Currently this roleplay is CLOSED. Because apparently you can't say if a thread is open/closed in the title. :|
This is the IC thread. The OOC thread can be found here.


"The lives of a few can shape those of a nation."

Far to the north of the White Tower, of the the Imperial city, rests the homeland of all Men who dwell in Tamriel - Skyrim. A country of frost and hardy people; of strength and death.
It is here the empire launches its assault, to once again unite all of Tamriel under its rule. Here, the Nords must once again take up axe and sword to defend their way of life. The realm shall tremble under their feet, the high peaks shall ring with the thunder that is steel on steel. The deepest dwellers shall hear the cries of wasted lives, as each tide crashes into the other in bravery and determination. Neither is right. Neither is wrong. And yet, the white canvas of the North shall run red with the blood kinship.

Sultren Doomshout stands as the mighty High King of Skyrim, ruling over the nine holds as an honored as respected leader. Ilsun Solven IV is the new and young Emperor of the Empire, due to his father's untimely death. In an effort to prove his worth and gain the people's respect, he has set out to once again reunite all of Tamriel as one - and has thusfar succeeded with both Hammerfall and Morrowind, both which had been freed by their own rebellions inspired by Skyrim's, over a century ago.
But more than just the Empire wages war on Skyrim - many dragons have taken from their high roosts to the countryside, destroying everything in their path. Rarely seen since the arrival of the Dragonborn and the banishment of Alduin, the sudden and violent emergence has nearly shattered the already weak moral of Skyrim's inhabitants. In an effort to quell the beasts, many Jarls have commissioner dragon hunters, sending them out to slay the beasts and upheave their breeding grounds.
The reason why the dragons have chosen to attack at this time is as mysterious as the beasts themselves. Is the Empire involved? Has Alduin returned? Will the people of Skyrim once again see the rise of the fabled Dragonborn?
The Empire has already taken Folkreath and Markarth along with what little remains of Riften, and now they march on Whiterun. If they succeed, will the Dragons just pick at the leftover Empire? Will the war even leave a Skyrim left to be conquered?

The Elder Scrolls have foretold this all.

The shackles lay heavy on his scaly wrist. The frozen winds of the north blew its icy bone chilling breath. Ah-zara's body quaked; the only thing protecting him was a thin layer of tattered cloth that felt transparent. The steel cage caused the wind to howled with its fury. A fire reflected light revealing his snake like features to the world. "Why am I here, this isn't what the dreams told me would happen." he thought, sitting cross legged huddling to himself for warmth. The fire was surrounded by blood thirsty bandits and filthy merchants who needed the cheap work of others to keep themselves running. A large voice roared over the others.
"How much do you want for that filthy snake in the cage over there?" Another man much smaller than the others stood up, as Ah-zara eyes opened when he realized it was him they were discussing.
"Six hundred gold." the smaller man said. "Six hundred?! For a skinny thing like that? Three hundred at most" The two exchanged words back and forth. Their conversation was over, and suddenly Ah-zara's life was in someone else’s hands. The large man made his way over to the cage with the single key, unlocked the door. "Get up you worthless worm!" Reluctantly the order was carried out. "I can't wait to ssee the look on your face and I run you though" his slithery tongue spoke.
"All talk, I’ll see you rot before that happens" He grabbed the shackles lugging the argonian behind him. "We leave immediately you’re the last one I needed"

Along the outskirts of the camp, a wagon laid faintly illuminated by a small lanturn, a few slaves sat in the back still in there shackles as well. The man threw the argonian into the back taking up the only space left. Ah-zara looked around at the other skinny, grimy, dirt covered people. The man jumped on the front of the wagon along with two others and with a snap of a whip, the horses began to move. Miles passed as all remained silent besides the scuffling of hooves and the roll of the wheels on the hard dirt. "Where are we?" one of prisoners whispered. Another replied in a quiet hush "Riften, They took me right out of the town!" Ah-zara had no desire to talk to any of them, most of them being Imperial or Nordic decent they despised him already. "Where are we going" Another called out. His words were too loud and the man turn cracking his whip back at the prisoners. "Quiet you pigs, your all working for my owner right outside of Falkreath!" More miles passed and the silence grew. "Corpselight farm?" a grimy beared man said breaking the silence. the prisoners chattered quietly as the cart dragged on.

The air became still and even the wind seemed to grow silent. Then the earth began to move slightly, then came the thundering drum like noise distant at first, it grew louder and louder. Then it began to sound more like the flutter of large wings. Prisoners looked about franticly. The horses became uneasy and stopped, guards drew their swords. "Dragon!" The large man shouted in panic. The thunders claps were accompanied by a loud, blood curling roar. Suddenly the wagon was thrown knocking its contents along the road, shattering wood from the impact of its tail. The horses toppled and struggled to regain their footing. Az-zara made contact with the ground, stood up only to be blinded by light. The shrill scream of men and horses pierced his ears as fire consumed them. The dragon landed and made quick work of a prisoner picking him up with its teeth and swallowing him whole. The Men began to run franticly. A lone guard picked up a spear that had been thrown off the carriage. "Back!" he yelled waving it franticly at the dragon; it hissed and roared at him as it moved closer.

Az-zara saw the opportunity and ran for the trees away from everyone else. The Dragon hissed again turning to see the argonian fleeing. Its eyes became wide as it called out "Dovahkiin!" It arched its head down preparing to bellow its fire. His mouth opened but before it could breath, a spear from the lone guard pierced the dragon’s eye and drove in deeper. It screamed in pain, stumbled back and began to spray fire over everything. Az-zara's cold blood pumped rapidly as he ran and ran though snow and rocks. The dragon in his half blind rage torched everything till everything around it was a pile of ashes. It stumbled around looking for anything that still moved but nothing was to be found. It then faltered taking off as blood poured from its eye, it flew back to its cave. A meal was no longer important to it.

The shackles grew heavier as he worked his way up the mountain. His body was getting tired and he hasn't eaten anything in days. Snow began to come down harder everything in its path; soon he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. "Shelter" The snow subsided long enough that he could make out a cave entrance a few yards ahead. He headed to it entering the almost consuming darkness. A low growl came from deep inside and for a second Az-zara was taken back. His eyes adjusted as he entered deeper. Far off he could make out a shape of something large and moving. It made its way closer to him, within ten yards. A deep shrill voice called out echoing of the near walls. "It is you dovahkiin!"

Dusk had settled deeply into Skyrim, casting dark shadows. To the west the sun still lit up the sky in a beautiful orange and red glow. The wheels of a wagon squeaked as it rolled down a cold valley pass, littered with light snow and patches of green. Although 'summer' in this land was only a month ago, it was as cold as ever. The snow never left Skyrim. Some ponder that the snow could be older than the Empire itself.
The wagon moved around a fallen pine that blocked part of the road. Wind blew down the valley in the gathering twilight, biting at the wagon as it flew. It was a route used often these days; one of the few passages through the mountains into Skyrim, from Cyrodiil. Thus it was often watched by bandits.
It was Turdas, the 21st of Last Seed. Winter would soon be setting in, chilling what little of the land wasn't already layered in snow. It would be a long winter, as all Skyrim ones are. The soldiers on both sides would likely huddle in their tents and avoid movement as they waited for war.

The wagon slid to a halt.
"What now?" muttered a young mage sitting the carriage's hold by the name of Kelten Ashburn. Gifted in destruction magics, he cradled a small flame in gloved hands to keep warm. The elderly man that was driving glanced back at Kelten.
"Highway men. I'll deal with em'," he wheezed. Nalten Furbeard, right? Carriage driver from Ch- A loud voice with a heavy Nord accent interrupted his thought.
"Greetings, brother." Kelten did his best to not be noticed, bowing his head in the hold. Bandits extort money out of everyone - the less people they see, the less you give up. "Going in ta Skyrim? Odd time of year ta do that, especially with the war n' all."
"Going to visit some family," mumbled Nalten. The bandit climbed onto the carriage; Kelten could feel it shift with new weight.
"Ain't that wonderful, Imperial. I hope you weren't plannin' on bringing any gifts with ya." The carriage bounced as the bandit waved to his fellows, who had been hiding in the treeline. "Search it," the bandit's apparent leader ordered.
Wonderful. A pair of bandits made their way to the back of the carriage to hop in.
"X'avar sees a passenger, boss," spoke one, a Khajiit, a crooked smile in his voice. "Climb out slowly, scared one, or X'avar will swing heavy axe." The mage glanced up. X'avar stood at the tailgate, a large iron axe in hand, with a Redguard next to him. Kelten held up both hands, showing he had no weapon.
"I'm unarmed," his voice sounding feeble. X'avar bounced the axe in his paws, unconvinced.
"Small knife easy to hide. Out." Kelten did as he was told, landing on slippery cobblestone. "There, Imperial have no blade," X'avar laughed, shoving his victim away.
"Fur burns well. Wanna see?" Before the bandit could conjure a response, flame exploded from both upraised palms. The Khajiit fell to the ground, shrieking in pain. The Redguard already had his blade out, about to stab at the mage. But Kelten merely turned his palms towards him, and he too fell in a pile of burning flesh and screams.
"Do not move, or I will kill the old man!" shouted a voice. The mage had almost forgotten about the final bandit, who now stood on the carriage, a blade pressed to Nalten's neck. Kelten shrugged.
"Oh no, please don't. Whatever will I do if he died." The Nord's brow furrowed before a fireball blew him off the carriage. Nalten grabbed his own neck to make sure it was all still there. But the mage quickly climbed back into the carriage, unphased. "Get this moving again, please."

* * *

Turdas, 21st of Last Seed
Dear Journal,
Today I had a delightful fifteen hour day in a carriage. I even made a few friends on the way to Falkreath! It was long, cold, and boring. I am now lodged in an equally boring but not-quite-as-cold tavern with the pathetic name "Sabertooth's Den." It smells like feet. And cats. And dogs. And smelly people.
I have finally made it to Skyrim. Tomorrow, I will socialize with the dirty townsfolk and try to learn what I can about the alluring magic known as 'Shouts.' It is my belief that no one will be able to tell me anything useful in this blight of a town, and I will need to move onto Markarth in two days and see what I will there.

I think there is a rat in my bed. I hate it here already.

'Smoke billows out of a normal Markarth home as sounds of hammering on an anvil resound with great force. A sign hangs outside the home adorning the name "Gro-Karosh Arms & Armor". People pass by without notice, without even looking, knowing that this forge is one of great legend, and history. A knock is heard from the door followed by sounds of laughter.
"Who is it?," a man from inside responds.
"Post from Solitude!" says one of the children.
"Oh, I see, I'll be right there!" Locks can be heard being turned as one of the other children state,
"You guys know the plan right?" followed by a nod of agreement from the rest of them, "Alright, get ready, I can hear him coming!" The children kneel down and roll up a snowball and discreetly hide them behind their backs.
"Sorry to keep you waiting! Got to have home security these days!" once again heard from the man inside.
"This old coot is taking forever. He better hurry up, my hands are getting cold!," one of them says, "Shut up Haldyn, you're going to ruin the trick with all your blubbering!" "Sorry Thedret.." "Now shhhh. He should be coming out at any moment!" The final lock clicks and the door swings open, an Orc stands in the doorway for a moment, "Ah, children? Couriers are rather desperate these days... Anyways, can I have my---" "Happy Koomu Alezer'i!" the kids yell as they throw their snowballs with great swings toward the Orc. Splat split splat, snowballs are heard hitting inside the home and around the Orc, as one heads straight towards his face. Splat. "Hahaha, head-shot!" one of the children says as they run away into the winding roads of Markarth.

"Silly, typical Redguard children, always playing practical jokes and tricks on others," the Orc states as he wipes the remaining water and bits of snow left on his face to the floor. He shuts the door and returns to his seat by the fire.

"Rrog gro-Karosh are you home?" asks a Nord woman from outside, "Take a step away from your books!"
Well I'm quite popular today aren't I?
"Who is ittt~?"
"I guess I can always give away this package I have for you.. Some people could make use of it I'm sure.."
"Now, now there is no need for that! Give me a moment!"
Rrog opens the door, with a fairly attractive nord woman stands in the doorway.
"Here you go Rrog. Package from a courier outside of town looking for you. Its called 'Dragons & Lore V6. You sure are obsessed with those things." she says as she sticks out her tongue.
"Haha. Thank you Tilma Snow-Song, you know me all too well."
"No problem Rrog! Well I have to go home now, my parents said to come and visit us sometimes! See you later!"
"Goodbye, remember you can visit also, at anytime, you're always welcome!"

"Ah, Dragons & Lore V6, I have long awaited you, Archmage Valdred, to send me a copy!" Rrog says as he closes the door and starts to return once again to his chair. He sets the book into his satchel and thinks to himself, "Hold on a moment... Appreciation Day is soon... I had better leave with haste if i want to reach the new Temple of Mara in time!" Rrog hurriedly packs his bags and leaves his house. He readies and mounts his horse, loads his luggage and leaves Markarth in a rush, repeating the things he needs to pray for when he reaches the Temple.

The words drifted though his head without recognition. Of course Az-zara had seen a dragon, never this close before. He was still shaken up from the previous events. “Come to steal my soul?!" The beast muttered in an unfamiliar tongue. It held up a razor sharp talon ready to strike down the smaller reptile. Azara fell back against the rocky floor fearing for his life, as the dragon struck. Not at him but at the hard cave wall. It began carving into the earth leaving sparks in its wake. Strange symbols formed where his claw had been.

Outside the fury of the north began to subside, the winds died down, and the snow came to a halt. All to be met by the rise of a new sun. As light began to peak over the mountain the first few rays of sunshine pierced the dark cave illuminating its content. The winged beast winced once as his eye adjusted to the change. The argonian cast his eyes up and for the first time saw the real dragon. Its scales were dark salmon red with hard tan underbelly. But it was the head that took him by surprise, blood oozed down its face on one side. Only a blunt wooded handle protruded from its eye socket.

"Now dovahkiin, my death shall not be in vain" its native tongue spoke as it gently lowered its self against the cold stone. "In time you will learn young one..." Its one eye closed and its breathing became silent till only the argonians stark breathing remained. Suddenly the dragon’s corpse became illuminated, shining brightly. Streams of light flowed and jumped, making their way at Az-zara like waves of shining water. As the light began to surround him, the body began to deteriorate leaving only the wooden spear and its skeletal remains. The dancing lights swirled and danced their way around him, and then in an instant they vanished. A vigorous feeling came over him, the cold vanished, his hunger diminished. He looked at his still shackled hands and felt the strength run though them. "What now?" he thought to himself. When something caught his eye, the symbols on the wall almost seem to pop off the wall. Letters almost appeared in his head, jumbled at first but then they all formed together.
“Feim” his mind called to him. “Feim” It rolled off his tongue. Instantly his body became clear, hollow, and transparent. Az-zara looked down at his hands.

…………………………………………………………………………………

“Falkreath, it was close and maybe someone could help me” he mulled over the thought in his mind. “But where to look?” dark cloth robes covered him from head to toe, to hide his still shackled wrist. “The Inn, there are always shady, dark characters willing to do anything for a few gold pieces.”

"Sabertooth's Den," was as cozy as the name implied. In true Nord fashion, it was a building constructed out of wood with a hay roof. Two doors opened to the main room, which was long and wide with a low ceiling, lined with a chairs and a single counter that ran the perimeter of the room, save for beyond a large oak desk resting near the far wall. Behind it usually stood Regden, a rather bulky brown-haired and unintelligent Nord who gave a faint whiff of urine, who introduced himself to Kelten upon his arrival. What little open wall was left was snatched up by various shelves, hosting wine, mead, beer, and old crops for serving.
There were two sets of rooms; the upstairs and downstairs. Due to the low roof, most of the rooms were upstairs, with the owner's and a few 'overflow' rooms resting in the ground. Kelten had filled the final upstairs room, much to his dismay. A quiet basement would have been his preference. But, in an effort to learn what he needed, the young mage now sat at the counter, not far from Regden. All the quiet corners were taken; one by an Imperial missing an arm, another by an intimidating figure clad in a heavy cloak, and a third by a Kahjiit who seemed a bit too preoccupied by a string on his shirt. The final sanctuary hosted the stairs to the upper rooms.
As a rather terrible bard danced around a fireplace set in one wall, Kelten took turns glaring at each culprit, occasionally even casting the blame on the stairs.
Stupid No-arm. Stupid shade man. Stupid cat. Stupid stairs. As if sensing attention, the Kahjiit snapped a look at the Imperial, glaring with massive yellow orbs. But just as quickly, the movement of string consumed his attention. Skooma, Kelten reasoned. Regden, the bartender, wandered over in a pathetic attempt at stealth, washing a tankard as he did so.
"Anything I canna' get you, Imperial?" He questioned, the Nordic accent all too noticeable. Kelten slouched in his seat, burying his face in folded arms.
"Mrrvrumbv."
"Eh?"
"I said, do you know what Shouts are?!" Irritated, he had stood up a bit abruptly, voice a drop too loud. The bard paused, and all fell silent until he caught himself to continue. Taken aback, Regden stumbled a reply.
"T-them yelling, or them Dragonborn magics?"
"The yelling, clearly. What do you think, dolt?" Regden's blank expression and silence just led to further irritate Kelten. "The magic - dragon - baby - things!" He elaborated in snap, waving his hands around to show his intolerance.
"OH. Them shouts," Regden swallowed. "Erm, they be a magic that the Dragonborn used. Used thurr voice to make magic. But when tha' Dragonborn died, only ones who can use em' now are tha' Greybeards, up on the Throat of the World." With a satisfied smile, Kelten's annoyance vanished. As calmly as he could, he sat down.
"Where may I find this, 'Throat of the World,' erm, Regbread?"
"Regden," he corrected, fidgeting with the tankard before continuing. "Biggest mountain in all of Skyrim - can see it from anywheres. Gotta go to Lar's Cabin; little hut on da other side of the mountain. Best way ta get there would be ta head to Whiterun, pick up a map there n' some directions."
"Wonderful!" Kelten cheered, tugging on Regden's shirt. "Here, Reckhen. Get me some bread, vension, and a bottle of wine. Take a seat! I'm in a good mood."
A very good mood.

The wind blew cold. The smell of death lingered in the air. Howling was heard in the distance, a pack of wolves warning other packs to stay clear. Along the ice cold river, lay the body of an Elf. The icy water lapped at her torn body. As she appeared lifeless, her breathing had slowed, and her temperture had dropped. Travelers passed her body, sneering at the sight that beheld before them, many had also robbed her of her belongings. The Elf had slowly opened her eyes. Before she could even breathe, pain overfilled her body. She only could scream. Her voice was parched and raspy with the absence of days without water.

The pain burned as if her skin was on fire. The cold water seemed as if it were the only thing that cared enough to help ease the pain. The Elf's body shook, her small, weak body couldn't handle so much at one time. After hours of what seemed to be forever, the pain begain to cease with the numbing of the river. She gritted her teeth and bared through enough to sit up. Dawn was approching. With a quick examination of herself, she had relized she was stripped of all her clothes and belongings. Her body was embedded with infected claw marks and wounds. She had to look away in fear of fainting from the sight. The only thing that seemed to be hers, was a circlet entangled in her hair she couldn't even remove to look at in lack of strength

"W-what happend? Where am I," she spoke to the wind with her parched voice, "Who am I," she added quietly.
A whisper ran through her ear. It spoke the words, "Elevainia TiaLy."
"Elevainia, oh how could I forget," she smiled to herself although this wasn't the most joyful of times.

Elevainia pondered to herself, if she could remember her name, why was everything else a lost memory in the wind? She struggled to her feet after falling so many times. A rotting log helped her up to her feet. Elevainia shook with the cold wind and the new snow that welcomed the dark night. She stumbled as she held onto anything she could find for support. As the little strength she had returned to her legs, she slowly walked along the road, desperatly looking for someone to help her in this time of need, or at least for something to wear. She figured her best bet would to be to find the nearest town. So she weakly continued, praying to the divines, that her strength would not fail her.