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Erik the Swift

"All the love and sweet ideas in the world could not save it."

0 · 403 views · located in Skyrim

a character in “Skyrim: The Watcher's Vigil.”, originally authored by The Valkyrie, as played by Creek

Description



Name: Erik the Swift, also called Fleetfoot, Shadowfiend (though he finds this one irredeemably stupid), and occasionally “The Wetworker”
Race: Nord; Werewolf

Physical Description:
Hair- Black, unusually for one of his countrymen, kept so that the spare ends of it brush his nape but no longer. Occasionally, it interferes with his vision, which is about when he knows it’s time for a cut. The individual hairs are fine, but the numerousness of them makes it rather thick overall, lending the coif a soft texture. Though he’d think you odd if you noticed.

Eyes- A bit more prototypically Nordic than the rest of him, Erik’s eyes are an extremely pale, mercurial grey-green. In the right light, they may appear to lose almost all color, which is faintly eerie.

Height- 6’3,” easily.

Build- Erik isn’t the stacked muscle of the average heavy-armored warrior. His approach was trained into him by Khajit, so he looks a little more like they do in terms of muscle: there’s quite a bit, but not enough to impede his movement or flexibility at all. He’s still built around a Nord’s frame, though, so his shoulders and chest are broad, tapering into a more narrow waist. He’s got enough muscle to avoid looking lanky, so he’s still plenty imposing when necessary, he just wouldn’t look like it next to an orc or something.

Facial Structure- Angular, but not particularly pointy. He’s been gifted with high cheekbones and a well-squared jaw, usually kept free of stubble. His nose is a bit hooked, but it fits his face rather well, all things considered.

Unique body features- Erik is double-jointed in most places. Other than that, he’s notable mostly for the fact that his body seems to be covered in numerous small scars, though they all seem to be of different kinds. He calls them his mistakes, and avows that he does not repeat them.

Age: 30
Gender: Male

Sexual Orientation: When Erik expresses sexuality at all, gender seems to be irrelevant. So does race, for the most part.

Role: Rogue

Personality: Erik is what the situation demands he be. By turns, he can be charming or intimidating, humorous or solemn, flirtatious or standoffish. It’s difficult to say what of these contradictions represents his “real" personality, so it might help to start with his family.

Around the Khajit who raised him, he is humble, quiet, and of an easy, laid-back sort of disposition. Unfailingly polite, but not a pushover, he is happy enough to help with camp chores and spend hours talking with the elders, taking in their peculiar wisdom and stories. Like them, lies and truth mix freely with him, though among themselves, it is always easy to tell which is which. In the outside world… he’s become so accustomed to falsehood that sometimes even he has difficulty telling the difference anymore.

His fellow Watchers, he treats with politeness and deference for the most part, though it’s well known that he has a disposition inclined to a bit of mischief and deception. It’s hard to pin down his mercurial mood swings, but he seems to generally be pleasant enough company, if a bit confounding. There resides at his core a raw sort of cynicism, a practical worldview that leaves him little time for grand ideals and heroics, spurred by a sharp intelligence and years of exposure to the less-shiny facts of life. He’s not the hero, he’s the man who’ll get his hands dirty so the heroes can keep theirs clean. It’s how the world works, and he can get pretty frustrated by people who don’t see that, though he’ll rarely express it in the typical way.

Despite the fact that he’s a werewolf, this is not known to many people, simply because he doesn’t go flapping his gums about it and he also doesn’t transform that often. In truth, he simply acquired the condition for its utility: it makes his senses sharper and his reflexes better, which is something he finds to be useful. He feels no particularly bestial compulsions except in his worst moments, and he rarely if ever bothers dealing with foes by transforming.

Beyond these pillars of his life, he is as variable and changeable as the summer wind, and it’s often hard to tell who he likes and who he hates. He would never do violence to someone he simply didn’t care for, for that would be a murder of his own volition. Unless he is threatened or hired, he does no harm- indeed, curiously enough, he’s a vegetarian.

History: Erik is the bastard son of a Jarl, and grand-nephew of Torygg, once High King of Skyrim. Of course, his status as illegitimate means he’s no nobility at all, which is frankly fine by him, though the similarity he bears to certain other male members of his line is occasionally striking to someone who knows the current Jarl of Solitude. He certainly wasn’t raised there. A jealous wife ended what was apparently supposed to be the “grandest love story of an age” by demanding, according to a very old tradition, that the infant Erik be left on an ice floe, to survive or die as Talos saw fit.

Well, he has no idea what Talos thought, but a wandering Khajit caravan decided to do him a mercy and took him in, meaning that he was raised much more with their culture than the typical Nord one. He almost considers himself Khajit, and certainly his family refers to him as such. He’s picked up most of his idiomatic expressions from them, so it’s not unusual for him to say something like “this one welcomes you” or “may your road lead always to warm sands,” never mind that he’s not ever encountered a desert before.

He learned what his family had to teach, which means mostly skills of stealth, a smidge of magic, and the ability to blend socially, to turn his tongue to persuasion, and to read body language. As was natural for a child raised on the road in the dangerous wilderness, he also learned to kill, and quite well at that.

To help support his family, he took freelance contracts, mostly for the Thieves’ Guild, but also as an independent assassin, which of course bothered the Dark Brotherhood enough to put out a hit on him. In order to protect the caravan that raised him, he left it, and took to wandering Skyrim on his own. It came to his attention that being able to sense hitmen approaching before they get to him would be a useful skill to have, and for that reason, he sought out some Glenmoril witches and convinced them to make him a werewolf.

He joined the Watchers for the sake of stable income more than any particular ideological leaning. There are people in the world that matter to Erik, and he will take care of them.

ImageMajor Skills: Sneak, Speech, One-Handed
Minor Skills: Destruction, Lockpicking, Alchemy, Light Armor

Combat Style: “An assassin has a target. A wetboy has a deader, so called because they’re already dead as soon as we take the contract.” With his enemies, he is businesslike, efficient, and never wastes a word or a movement. His killing style is cold and clinical, but if one watches closely, there is something almost merciful about it. He strikes always for weak points; the fewer blows he has to deal, the better. It’s almost an art form, and if it is, he is certainly an artisan. He does not leave his victims to suffer in death, choosing instead to end them as quickly as possible. He is wont to say that one such as himself is only a tool, and the only choice he makes in a death is how long it is to take. He always chooses mere seconds, whatever the reason.

He dislikes fighting as a lycanthrope, because there’s no artistry in it, and furthermore it lacks the same precision. Still, if he’s backed into a corner with no other way out, he won’t hesitate in the slightest. Violence is a way of life for him.

Equipment: Erik’s armor is unique, and appears to be comprised of pieces from Dark Brotherhood and Nightingale-like armors plus more ordinary odds and ends, though how he came by any of those things is a mystery. It has approximately the same protection as glass armor does, but it’s colored much more darkly for stealth purposes. It carries an enchantment for fortifying his healing rate.

In terms of weaponry, he usually carries a one-handed sword and a knife, the first ebony and the second glass. Additionally, there are commonly a few potions on hand, and some poisons with which to coat his blades if necessary, plus one Ring of Hircine, not cursed.

Personal Side Quest Idea: Well, if anything happens to his family, he’d certainly be motivated to fix it.

Other: “For the Empire, I suppose.”

So begins...

Erik the Swift's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Erik the Swift Character Portrait: Maya Blackfeather
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Erik the Swift



Erik's tread carried him swiftly across the uneven terrain of the mountainous region outside Helgen, but he was not without consideration for the fact that he travelled in company today. He rode no horse, as the creatures tended to fear his presence, able to sense what men and mer typically could not. It was something he found almost humorous; as though he would bother hunting and eating an equine. On this particular morning, a smidge of capricious good cheer lent his step a spring and his moth a close-lipped tilt that very much resembled a smile, and why should it not? Such clues were not indcative of his general disposition in the slightest; it was no sunny outlook that cast his eyes appreciatively to the cloudless sky. Rather, it had occurred to him that sunny days were simply ones on which the Brotherhood was less likely to try murdering him, which he considered somewhat preferable to the alternative. Killing people got to be relatively boring when you did it for a living.

The wreckage of stone, hardly altered even after twenty or so years of stagnance, became visible over the horizon around then, and Erik stopped, taking the opportunity to survey what of the layout he could discern. There were certainly people present, though at this distance, even his sense of smell wouldn't be able to tell him how many. It was the residual odor of old campfires that gave him what scant information he had, anyway. Rolling his shoulders, he cracked his neck first one way and then the other, crossing his arms over his chest for a moment and giving his fellow traveller a sidelong glance, accompanied by the brief flash of a smile. "So, indulge me, if you would. How does a witch come by the opinion that leaving her coven to help a bunch of Imperials fight off who-knows-what is an idea worth pursuing?" There was some disdain to his tone, but not applied, surprisingly, to the word witch. Rather, the obvious lack of enthusiasm seemed equally placed upon Imperial and Thalmor.

The witch shot a smile right back at him. "Because I've always been a sucker for the dashing soldier types, of course," Maya said as she kept stride with Erik. Skyrim was a small place sometimes, and this just proved that. But perhaps it was no coincidence after all. Hircine could have had any number of reasons for sending her here. Perhaps this encounter with a man she'd given the gift of lycanthropy to would lead to one. It had been a rather odd encounter. She'd been caught up in a hunt. A rabbit had darted across the road not far from Helgen, and Maya was loathe to let such an insult to her inner huntress go unanswered. She'd bolted after it, her lips curling into a smile as she watched dart back and forth through the bushes after it bounded into the forest. She'd considered conjuring herself a bow and trying to shoot the thing, but with it on the run as it was, it would be a very difficult shot, and a miss would likely lead to its escape.

Thus, she'd contented herself to simply remaining on its trail, moving effortlessly through the woods, until at last it returned to the road, an open area, no obstructions between her and it. It bolted in a straight line for the far side, but Maya was prepared, and took advantage of its lack of lateral movement, her right hand filling with electrical energy even as she vaulted over a fallen tree. An arc of lightning shot forth from her palm, sizzling through the air and colliding with the rabbit's rear... and causing the little creature to explode entirely. Breathing slightly heavily, Maya had walked over to the bloodied scorch mark where the rabbit had been to examine what little remains there were when Erik had arrived.

"In reality, I am here because when my lord asks something of me, I do not question him, but rather trust that his intent will become clear in due time. Glory to rival the Companions sounds like potential for a good hunt to me." A curious bunch, the Companions. Not an entirely disagreeable bunch at that. A few of them knew a thing or two about the hunt.

Erik made a breathy exhalation that sounded suspiciously like it would have been a laugh, given just a smidge more incentive. "It's bound to be more challenging than the average hare, I'll give it that," he replied easily, still faintly amused by the scene he'd encountered just a short while ago. He had to imagine that Maya did not often choose to slay small game with lightning, else she probably would have learned better by now. Still, the idea that Hircine had actually sent her to Helgen of all places was... odd. He subconsciously twisted the silvery band on his left middle finger with the thumb of the same hand.

Shrugging, he resumed his pace. The two were presently traipsing through the woods themselves rather than any of the more commonly-used paths in these areas. He appreciated the minor subterfuge in this, as well as the opportunity to drop for a moment the many-layered facade that became second nature when one moved easily among people of all kinds.

Such things were not meant to last, however, and it was not much longer before he could smell- and hear, because there was definitely some shouting going on- the people at the fort. There seemed to be a small congregation gathering before the fortress proper, and one of the parties was rather upset. "Well, this sounds lively," he quipped, emerging out onto the more beaten path at about the same time as most of those present went inside. And here he'd been worried about an ambush. That would have required much more guile and subtlety than he was currently witnessing, which was reassuring in a way. The presence of a medley of people was distracting in and of itself, and one eyebrow rose in a speculative gesture when he was fairly certain he caught the retreating backs of a Redguard, a Bosmer, and an Argonian. A man, a mer, and a beastfolk walk into a bar...

He had a feeling he'd have more ways to finish that joke than he knew what to do with by the time this was over.

"So. Do we stride up like we own the place and everything in it, sneak in as though we want to steal everything in it, or light up some magic flames and just threaten to burn it? That's what one does to make a favorable impression these days, right?" And nobody even mourned manners when they died. Shame, that.

"Perhaps we should just burn half of it," Maya suggested, "I'll resurrect that half... and we'll watch them fight each other!" She ran a hand through raven-black hair as she conjured the image in her mind, and smiled to herself. "I could conjure us some sort of flying steed so we could watch from above. We'd fit right in."

She then dismissed the idea with a flick of her hand. "Ah, but I shouldn't get carried away. I'm sure they're all wonderful people who are all completely understanding and accepting of Daedra-worship, necromancy, and lycanthropy. You'll see." As Maya surveyed those who were now making their way further into the fort, she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps Hircine had sent her here to make one of these people her prey. Wouldn't that be interesting? If it was indeed the case, she had little doubt she'd find that person soon. She looked to Erik, her companion by chance or fate or whatever you wanted to call it. "Shall we?"

"After you, o lady of the forest," Erik replied, sweeping one hand out in front of him and trailing just behind her as they approached the gates of the fortress. It seemed that the guardian of the entrance had moved further inside, leaving the front door open, so to speak. A lot of confidence in that, but then perhaps that was warranted. It was hard to say at present. The gate let into a courtyard, occupied by several people of even more varied stripes than he'd initially surmised. There was a panoply of scent-data: people, horses, steel, wood, fire, and the earthy smell that stone never quite lost.

Off to one side, there appeared to be a line for an office of some description. "I'm guessing that's where we go to get strangled by bureaucracy. I don't know if you've ever had to fill out paperwork before, but it gets tedious rather quickly." Nevertheless, he joined the queue without fanfare, glancing around at the assembled faces and offering a subtle greeting if he happened to meet anyone's eyes, usually just a nod or some-such. No need to draw too much attention, after all.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lyra Victus Character Portrait: Adanion Character Portrait: Erik the Swift Character Portrait: Maya Blackfeather
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#, as written by Creek
Adanion:

Adanion stood patiently in the procession of various people, feeling rather odd and uncomfortable. They were all very exotic, foreign, and strange above all else, but he imagined he appeared the same to them. Adanion craned his neck in the direction of the main gate. His viridian gaze settled upon two newcomers. A duo that seemed to have aptitude in the darker arts as far as Adanion could tell. There was a man; tall, lean, and fair. And, a woman; clothed in a robe that vaguely reminded him of a raven's glossy black feathers.

As he stared, the man caught his gaze. As their eyes met, chills went racing down Adanion's spine. His eyes. They were so ethereal. They seemed to have no color at all. Adanion snapped his head back in the direction of the office, not able to endure the odd sensations that ran along his fingertips anymore. Just in time it seemed.

"Next!" A voice from within the room beckoned, and Adanion heeded. As he entered the office, Adanion was not suprised to see an Imperial woman sitting behind a large desk. Imperials were very good with paperwork and other things of that sort, so it only seemed natural that we would have one leading the guild. The desk she sat behind was crafted from a dark species of wood. Perhaps Elderwood or Ebonoak, but definitely imported from Valenwood. Carved into it, were many intricate symbols, but one stood out to Adanion. Upon the upper-right leg of the table, a man stood, eternally embossed into the wood. For some reason, the figure seemed familiar to him, but it was so heavily veiled. Like a memory from a dream.

Adanion stared curiously at it for a moment before returning his eyes to the Imperial woman, who already seemed to be losing patience with him. Sheepishly, Adanion sat down in one of the chairs placed in front of the table. He began to feel extremely shy, and he couldn't seem to look her in the eyes. Her very presence was commanding, and Adanion found himself to be so small—or at least small is the only term that would come to mind—in comparison.

"I—I am not sure where we should begin. I guess I will fill out anything that you need of me." Adanion said quietly, but hopefully loud enough for the woman to hear him. As he sat, he imagined what a fool he must seem like. The Bashful Bosmer. The thought made Adanion smile a bit, though his gaze remained fixated upon his legs.

The setting changes from Helegen - Watcher's Guild to Skyrim

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Vanjirra Character Portrait: Erik the Swift Character Portrait: Maya Blackfeather Character Portrait: Popeno Sytheris
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(And Erik.)


She'd honestly expected to stick out more, being a so-called witch and all. In her travels she had found that not that many people wore feathers on their clothes. She'd usually changed into something a little more agreeable with the closed-minded people of the cities when she'd been forced to travel there on occasion. But here, surprisingly, Maya felt relatively lost in the crowd. A line had built up where the new guild members were going to sign up as though they were officially selling their souls to Molag Bal or something, which for all she knew, they were, and relatively few people paid her any mind. To be honest, Maya wasn't sure if she liked that or not.

Erik passed the time (incedentally not much, though he could detect a growing sense of impatience about some of those present) in observation. At one point, he made eye contact with what appeared to be a Bosmer youth, though the younger mer's reaction surprised him. He generally went out of his way not to come off as much of a threat, so the way the elf shuddered and looked away perturbed him. Usually, that only happened when he was drunk and scowling. Was he scowling? He was relatively certain that he was not, but he made the effort to smooth out his face anyway, just in case. He wasn't here to scare anyone. Perhaps an apology would be in order- he was unfamiliar with wood elf social norms, and might have unintentionally violated one.

He and Maya were joined by another Bosmer, this one entirely different from the first. The Nord had to exercise considerable self-control not to laugh at the man's commentary. Ignoring for the moment the rather mordant commentary on the relative merits of the other folk present (how one could profess to know such things after having simply walked in and seen them was a mystery to him), he instead focused on the conspiritorially-whispered assurance. The number of inches required for the not-so-subtle delivery of this information faintly amused him, but as it was, he restricted himself to a single piece of commentary, though he was almost certain Maya would feel no such compulsion. "I see. Rather indelicate for an assassin, aren't you?" Truthfully, if Erik was at all afraid of the Brotherhood, he wouldn't be signing himself up for what appeared to be a career in public service, though of course there was stil merit in caution, and he would take the information for what it was.

Maya had her arms crossed, a thin black eyebrow raised, all the while the pair of apparent assassins conversed with each other, including a whispered bit in Erik's ear that she didn't pick up on. That was too bad. Perhaps she'd ask Erik about it later. He'd probably tell her.

"Pathetic crew, indeed, it seems," she said, giving the elf a look over. The elf was taller, stronger, and no doubt quicker than Maya was, but the witch was currently looking at him as though he was something akin to the charred bits of rabbit meat she'd found to be left of her earlier prey. "Apparently I came here to be insulted and pushed about by self-proclaimed infinitely superior windbags. My favorite kind of company, to be sure."

Erik put a hand to his chest, wincing with mock hurt. "And here I thought I was your favorite kind of company. You wound me, Maya." He didn't bother keeping up the expression for long, though, as he'd be the first to admit that things were getting interesting. His hearing was informing him that in addition to arguments and conversations, at least two people were getting unnecessarily violent with practice equipment, one of those using magic. Was it really so bad that a mere few minutes here drove them to kill things with no life to begin with? He knew a few ruins that could use some cleaing out if that turned out to be the case.

Maya turned towards the front of the line, to see how things were progressing, and spoke loudly to really no one in particular. "Now that we've established that mostly everyone here is better than mostly everyone else in mostly every way, can someone tell me if we'll be hunting anything large and dangerous soon? Man, mer, or beast, I care not, but I would like to shoot something."

His snicker was under his breath, but still rather audible, even over the activity going on around them. "There appear to be a fair few conjurers about; perhaps you could make friends with one and convince him or her to summon you a nice atronach or something. Couldn't you do that yourself, though?" The last was mused more to himself than anything, as he was fairly certain he understood what she was getting at, and none of what he'd just said was it. He might have said more, but at that point, it seemed the line generally was addressed by one of its occupants, and he was pleasantly surprised to note that the speaker was Khajit.

His mild expression was swiftly swapped for a grin, and he uncrossed his arms, settling back into his oldest mannerisms without pause. "This one greets you," he replied automatically, and he might have inquired after which caravan she was from or if she made residence somewhere else, but it looked like it was time for himself and Maya to enter the office and meet with their bureaucratic nooses. Hanged by paper. I swear the Imperials will find some way to do that one day. Officials and their bloody lists.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Sobek Character Portrait: Erik the Swift Character Portrait: Maya Blackfeather Character Portrait: Popeno Sytheris
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Sobek decided it was time to make the acquaintance of the other potential members of the new guild. He stood up from the bench in the training yard, stretching as if he had been sitting too long. Then he walked over to large group of people still assembling. He sniffed carefully at the all, as much tasting their scent as smelling it. His eyes widened slightly as he smelled a wolfish scent on the seemingly young Nord.

"A werewolf? Here? It takess all kindss, I ssupposse." He whispered under his breath.

His eyes passed over a woman of unassuming origin. His eyes narrowed. She was dressed in the manner of the woods witches. And she smelled sharply of magic. She appeared to be of Breton blood, but one could not always tell with man types. The two of them appeared to be conversing with an elf with an obscenely proud appearance to him. Sobek mentally labeled him as a simple killer for hire.

He saw at least one Khajit, and he snorted in derision. Their kind had always made him think of weasels for some reason. They were rarely either upright warrior or capable thieves. More like the dregs of society in his eyes. That one he ignored.

He elected to approach the werewolf and the Breton mage, despite his misgivings of being so near the children of Hircine. It was not likely either of them knew of the Skyrim thieves guild, much less the Nightingales, and those with secrets to keep were less likely to search for the secrets of others. He waited till the arrogant elf walked away before coming over to them. He approached carefully, however, upwind.

"Greetingss, fellow guildmatess. I do not yet know anyone here, sso I thought it besst to introduce mysself to ssomeone at leasst. My name iss Ssobek. Jusst Ssobek. How doess the day find you?"

Sobek pulled his mask down so they could see his face. People were generally mistrustful with people who were masked.

The setting changes from Skyrim to Helegen - Watcher's Guild

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Sobek Character Portrait: Vanjirra Character Portrait: Erik the Swift Character Portrait: Popeno Sytheris
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Vanjirra rolled her eyes under her lids, feeling a bit like she had been forgotten in the mix of other warriors and with the madness of signing up. She hadn't the slightest idea why, however, though the better thought in her head was the line was a little long and it was taking a damned long time to even sign up. "Imperials and their lists." she muttered to herself as she waved her hand parallel to the floor. A small light appeared on the floor and a small flying daedra appeared beside her and perched on her shoulder. "Khajiit misstress? What do you require of me?" it said, clinging to her ear and head as it looked around. "Seems like there is a varied crowd." it added as she opened her eyes to look over at direction of the greeting.

"You tell this one." she said, putting back up her hood. She turned to the Nord that spoke, a greeting like a khajiit. Interesting. "Fortune smiles upon this meeting. You speak as khajiit do, a pleasent surprise indeed." She said, interred at the Nord male. "Where are you from? This one doesn't remember seeing Nords in Elsweyr." Her tail swished back and forth as she eyed the others, specifically the argoinan and the arrogant Bosmer. Argonians were a race that she knew her own kind had no love for, but felt no affection or disdain for them personally. What ill to her had they done? Why hate when on only the first greeting?

The bosmer, on the other hand, was someone that she could tell would be trouble. Or in the very least, an annoyance. Arrogance was the worst way to get a spider daedra in your room at night if she were feeling especially cruel and mischievous. She remembered having to deal with an especially arrogant student once, one that seemed that it was necessary to call her out for being a khajiit mage and saying something about not being allowed in the guild for it. He soon had daedroths running after him and around the grounds until he took back what he said. An amusing memory to say the least. Hopefully he wouldn't have to do that with anyone here. Hopefully.

The setting changes from Helegen - Watcher's Guild to Skyrim

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lynly Snowsong Character Portrait: Lyra Victus Character Portrait: Sobek Character Portrait: Vanjirra Character Portrait: Erik the Swift Character Portrait: Maya Blackfeather
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Had she ever met someone so flippant and rude? Maya wasn't sure she had. She shrugged at the Bosmer. "If you'd like to start killing people, then by all means, go for it. I, however, am of the opinion that I am not invinceable, and that I can't simply murder whomever I wish simply because I find them disagreeable. It's a strange idea, I know. Someone must have smacked me over the head with some humility, or maybe even some common sense, when I was little."

She'd been about to turn away from him when suddenly she remembered something. "Oh! But thank you very much for the compliment. I do try to keep a respectable appearance. Wouldn't want the world thinking me a simple savage, now would we?" They were eventually separated from the Bosmer my some method or another as they waited to scratch down their names. Maya had been thinking of potentially amusing false names she could come up with herself, often ending in titles like The Wicked or The Cruel. Her thoughts, however, were interrupted by someone who practically startled her with his politeness, of all things.

Maya could have hugged the Argonian, but that probably would have been inappropriate for someone she'd just met. "And here I thought I wouldn't find another person who understands the value of manners! A pleasure, Sobek. I am Maya, sometimes called the Blackfeather, for reasons I'm sure are quite obvious. The day finds me well, if not a little annoyed." She took a moment to give the Argonian a look over. Interesting armor he wore. She'd never seen its make. Intriguing.

Just then, their illustrious leader made an announcement, and her Nordling companion was approached by a Khajiit, and they proceeded to speak to each other in that curious way the furry ones often did. The armored lady at the front, not the Nord one, but the... wait. Was that... ? Maya frowned, remembering something from quite some years ago, triggered by the platinum-haired warrioress, but she couldn't be sure. Perhaps she'd talk to her later. As she had been thinking, the armored lady was saying something about skill, merit, and working together. Maya was listening rather closely for the word hunt, but it never crossed her lips. Instead she heard the words Dwarven ruins, escort, and central, deepest chamber. That didn't sound... particularly appetizing, but Maya was willing to give it a chance. There would be traps, apparently. Perhaps one of these superior windbags she'd noted would step in one and give her a laugh. She could dream, right?

Apparently the Orsimer fellow and the Nordling woman she had noted earlier would be leading them or something. Maya found herself sincerely hoping the pair of them didn't end up dead. Otherwise one of the others would probably try to step up and assert their nonexistant authority over her. She could always try resurrecting them, but a shambling corpse that could only say the word urrrrrggggghhh didn't command very much respect. Ah well. She'd just have to ensure they both survived in order to prevent any of these others from attempting a coup. And to question that warrior-woman, eventually.

And then the Orc was off towards the gate, where they were instructed to meet with him when ready. Maya had little she wanted from this town-fort-castle-barracks place, and so she turned to the Argonian.

"Shall we walk and talk at the same time and see if we do not fall over?" The witch then took the lead, following after the Orc fellow. "Where are you from, Sobek?" she said over her shoulder to the Argonian. "If you do not mind the question, of course. I'm from a humble little place in this very hold, if you care to know. I thought I might be able to place you from your armor, but I'm afraid I've never seen its like. Very beautiful, though. I'd be very interested to know where you found, or how you made, such a thing."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lyra Victus Character Portrait: Sobek Character Portrait: Adanion Character Portrait: Erik the Swift Character Portrait: Maya Blackfeather Character Portrait: Grawl sho-Targ
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#, as written by Creek
Adanion:

Events seemed to be moving at a pace too quickly for Adanion to keep up. As their guild mistress, Lyra Victus, shooed him away, Adanion turned and proceeded out the office. Once again, Adanion began to feel uncomfortable with suffocating amount of people in the area. As he surveyed the room, he counted at least ten different people, each a bit stranger than the other. Some made small talk with each other. Others, stood silently in the line, a deep scowl pressed upon their face. He couldn't take it! As the Nord—he believed Lynly was her name—who had spoke to him at the gate staggered into the office, a Redguard woman falling in behind her, Adanion shuffled through the crowd with his head down.

Past the man with eyes that made Adanion's soul shiver, and his avian-like companion. Past a man—who Adanion was ashamed to see was a fellow Bosmer—that seemed to be whispering offensive things into a bird mage's ear. Past a masked Argonian, who seemed to be making his way towards the odd group. And he could not even raise his head to look a single person in the eye. As Adanion broke free of the horde, he rushed towards the main gate of the keep. He needed solitude. Very badly. But before he could complete his flight from the keep, he heard Lyra's voice ringing out across the countryside.

Adanion didn't pay much attention to her particular words, but he did decipher the general message. I am going into Dwemer ruins? Adanion asked himself as his stomach began to sink. When he was a child, Brother Faylinest had told him, 'True bravery is being so afraid to saddle up, but doing it anyways, young one.' Back then, it had made little sense to the child that Adanion once was. However, he thought that he was beginning to understand what his peer had said. Ruefully, Adanion swiveled his heel until he found them once again facing the main gate of the keep. He walked quietly, and hopefully discreetly, out of the gate.

He didn't go far. He simply chose to walk about a fourth of a mile away from the camp, where he found a suitable rock on which to rest. He sat, simply listening to the orchestra of nature. The singing of the birds. The soft whisper of the wind in the trees' limbs. The pitter-patter of rabbit's feet running through the undergrowth. The melody filled him with contentment. He let out a sigh, and waited for his fellow guild mates to finish preparing.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lynly Snowsong Character Portrait: Lyra Victus Character Portrait: Vanjirra Character Portrait: Erik the Swift Character Portrait: Maya Blackfeather Character Portrait: Popeno Sytheris
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Erik the Swift


Erik simply blinked once, slowly, when the wood elf (whose name he still did not know) insinuated that his continual status of “alive and breathing” came exclusively from either the grace or laziness of the Brotherhood’s apparently least-tactful member. He’d heard things like that before, along with admonishments that this would be the case no longer. And yet, here he was. If he allowed himself to be offended by every boast or threat, he’d have no time to do much else, so he shrugged his broad shoulders and let his erstwhile fellow think that if he liked. It didn’t make any difference to him either way, because the mer apparently had no designs on his life, so the amount of threat he did or did not actually represent was entirely irrelevant.

To the Khajit, he was much less neutral. At the opportunity to speak of his family, his smile extended for the first time to his pale eyes, and he was about to name his caravan and some of its more prominent members when – surprise, surprise- the assassin (apparently intentionally) inserted his foot into his own mouth by insulting her.

Erik exhaled, and it might well have been a sigh. He was a very, very patient man, a regrettably-rare quality, but this… it was almost as if the lad wanted everyone to detest him. He had no way of knowing, of course, just how close the remarks were to Erik’s own heart as well, because not even the Brotherhood knew of his family. He’d been eminently cautious about that, and he hadn’t survived this long without knowing how to conceal information. The feline woman seemed to have her own defense plenty in hand, however, and the characteristic smell of electricity in the air (the same scent as before it rained) reached his nose with the lightning to her hands.

At this point, he and Maya were at last shuffled into the office, and he surmised from her expression that the Guildmistress was just about at the end of her rope. His forms, he filled out without a word, filing them neatly where he supposed they belonged. The swift click of the lock behind them as they departed drew a chuckle from him, and he waited expectantly for something to happen.

He was not disappointed. Her words were given careful attention, as was the way in which she said them. A test was not so far outside the realm of his expectation, though he would not have thought they needed to travel all the way to a Dwemer ruin to take care of it. At the announcement of their commanding officers for the intervening time, he sought out the platinum-haired Nord woman as instructed, finding her almost immediately. Like him, she was considerably taller and more muscular than most of the others of her gender, and the coloration helped matters quite nicely. He decided he’d have to introduce himself at some point, if for no other reason than it would help if she knew what names to bark when pointing them at things she wanted them to destroy. Descriptors could get confusing fast, and he was not all that interested in giving anyone the “wetboys are different from assassins” lecture.


Though he would, if it meant nobody grouped him with the tactless elf. He didn’t despise the fellow (one got used to all kinds of dispositions in his line of work), but it wouldn’t do to acquire all of his future enemies, either.

Ah, but a moment… he knew that lass, he was certain of it. Something in his memory rang like a bell. It was a while ago now, but… the smell of blood and steel in his nose, the fierce warcry of a battle-maiden, the satisfying give of leather and flesh, parted like so much fluid upon the blade of a sharpened sword. Red snow. He knew her, all right. Lynly Snowsong, she’d given her name, and he remembered finding it faintly endearing that she said it with hunched shoulders and mannerisms hat belied the fierceness with which she’d dispatched her foes- his foes, if one wanted to be technical about it.

He wondered if she remembered.

“Well, would you look at that,” he mused aloud. “Off on an adventure already. Now all we need is a heartwarming campfire conversation, several larger-than-life foes to slay, and a bloody bard to write songs about all of it. Look lively; history remembers strange things.” Despite the flippancy of his words, his close-lipped smile wasn’t all that jovial- he was rather thinking that he was about to catch the feel of the hunt, and his mind had already taken him to that special place he went when he did his bloody business. Not that he’d lose all joviality or ability to converse. He was not psychotic, despite some very insistent commentary to the contrary. Sociopathic would have been closer, but even that wasn’t quite right. He was simply… cold. Chill where others burned.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lynly Snowsong Character Portrait: Lyra Victus Character Portrait: Dayolin Jarvis Character Portrait: Vanjirra Character Portrait: Aaliyah Sendu Character Portrait: Erik the Swift
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Lynly Snowsong


(And Aaliyah)




Lynly blinked as she was deposited unceremoniously outside the office and replaced by another pair. She glanced down at the twin set of paperwork in her hand and sneered, shaking her head. An adventurer of Skyrim, relegated to paperwork. Marvelous. She found herself glad that her father wasn’t here, else he’d make fun of her. She could hear it already, something about a warrior and a quip about the quill being mightier than the sword. She shook her head and looked toward Aaliyah beside her-- a futile gesture, considering the woman’s plight. Then she sighed, finally resigned to her plight of paperwork. “Come,” she bade the woman next to her, “Let’s get through this,” she said, making her way to a nearby bench. There, she found a nearby quill and went to work finally going through the papers...

About midway through both of their forms, the Imperial's booming voice assaulted her eardrums once again. Oh, it seemed like the Guildmistress was becoming impatient as well, as she began to explain that they were to be sent to some nearby dwarven ruins instead of filing paperwork. Lynly paused for a moment, looking down at the papers, and then to Aaliyah. Perhaps it was fortunate that the woman couldn't see, it saved her from seeing the look of utter irritation and frustration written on her brow.

Aaliyah certainly needed no assistance hearing the instructions, and she filed them away for reference. The quill stopped scratching beside her, and the Redguard smiled. "Guess we don't need to worry after all. Should I set those on fire, or would you prefer to shred them manually?" She couldn't say she knew Lynly very well, but she'd learned to get a decent read on personalities quickly, and she doubted her mostly-silent, businesslike acquaintance would much appreciate being told to do something tedious and then not to do it after all.

Her brows furrowed slightly when she caught the second part of the announcement. "Nord woman? I suppose that means you, doesn't it? Unless there's another one around that I haven't met yet." She winked, an admittedly odd gesture from someone like her. But hey, what was to say that just because she couldn't see, she couldn't express things that way? "Congratulations, Lieutenant. Or should I be offering my condolences?"

Lynly handed the papers to the Redguard in reply. It would do her good to see something on fire, perhaps it'd allieve some of the irritation she was currently suffering from. Nothing like a good fire to sooth one's soul. Just as she was handing the papers off, the other part of the announcement came through. "What...?" she said flaty. Lynly's eyebrow raised as she began to ill-fated attempt to search for the "Nord Woman" the Guildmistress spoke of. Surely it couldn't be her, what right had the woman to appoint her second of this misson? The only thing she really knew about her was that Lynly was well armed and armored. She sighed as it became clear that it was, indeed, her and not some other poor fool. Seemed that was all it took to get a head in life, a sword and a big shield.

She leaned back against the bench and sighed, replying to Aaliyah, "Condolences most likely. This will end up being more akin to 'herding' over 'leading', mark my words," she said with a tone consisting of zero enthusiam. "At least you are saved from seeing the motely lot I have to contend with," She said, massaging her brow. "Well. Let's get going then," Lynly said intending on making her way to the intended meeting place.

So that was it. Aaliyah's head bobbed obligingly, and a flick of her fingers incinerated the documents now in her opposite hand. They roared from existence far too swiftly, though she contained the conflagration to do no more damage than that. It wouldn't do to burn anything else on accident, after all. Dusting off her sooty hands, she paused a moment, growing a bit more solemn than was usually her wont. "You'll do fine," she reassured with confidence. "I won't pretend to know you very well, but it would take a... very dense person to miss the fact that you have a good head on your shoulders. I'll do whatever I can to help. I'd like to stay alive, after all, and I'm sure they do, too."

At about that point, Aaliyah's detection spells flared to life as yet another being was summoned from Oblivion, apparently the result of a confrontation she'd hitherto been happy to ignore politely coming to a head. Aaliyah sighed. "I suspect it might be about time to start leading, wouldn't it? I'll get their attention." So saying, she stood from the bench, smoothing down her royal-purple robes and approaching the argument with sure, unhurried steps, never mind the staff arcing in front of her in tight, controlled sweeps. "Yoo-hoo! Pardon me, but if we can stop mortally insulting each other and drawing allies from the infernal realms of all things terrifying and Daedric for a moment, I think our vice-leader might have a couple words for you." She gestured back over her shoulder at Lynly as if to emphasize the point, but then fell silent. It was entirely possible she'd been ignored. If so, she was willing to bet that their eventual admonishment would be that much worse. Just a hunch, though.

Lynly was grateful for Aaliyah's support. She really didn't know anything about leading, she had been on her own for the majority of her own adventures. Though, she could always take a page from the Guildmistress's book and just start yelling until something began work. As Aaliyah stood to confront the argument brewing, Lynly was content to stay seated for a couple more moments. Summoning a creature. In the Keep. That was genius, and didn't win her any points from the Khajiit summoner. Perhaps there was a sane reason behind it, perhaps Lynly would have even approved, but all she could see what an issue brewing. Lynly hung her head and finally got to her own feet, arriving right behind Aaliyah just as she finished speaking.

"First. Dispel that creature. Now. Before it brings the walls down on us," her tone was even, maybe even menacing. Though, her shoulders were still drawn in around her, as if they were trying to protect her from the strangers still in the hall. Alas, due to the timely departure of the arrogant Bosmer, the Khajiit managed to catch most of the chill of Lynly's stormy gray eyes. "I'll be sure to speak to him later. I will not see any of us dying on this blasted test because someone's feelings got hurt or their pride injured," She finished admonishing the Khajiit. Then she set her cold eyes upon the dunmer. "Quit flipping your lip too. I don't want to hear any of your condescending knife-eared responses. If you have a problem with that, the 'sap licking lizard stabbing you in the back' will be the least of your troubles. Now get your ass outside."

Now her attentions turned to those that still lingered "That goes for the rest of you too. Get your asses outside. Now. Else go home. We don't have time to babysit you. We have a job to do," Lynly finished her tirade. She shook her head and whispered a couple of words to Aaliyah "Like I said. Herding." With that, she strode forward past the procession and towards the designated meeting place, though not before recognizing a familiar face. One of Erik's. Oh? He was here too? Perhaps all hope was not lost. She gave him a nod of recognition, and then took her spot beside the orc outside (though not before shooting a glare at the arrogant bosmer).

Aaliyah giggled softly at Lynly's murmured aside. For someone seemingly-reluctant to take charge, she wasn't wasting time doing it. "Aye, aye, boss! Suppose I'd better 'get my ass outside' with the rest of these no-good scallywags, hm?" She placed a closed fist over her heart and bent slightly at the waist, as if in salute, then made with the order-following and went to join the group gathering about their leader, the orcish-man-who-had-not-yet-given-his-name.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lynly Snowsong Character Portrait: Sobek Character Portrait: Dayolin Jarvis Character Portrait: Vanjirra Character Portrait: Adanion Character Portrait: Aaliyah Sendu
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The Orc smirked as the Nordic woman gave her speech, it was impressive to say the least. Though it was, herding, as he picked up earlier. It was now his turn to give a speech. He made a roaring noise and smashed a fist on his hauberk to make sure the group was attentive. "As the Nord said, we have a job to do, and I plan on doing it. We will work as a team, or I will make sure the Guildmaster docks your pay, unlike other Guilds, you will not be paid per job but instead an amount monthly based on your merits and what you do and don't do. Meaning we, have full control of your coming Septims." He gave a good-hearted chuckle. "If you are wondering my name is Grawl, I served 21 years in the Imperial Legion as a Footsoldier and Forgeman, and then a Siege Master under Lady Lyra." He grinned, the term basically meant he was in charge of knocking down big things the enemy had erected in the Legion's path. "I was there when we battered down the doors of Windhelm and burned the city to bloody timbers. Now I'm going to be here as we rip into a Dwemer Ruin and break whatever contraptions those Deep Elves brewed up in their thinking time for whatever Prisoner's housed there. Now lets move!"

With that he gave another shout and began jogging down the road. Calling for the Elf-on-the-Rock to join the line, wanting to get to their destination within a few short hours if possible.

It was a few hours when they arrived. Three Imperials in Mage's robes were huddled about a fire. One getting up and greeting the troop as they arrived. "Friends! You have finally arrived! Can we begin... We have been camped here for days and its getting most uncomfortable." Said the one who neared them, also explaining his name was Sevdar Ortcile. And that the relic they were looking for was a Dwarvish lexicon capable of powering, repairing, or even programming the automatons the race left behind, or according to legend atleast and also the military effectiveness it could have in Imperial hands.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lynly Snowsong Character Portrait: Sobek Character Portrait: Dayolin Jarvis Character Portrait: Vanjirra Character Portrait: Adanion Character Portrait: Aaliyah Sendu
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The nord woman told him to get outside but Dayolin took his sweet ass time being that he was the last one out. The orc apparently was in the storming of Windhelm. That subtracted any given respect that migh have occured. When the orc began jogging the elf gave a tired look and summoned his horse once again. Mages do not run, that is what magic is for. His horse trotted behind the others by a good ten feet just in case they ran into something.

When they arrived at the ruins Dayolin disspelled the horse. There were a few Imperial battle mages who had been waiting for the party to arrive. They mentioned wanting a lexicon. "I have no idea why somebody would ever want what that useless race created?" He said to himself aloud in a rather prideful manner.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lynly Snowsong Character Portrait: Aaliyah Sendu Character Portrait: Erik the Swift
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Aaliyah Sendu
(And Erik)



The journey found Aaliyah riding alongside a man who walked, so softly that she probably would have missed it entirely if not for the Detect Life spell still active, enchanted into her robes by her own invention. Naturally inquisitive, she chose to take the opportunity to strike up a conversation. "Well, I can't say it's exactly what I signed up for so far, but it's interesting, I'll give it that." Her grin was good-natured at the very least, though inwardly she was just hoping that she would not be met with a rude reply. They seemed, from what she had overheard before, rather common hereabouts, and truthfully even the most patient person could be worn down by them eventually. I bet politeness is just as deadly as swords around here. Maybe they're all weak to kindness or something. Oh, a compliment, hit the weak spot! Knockout!

The Redguard snorted, trying not to laugh at her own internal joke, and then realized he was probably now assured that she was hopelessly strange, giggling over nothing at all.

Erik, with neither a horse nor the available resources to summon... something like one, opted to walk the trek, which appeared to be fine, as several others did as well. He was long used to moving over miles of terrain day after day; that was caravan life for you. It had hardened him to the interference of topography, weather, and occasionally hostile indigenous life, so the pace, such as it was, scarcely even registered with him. He walked to the outside of a dusky-skinned Redguard woman on a horse, content to keep to himself for the moment, as social interactions thus far had taken on the character of... well, he wasn't sure he had anything to compare it to, really. Mostly lots of figurative chest-pounding and no lack of self-confidence, and perhaps it would do best just to leave it at that.

He was genuinely (and pleasantly) surprised, therefore, when the woman on the horse spoke to him, her voice conveying a degree of amusement and lightness that thus far had been sorely lacking. The comment itself was a bit charitable, perhaps, but then that was no great vice. Maybe he would have thought otherwise at some other time, but right now, he saw an opportunity and took it. Her poorly-restrained laughter caused him to tilt his head speculatively to the side. "Did I miss a joke? Perhaps there is something on my face?" He knew there wasn't, but he kept his voice light and easy, matching hers and hopefully prolonging the exchange by doing so.

"Not really, and I have no idea," Aaliyah replied with a small shrug. "You'd have to ask someone else unless you wanted me to touch your face to find out, and I think we can both agree that would be really weird." She had no idea if he'd even know what she was getting at, but she chose to assume that he was intelligent enough to figure it out. Explaining the same thing to everyone she met grew to be tiresome, so unless it came up, she usually just avoided mentioning it at all. She shifted slightly on the back of her horse, pulling her legs up so that they were crossed beneath her rather than hanging off either side. It wouldn't be a major balance issue unless she needed to spur Kareem into a run, anyway, and she was getting a mite uncomfortable the way she was.

Erik's brows climbed his forehead, and a disbelieving bark of laughter escaped him. "Perhaps it would be, at that," he agreed, a false sagaciousness entering his tone. It wasn't too hard to make the deductive move from her statements and her lack of eye contact to the inference that she lacked sight, he just found it rather extraordinary. Based on the clothing and lack of weapons, she was a mage, so presumably it could work, a blind woman joining an organization like this, but it was certainly something he'd like to see in action. Preferably from a safe distance.

Whatever the case may be in a fight, her particular circumstances did not seem to much hinder her outside of one. Her horsemanship was clearly much better than his own, and he'd observed her moving about on her own at Helgen, and she'd not hit anything or stumbled, so it stood to reason that she was accustomed to navigating such difficulties herself. This was truly fascinating to him, someone who'd found his ordinary human senses inadequate when he'd possessed a well-honed five. He'd gone as far as lycanthropy (having considered also exposing himself to the sanguinarus disease) in order to sharpen them further, and yet here was somebody getting by apparently just as well as he did with only four mundane, human capacities.

"May this one have your name?" he asked, rather suddenly. Not the most graceful or charismatic way he could have inquired after it, but he somehow doubted she'd take offense.

Aaliyah had the impression that she was being studied, but it didn't much bother her. That was fairly normal for whatever reason, and so she let it slide. The following inquiry was polite enough, and she found it rather agreeable to acquiesce. "Aaliyah Sendu, of the Alik'r, though you're welcome to just use Liya if you like. Most people tend to. How about yourself?" She had to admit, she couldn't quite muster a guess. Normally, she could get a fairly accurate idea of someone's origin from their voice, or their tread, or something like that. This man, though, walked too softly for her to hear (which was a clue in itself, though a small one, considering all the ambient sounds of motion around them), and his tone, while somewhat in keeping with the local Nord modulation, also contained a faint hint of low rasp that she associated with Khajit.

"Erik," he replied mildly, debating how much he should explain the lack of a surname. He went with 'not much at all.' "I am occasionally referred to as Erik the Swift, but that's... well, that was something of a jest that I happened to grow into to some mild degree. At least, I hope I did." That much was straightforward self-deprecation. He knew himself to be quick on his feet, that was just one of his strong suits when it came to fighting. Nevertheless, the statement was the truth, and he'd originally earned the moniker as a form of ridicule.

"There's a hell of a story in there, I'm sure of it," Liya replied, but she chose not to press the point. Maybe she could ask him for it at a later date. It was probable that they'd be working together for a while, unless one of them died in these Dwemer ruins. She'd never been inside one before, but she'd heard tales: giant mechanical constructs, savage, twisted (and pitiable, as far as she was concerned) Falmer, and traps too numerous to count. The Dwemer were supposed to have been mechanical geniuses, but it seemed that their enlightened nature did not extend to their views about how others deserved to be treated, and she felt a little guilty that she was looking forward to walking the ruins, to experience, and hopefully gain some understanding of, that disappeared culture. It didn't linger for long, though (her negative feelings rarely did), and before either of them could speak again, the entrance to the ruins came into view.

They were given an opportunity to rest then, and by mutual if silent consent, Liya and Erik parted ways, she going to tether Kareem and borrow the shade of a tree for a bit of rest, and he to idle the time sharpening his sword and knife on a whetstone. When the moment came to enter the ruins, they both responded to Lynly's sort-of challenge, disappearing into the underground cavern with the Imperial mages and the rest.

The incident at the door left Aaliyah feeling more than a little sick, and she covered her mouth and nose with her scarf to dampen the obviousness of the smell of burning flesh. Her hands immediately found the end of her long braid, toying with the end of it in what was obviously a somewhat nervous gesture. Spirited she might be, but she had not expected the traps to be quite like that, and frankly she wasn't used to being there when people died. It was... disturbing in a way other than the obvious one, and she fervently hoped it would not happen again so soon.

The same smell Liya noticed was admittedly worse for Erik, and he did not relish the tearless sting at the back of his eyes when the odor hit his sensitive olfactory system. "A convenient moment of idiocy," he deadpanned, crossing his arms and trying not to think too hard about the stench. "Particularly when the 'off' switch was on the wall." He was basically completely desensitized to death, so it did not occur to him to feel much pity or sorrow. If you were too stupid to take proper precautions in a Dwemer ruin, then whatever happened to you was your problem.

Sighing through his nose, the Nord stepped into place beside Lynly. "Something tells me we shouldn't let the academics lead any more. Would you like point, or shall I take it?" The option was hers as the commander (or, well, the second-in-command, but she seemed to be doing the actual leading), and he trusted her from experience not to be so foolish, but he was well-suited to detecting traps and the like as well.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lynly Snowsong Character Portrait: Dayolin Jarvis Character Portrait: Vanjirra Character Portrait: Erik the Swift Character Portrait: Grawl sho-Targ
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Something tells me we shouldn't let the academics lead any more. Would you like point, or shall I take it?" Where the first things the Orsimer heard as he withdrew from his own sudden shock. It had been, in fact, years since he had seen death. He twisted around and looked at Dayolin, a snarl upon his face. "We don't former allies into walking husks... Release it." The Mages seemed to chattered in agreement with the Orc as he made judgement on the call. A serious look upon his face. "Nords, I'll take point, Pale-Eyes (Erick), Lynly, I want you at my flanks, cover the corners. Then I want the Mage's including the Guild one's in the middle. In the back I want anyone the Thieves and Light-weights." The large Orsimer's voice was gruff and loud, causing a slight echo. "Kahjiit, I want you next to me though you can see in the dark. No torches."

With that he turned around and began walking down a second, steep decent of stairs. Expecting the part to form up in his given orders. The hallway was wide and lined with Dwarvish metal and stonework, and despite the centuries was holding better than many Imperial or Nordic dwellings. They passed multiple open gates before veering right again. A large metal door blocked the chamber at the end of the decent. It was obviously made to keep stuff out unlike the electrified door which was meant to hold beings in. The bars on this door were more fine and thick, with no humming. Just a normal set of doors. The lever was seen inside and there were no side paths into the room. Grawl stopped and pondered a moment, looking down the sides of the door. "I got this one." He utter and lifted his massive Orcish hammer off his back-holster, signaling the group back he lifted the massive bludgeoning object over his head and gave a violent lunge foward, bringing the head of the weapon smack upon the center of the gate. The metal, shuddered and creaked before swinging open with a loud cackling noise with a underhue of grating upon the stone. Once the door was open it lead into a large chamber with a metal floor. The floor seemed to have one large seem in it and there were three different hallways all heading into the cold darkness. A trickle of water could be heard down, and soft skittering down another. (Only to sensitive ears.) And above them was the celing was also Dwemer metal.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lynly Snowsong Character Portrait: Sobek Character Portrait: Dayolin Jarvis Character Portrait: Erik the Swift Character Portrait: Grawl sho-Targ
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"But he is going to die again anyway! Why waste magical fodder!?" Dayolin said furiously as he disspelled the reanimation. He could understand why the other Imperial mages disagreed with raising fallen allies, after all the raised undead did feel great pain. When the orc called formation he was grateful that he would be protected from all sides. It also gave him a perfect place to cast area spells on the party. In one hand he prepared to cast a healing spell and in the other he prepared to launch a fireball.

The party began to dwell deeper into the dwemer ruins. He always wondered how the dwemer could ever live down here since the massive empty space was far from holesome. Also why have mechanical servants when one could own a living one? Then he thought back to the snow elves and how they were mutilated into the twisted beings that are now the falmer. This was long before the chimer even arrived to Morrowind. The argonian mentioned the cursed race and Dayolin felt a stab of pity for them. He was terrible at hiding his emotions but he truley hoped they would not need to kill any falmer.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lynly Snowsong Character Portrait: Sobek Character Portrait: Dayolin Jarvis Character Portrait: Vanjirra Character Portrait: Erik the Swift Character Portrait: Grawl sho-Targ
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Vanjirra had been in the back, Orcish bow and and steel arrows shooting down any thing that had moved in the back of the group with the imp was collecting small samples of rock and gem and stuffing them in a bag under her robes. "This one understands." She said, moving herself to the front of the group as she looked around with her night eye. She knocked an arrow in her bow, aware of the falmer's hearing. "Do not be loud, we are watched." She whispered, starting to notice movement above them. She walked slowly in her glass boots, knowing any sort of noise could set off a bad reaction. Her hand glowed with a readied summon, nothing big to trap them all but a small group to distract.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lynly Snowsong Character Portrait: Sobek Character Portrait: Dayolin Jarvis Character Portrait: Vanjirra Character Portrait: Adanion Character Portrait: Aaliyah Sendu
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Dayolin had been walking with the group for some time now as they traveled through expecting Falmer. The only thing that the elf did not like about that race was the mass in numbers. Magic could only do so much, especially here. As they came closer to an open room the party stepped on a trapfloor. He was not a lucky one that escaped as he hit the floor with a thud. The Dunmer set off a light mass heal spell on the party almost by instinct to mend any possible broken bones.

Soon he heard noise in the distance. If he was correct, this was the lair of spiders, something else that swarmed in the masses. He began to panic as there was no light and he had no means of creating it. His hopes raised as felt a mage that who was crushed by a rock but the torso's arms were still good. He raised the body even though it would stay under the rock. "Magelight! Magelight! Use the fucking Magelight!" He shouted at the raised corpse. It was lucky that the mage knew the spell in life for the ball lit up the room. He would release the necromantic spell later but for now it would create a constant source of light. "Back in formation!" Dayolin shouted to those in the room with him as he prepared his healing and his fire.