- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Writing Levels
- Give-No-Fucks
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Genres
- Fantasy, Romance, Medieval, Action, Magic, Sci-fi
It has been decades since the last whisper of a true Dragonborn, the old and withered Greybeards atop the Throat of the World had given up on the hopes of ever seeing another decedent in their lifetimes. The doors of High Hrothgar had never been open to begin with, but to the neighboring members to the East, it felt as if they shut after each year which passed.
Since then, more time has passed until the booming invitation of their voices called down in the hopes that their new apostle might recognize the power of the shout. Alas, they were let down, and the child with the talent they had sought out went unnoticed, unknown, until another twenty years had passed.
She was an innocent thrown into the tides of war, left to grasp at whichever hand was nearby to save herself from drowning. Be it an Imperial or Stormcloak, Dwemer or Nord, the faces never mattered. Survival was embedded in her very bones due to the nature of war, and it was not long before she yearned to greet the men of solitude up on the lonely mountain. It was too late for such wishful thinking. She was dragonborn, both her life and death were wanted.
So begins the tale of a ritual performed, the Black Sacrament, and the life of the Dragonborn was at the hands of the Dark Brotherhood.
So you wish to summon the Dark Brotherhood? You wish to see someone dead? Pray, child. Pray, and let the Night Mother hear your plea.
You must perform that most profane of the rituals - the Black Sacrament.
Create an effigy of the intended victim, assembled from actual body parts, including a heart, skull, bones and flesh. Encircle that effigy with candles.
The ritual itself must then commence. Proceed to stab the effigy repeatedly with a dagger rubbed with the petals of a Nightshade plant, while whispering this plea:
"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear."
Then wait, child, for the Dread Father Sithis rewards the patient. You will be visited by a representative of the Dark Brotherhood. so begins a contract bound in blood.
Since then, more time has passed until the booming invitation of their voices called down in the hopes that their new apostle might recognize the power of the shout. Alas, they were let down, and the child with the talent they had sought out went unnoticed, unknown, until another twenty years had passed.
She was an innocent thrown into the tides of war, left to grasp at whichever hand was nearby to save herself from drowning. Be it an Imperial or Stormcloak, Dwemer or Nord, the faces never mattered. Survival was embedded in her very bones due to the nature of war, and it was not long before she yearned to greet the men of solitude up on the lonely mountain. It was too late for such wishful thinking. She was dragonborn, both her life and death were wanted.
So begins the tale of a ritual performed, the Black Sacrament, and the life of the Dragonborn was at the hands of the Dark Brotherhood.
So you wish to summon the Dark Brotherhood? You wish to see someone dead? Pray, child. Pray, and let the Night Mother hear your plea.
You must perform that most profane of the rituals - the Black Sacrament.
Create an effigy of the intended victim, assembled from actual body parts, including a heart, skull, bones and flesh. Encircle that effigy with candles.
The ritual itself must then commence. Proceed to stab the effigy repeatedly with a dagger rubbed with the petals of a Nightshade plant, while whispering this plea:
"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear."
Then wait, child, for the Dread Father Sithis rewards the patient. You will be visited by a representative of the Dark Brotherhood. so begins a contract bound in blood.
-A Kiss, Sweet Mother
I'm looking for a partner to do an Elder Scrolls rp with! I already started, but my previous partner had some complications and was never able to reply.
There is only one post, and that is mine, to start off the rp.
"Fus." The voice was quiet, barely audible over the rustling wind in the air. Waves of grain rolled over her head, but there was just enough force in her shout that a few stalks ahead of Irene swayed with the power of the shout. She smiled at the accomplishment, it had been a while since she'd attempted to shout, even though it was little more than a murmur among the safety of the wheat fields her family grew.
It was the only word she was familiar with. There were times though, when animals came to her side without her meaning after slipping up a word or two. Irene never meant to turn her words into shouts, it just happened. There was a notebook hidden beneath her bed, keeping track of the words she assumed to be bits of powerful language, but it was getting harder to notice her slip ups, and much harder to keep control of.
"Irene?" A new voice called over the tops of golden waves. A brown head of hair, just visible among the top of the crop, came bounding towards the girl with unknown purpose. He found her, kneeling on the ground with her hands around her mouth, whispering the word over and over again.
Fus.
"Irene, you've got to stop that." He scolded. It was Roland, Irene's elder brother. He towered over her with a thick head of dark brown hair, borderline black when it was dark. A hint of a beard grew on his face, only stubble in his futile attempts at a proper grooming. "What if somebody hears you? What if father hears you, then what?"
"Roland!" She shrieked. Irene was up on her feet in an instant, brushing the dirt off her already filthy dress. The attempt was somewhat in vain, the fabric would never be truly clean.
"Come on, it's time for dinner, I've got the pot ready." Roland sighed. "I swear, you're getting worse every day."
"Oh, you don't mean that." Irene pouted her small pink lips, lines of freckles shifted in turn as she stared unhappily at the back of her brother as he retreated towards the small farm they called home.
To say she was worse wasn't a lie. Irene found that as each day passed, she was unable to keep quiet. Her voice grew louder even when she meant it to be mouthed in the dark. She didn't know what to do. It wouldn't be long before one day the Jarl found out, and in turn, all of Skyrim would know that the Dragonborn rumors of some years ago were true. Such a simple mistake caused by a moment of curiosity would be the end of Irene Aurefield. At least, because of her proximity to the mountain where High Hrothgar was, she would have the chance at a quick escape to live in solitude among the Greybeards.
It was already known that there was a Dragonborn in existence, the question being where. The shouts were all heard near Whiterun, so some speculated it was the echoes from the mountaintop. Others believed in the rumors, and pinpointed Whiterun in order to make their own investigations. Stormcloak and Imperial alike had been at the Aurefield family's door, but every time they sent them away with little more than an apology for not being able to provide any useful information.
"I heard a rumor today." Roland said suddenly.
"And what's that?" Irene asked.
"There was a member of the Dark Brotherhood spotted, South in Riverwood." Roland pushed forward on the farm house door, turning back briefly to give Irene a look of concern. "Make sure you lock the door tonight."
It was the only word she was familiar with. There were times though, when animals came to her side without her meaning after slipping up a word or two. Irene never meant to turn her words into shouts, it just happened. There was a notebook hidden beneath her bed, keeping track of the words she assumed to be bits of powerful language, but it was getting harder to notice her slip ups, and much harder to keep control of.
"Irene?" A new voice called over the tops of golden waves. A brown head of hair, just visible among the top of the crop, came bounding towards the girl with unknown purpose. He found her, kneeling on the ground with her hands around her mouth, whispering the word over and over again.
Fus.
"Irene, you've got to stop that." He scolded. It was Roland, Irene's elder brother. He towered over her with a thick head of dark brown hair, borderline black when it was dark. A hint of a beard grew on his face, only stubble in his futile attempts at a proper grooming. "What if somebody hears you? What if father hears you, then what?"
"Roland!" She shrieked. Irene was up on her feet in an instant, brushing the dirt off her already filthy dress. The attempt was somewhat in vain, the fabric would never be truly clean.
"Come on, it's time for dinner, I've got the pot ready." Roland sighed. "I swear, you're getting worse every day."
"Oh, you don't mean that." Irene pouted her small pink lips, lines of freckles shifted in turn as she stared unhappily at the back of her brother as he retreated towards the small farm they called home.
To say she was worse wasn't a lie. Irene found that as each day passed, she was unable to keep quiet. Her voice grew louder even when she meant it to be mouthed in the dark. She didn't know what to do. It wouldn't be long before one day the Jarl found out, and in turn, all of Skyrim would know that the Dragonborn rumors of some years ago were true. Such a simple mistake caused by a moment of curiosity would be the end of Irene Aurefield. At least, because of her proximity to the mountain where High Hrothgar was, she would have the chance at a quick escape to live in solitude among the Greybeards.
It was already known that there was a Dragonborn in existence, the question being where. The shouts were all heard near Whiterun, so some speculated it was the echoes from the mountaintop. Others believed in the rumors, and pinpointed Whiterun in order to make their own investigations. Stormcloak and Imperial alike had been at the Aurefield family's door, but every time they sent them away with little more than an apology for not being able to provide any useful information.
"I heard a rumor today." Roland said suddenly.
"And what's that?" Irene asked.
"There was a member of the Dark Brotherhood spotted, South in Riverwood." Roland pushed forward on the farm house door, turning back briefly to give Irene a look of concern. "Make sure you lock the door tonight."
The story follows that of a Dark Brotherhood member and a young unknown Dragonborn. My character is the latter, and decides to remain anonymous to spare herself the troubles of choosing a side in the war.
A hit has been placed on the Dragonborn, but just before the assassin is to take her life, he discovers it was a ruse by someone higher up within the Brotherhood who had accepted a large cash deposit from an unnamed Jarl. The purpose was to change the tides of war, to take the power of a Dragonborn before their potential could be realized.
Now, with turmoil in the Brotherood, bribes being discovered left and right, the assassin takes it upon himself to deliver the girl either to the Grey Beards up on the Throat of the World, or to the Jarl who wanted her head.
Plot can be changed of course. But I'd love to hear back from someone!