and towards the stable. Passing through alleyways and dark passages under the cover of night. He had a midnight black horse, but nowhere near as close to the power of the fabled shadow mere.
 
Smiling, Selene replied, "No, it's really fine. I'm sure anyone else would have done the same if put in my situation."
Just then, Schemer halted. He lifted his head a bit, glancing around, his nose twitching madly. He let out a short, loud bark, then leaped into the new-fallen snow, barking more rapidly. He stopped some distance from the main road and started wagging his tail fiercely, shoving his face into something.
"Let's go see what he found." Selene said urgently, turning Goddess. The trio sent the powder snow flying everywhere. "It's a man and a horse!" She cried, leaping off the back of the mare before she had stopped. "The man is wounded. His horse was protecting him from the elements, it seems. We need to get him to a healer, any healer." The Bosmer inspected his body for wounds; none of them were deep enough to kill him soon, but eventually blood loss or infection would take over. Her eyes stopped at an Imperial insignia on his armor; he was the enemy.
"You ride Goddess into Whiterun, I'll take this guy on his horse. We Wood Elves have a way with animals, and his horse might feel safer if its owner is nearby." She ordered. Quietly, she whispered to the horse, telling it to get up and explaining the situation in her native tongue. Hopefully, it would comprehend it and obey, at least for the sake of its wounded rider.

((Bah. Bad post is bad x_x))
 
((OoC: Sorry I was gone [mostly] for the past two days ^^; and will be not here much for the next two))

Criston shot up more in his little spot as the dog began barking. Worried it was something bad, he clenched onto Selene and shivered a little.
"What...?" he started before Selene suggested they go see what he found.
Criston nodded a little and tried to hide himself behind her, still worried it was something bad.

He soon saw what she saw and nearly fell off Goddess himself as she jumped off. He noticed the wounded man and stared in awe, unable to say anything for him.
Listening as she inspected him, he nodded, "R-Right. A healer."
"W.. Wait!" he said suddenly, "You want me to...?" He looked down at the horse Goddess and bit his lip, not sure about riding her alone. He simply nodded and cut off his question by instead replying with, "Alright. I can do that. We should hurry, no?"
 
((Sorry for completely controlling your character back there :I I'm just anxious to get to Whiterun. And it's okay c:))

"Agreed. I have no idea how long he's been here or how much blood he's lost. For all we know, he could be barely hanging on." Selene said. She leaned forward on the man's horse and kicked it's ribs. The horse shot forward, either startled by the kick or afraid for its rider. The cold air bit against Selene's face and eyes, but she did not complain. A life was at stake, and it was in her hands. Even if they were on opposite sides, he did not deserve to die for something so petty.
 
((OoC: Ah that's fine :3 ))

Criston nodded a reply and trotted Goddess along after Selene. He was thankful he didn't forget how to ride after all his time of walking without a horse to accompany him.
"If that's the case.." he started, "I mean if he's really that hurt then we shouldn't waste any time and get to Whiterun as fast as we can. How long do you.. suppose it'll take us to get there?"
He looked down the road as they rode, wondering this. He still wasn't sure where they were and how far Whiterun still was. Hopefully it wasn't all that far away now. If it was... well he'd think of that later.
 
"I don't know how long. Hopefully, we'll get their before nightfall. I fear if the sun sets, his fate is sealed." Selene took in a breath sharply, then kicked the horse's ribs again. "We cannot afford to lose any more time!" She called.
And what if they didn't reach Whiterun in time? What if this man died because of her? Her friend had almost died because of her, and she still could not get over it. The guilt would be simply too much for her to bear if this Imperial died.
 
((Ooc: Super sorry that I haven't posted. The site has been all screwed up for me lately. D: I've just now been able to get on. >.<))

Anja woke up in an inn. By Shor.. Anja groaned as she sat upright. She noticed that her body wasn't stiff: her armour was placed neatly on the table in the room. She was dressed in normal clothing: A dress with a white blouse-like top that fell off her shoulders and a black-ish skirt attached. The garb was a bit big on her, but it was comfortable. Perhaps I should try this dress thing more often.. She let out a breathy chuckle and groaned again as the sound racked her chest with pain. Her features were fixed into somewhat of a grimace as she closed her eyes tightly a moment until the pain passed.

She couldn't remember why she had run. She guessed that it really didn't matter at the moment. What really mattered was finding out where the hell she was. Anja stood slowly, then made her way to the door. Her light blonde locks had fallen into her face, so she carefully raised a hand to brush the stray strands away and behind her ear. Her signature cerulean-blue Nord eyes were bright, but underneath her eyes was dark from lack of restful sleep. Something kept her from sleeping peacefully. Upon exiting the room, she walked out into the main room of the inn. What... she looked around with confusion. She half-expected to be in the Bannered Mare. She had no idea where she was. "Oi, Nord girl!" a man from behind the counter called out to her, and her gaze quickly darted to look at the man who had called out to her: Wilhelm, the owner.
 
Deep in the mountainous region of Whiterun, cries of battle and the clash of steel echoed from the entrance to the crypt known as Hillgrund's Tomb. Deep within, a Nord named Tor battled vailiantly against a group of draugr. Golden light from his heavy dwarven armor illuminated the tomb's walls as the ancient weapons glanced off its surface, sparking heavily. Tor cried out menacingly as he bashed a draugr's skull in with his shield and embedded his fiery axe deep into the chest of another, producing the smell of burning rotted flesh. The trek into the tomb, mixed with numerous battles with the undead and the ever increasing hoard of treasure he was collecting, was beginning to take it's toll on Tor.

As the last of the rank and file draugr fell beneath his might, Tor breathed a sigh of relief. It was a little too soon he realized. With a loud crash, the cover on one final tomb burst forth and a fierce undead warrior clambered out. Its armor was heavier and power seemed to seep from it's skin. This was the Deathlord that Tor had come to defeat. Its eyes glowed an icy blue and it's sword was covered in an unnatural frost. It raised its blade as if to challenge the mortal before it. Tor bashed his sheild with his axe in response and dropped into a combat stance.

The deathlord reared back and let loose an earsplitting cry in the ancient draconic tongue. Tor staggered backwards at the force of it before letting out his own battle cry. He seemed to grow in size and power. He gripped his enchanted axe and charged the undead monstrosity. The clash of steel from the epic battle rang all the way out of the tomb. Tor and the draugr danced a ceasless dance of death as each other blocked and parried each other's attacks as they continued to press the fight. Tor had faced many draugr but this one was exceptionally powerful. A swing from the creatures sword struck Tor's shield and knocked him to the ground. As it reared back to strike, Tor saw his opportunity for victory. He lashed out with his axe, taking the draugr's rotten legs clean off. With the upper hand, Tor stood and crushed the Deathlord's skull beneath his golden boots.

A smile crossed his lips as he gathered the remaining treasure from the crypt and headed outside. Once there Tor removed his helm to feel the suns rays upon his face. He had been in that particular dungeon for quite some time. He breathed deeply the cold, crisp Skyrim air as ice began to cover his beard. Tor hung his shield and axe on his back and made his way down the mountainside to the great capital of Whiterun hold. Once their he proceeded to sell off the treasure he had collected before continuing on to Dragonsreach to collect his bounty for the ancient draugr.

With another adventure complete and a pocketful of gold, Tor receeded to the Bannered Mare to drink, rest and listen to the bard.
 
"Wh-..what?" Anja was still a bit out of it as she called back out to the could that called her 'Nord girl'. Having just woke up, her eyelids were still havy with the weight of sleep, and so she brushed her hands over her eyes to relieve them of whatever weight continued to try and pull them back down and bring her back into the realm of sleep. She felt physically, as well as mentally exhausted. What the cause was, she couldn't remember. And she had yet to find out. Except, she did know that she had run from Whiterun. A grimace crossed her features, as she remembered how she had just left Kodlak's funeral, without saying a word. It was a disrespectful thing to do, but she meant no disrespect to the man that she considered to be her father. She hoped that he would forgive her. Anja then cleared her throat, and spoke again, as it seemed that the innkeeper that had spoken out to her hadn't heard her, since he had yet to reply. So, she spoke again, a bit louder this time: "What?" Anja locked her gaze on his, and with a nod, the man replied. "Good. You're finally awake. I thought you'd never get up." His reply was accompanied by a grin and the crossing of his arms against his chest. Anja shifted the position in which she was standing, moving her weight onto her right leg, then crossed her own arms just below her chest as she looked to the floor of the inn. "Sorry," she replied quietly.

"It's no matter, girl," he paused for a moment, then spoke up again: "How are you feeling? And your hands, how are they?" Anja felt alright. There was a slight ache in her left shoulder, but other than that.. she felt pretty good. But.. her hands? That confused her a bit. Why had he specifically mentioned her hands? There had to have been a reason. There was only one way to find out. She looked down at her hands, facing her palms up toward her, then inspected the four small scars that were on each palm. She squeezed her hands into gentle fists, then found that her nails met right up with the marks on her hands. Anja then remembered her heated walk from Whiterun, and how she had dug her nails into her palms out of anger. They had bled. They should be scabbed over. But, they looked as if they had been healing for a few days now. This puzzled her. "I healed you to the best of my ability. I am, by no means, skilled in the way of magic. But, I did what I could." Anja smiled, "Thank you, sir.. what is your name, if I may ask, so that I may address you properly?" -- "Wilhelm," he replied, "And yours, lass?" -- "Anja," she smiled again. "Lovely name." -- "Thank you."

After a moment of silence and a bit of awkward glancing about the room, Anja cleared her throat, then spoke to Wilhelm again. "Where did you find me?" Of course, she was curious about that. Had she just passed out on one of the nearby paths, or was she farther away..? Either way, she couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed. She was a warrior. She should be able to fend for herself. "I had been transporting a barrel of mead from Honningbrew to bring it back here to my inn," Wilhelm then motioned over to an unopened barrel of mead. It was fairly fresh. That's what the sweet honey smell had been. "I found you passed out on the path near the Valthiem Towers. At first, I had figured that the bandits holed up in the towers had got to you. But when I got closer, it seemed that you had managed to sneak by without them noticing." Anja did remember sneaking. She was far from being good at sneaking, but.. apparently, she was good enough. She paused for a moment in quiet thought, and it seemed like even the people drinking at the tables in the inn had decided to be quiet for that moment.

Anja looked left, then right, then ran her palm over the back of her head and let out a quiet sigh. She figured that the should probably ask how long she had been sleeping. "How long was I out?" -- "A full day. I honestly thought that you'd sleep longer," Wilhelm looked her over, then his eyes rested on the dark circles below her eyes. "You still look very tired." Anja nodded a bit, then put on somewhat of a half-hearted smile. With another sigh, she looked down, then quickly snapped her head back up to look at Wilhelm. Where the hell was she!? "Uh-.. Wilhelm... where are we?" Wilhelm's eyes widened a bit at the realization that the poor girl had no idea where she was. How could he have been so foolish as to forget to tell her? "Gods... I am sorry, miss Anja. How that slipped my mind, I don't even know.. you're in Ivarstead." A pang of something went of Anja's chest. 'Ivarstead...' she thought. She began to feel a pull within her, tugging her upwards. "High Hrothgar." She said out-loud, to no one in particular. Wilhem simply looked on at her with a brow raised.
 
((OOC: Finally getting to posting :o ))

Milena examined her surroundings but found only a bleak and desolate landscape. She knew that she had to get to the College in Winterhold and find out what had happened, how long she was out of time for. She cast her clairvoyance spell, having it direct towards the College. Judging by how cold it was and how shallow her breaths were, she was high up in altitude. She let out a small sigh and started her way down the mountains. She took care to avoid any possible threats (not that she couldnt handle most wild threats as it were), bypassing wolf packs and the occasional bandit group.

She wanted off of the forsaken mountain before it got dark, as she didnt want to freeze to death, so she used some of her Alteration magics to increase the pace as to which she can walk to expedite her descent. Barren rock soon turned into tree-scape as she was able to get down the mountains. Looking to the sky, she saw faint wisps of smoke and the setting sun, she would have to make haste to get to the College.
 
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