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Post by Will on May 8, 2011 17:15:39 GMT -5
What sort of first character will you create, and what is the first thing you will do after escaping from prison?
I'm going to be a Nord warrior with an epic beard, sword and shield spec, MAYBE dual wield if we get some info for it that proves it will work. First thing I'm gonna do, grab a bow, hunt some harmless animals for food, then go raid caves till I'm geared in full heavy armor, then hit the Fighter's Guild.
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Post by Will on May 8, 2011 11:15:35 GMT -5
Sorry guys this one is kind of long-I just couldnt find a good way to end it shorter. Hope you like it!
The Dark Brotherhood had picked the wrong person to assassinate. Years of stealth and combat training as a personal guard of the Countess of Windhelm, and they thought they could kill you with one of their greenest men. The young Argonian had jumped from a nearby roof as you escorted the Countess to the castle as she arrived home after a diplomatic trip to Markarth, to the west.
The assassin had not targeted the Countess, he had sprinted straight for you, dagger held in a backhand stance, and you could have laughed at the look of shock and pain in the killer’s face as you severed his sword hand before he could strike. The other three of the Countess’ guards were rushing her towards a nearby building, thinking that the assassin had come for her, but you knew better. This assassin was sent by the Dark Brotherhood, but the contract had come from someone much darker. The old Count of Windhelm.
Five years ago, you had discovered the Count had been unfairly taxing the citizens of the city, hiding behind a story of hiring more guards to defend the city against a made up outbreak of the Undead. He never expected one of his own guards to turn on his lies, to side with the citizens. A mob of at least a hundred citizens had stormed the castle, setting the fortress ablaze. As the fighting continued, more and more of the castle guards had joined the rebellion, eventually fighting their way to the Count’s chambers. Viciously cut and burned, he managed to escape with his life, but only after swearing his vengeance upon you. So it came to this. His wife, who had admitted to being forced into marriage at threat of death after his escape, had taken the position as Countess of Windhelm, and was always praised as fair and just.
As the defeated Argonian scrambled to escape, you threw a powerful kick which landed on his backside, causing him to trip and crash into the wall of a nearby home. You grabbed him by the throat and pinned him against the wall, your face an inch away from his own. You could see almost no emotion on his reptilian face, but you could almost smell his fear.
“I-I won’t tell y-y-you anything” he cried. “The Brotherhood will have me killed!”
You throw him to the ground, drawing your bow and aiming an arrow directly at his heart.
“OKAY! D-Don’t kill me! Scar- That’s all we knew him by- gave the Brotherhood a contract- I swear I do not know where he is, but the Speaker for my Brotherhood met him at his home. There’s a mausoleum for the Suhtilis Family in the city’s graveyard. It‘s a secret entrance to the Brotherhood’s meeting place. They meet tomorrow, where they were supposed to pay me for this contract. That’s all I know, by the Nine, I swear!”
“The Nine,” Those were human gods. This Argonian had to have been raised by Imperials. How he ended up in the Dark Brotherhood, you could not guess, but you assume he had not joined on his own will. You sigh and drop your bow, giving him a Scroll of Healing (All of the Countess’ guards carried one for emergencies) and advised him to find a new line of work. He sprinted off, cradling his stump of an arm. You felt bad for him now, but at the time the threat he posed was unknown. You headed back to your chambers in the castle to get the night’s rest.
You awake in the early morning, and decide on light chainmail armor rather then heavy steel. You would be fighting assassins, and you would need to be able to move at speed. The Countess herself had ordered you to bring death to the Brotherhood and the old Count. You bring with you a finely crafted dagger made from Elven steel that the Countess had awarded you after you overthrew her corrupt husband. You also decide on a steel shortsword, not wanting to be encumbered by your heavy longsword during combat. You gear up and head out.
You walk to the graveyard, walking through the graves to the mausoleum the assassin spoke of. The heavy stone door was covered in dust, and looked like it has not been moved in ages. Did the assassin lie to you? You walk around the back of the mausoleum and notice the grass is cut in a circle. You feel the ground, and you can feel the tingle of Magika on the grass. The assassins must have a Mage teleporting them in. You find a suitable hiding spot inside a full birch tree, which you climb and perch on a strong branch.
For hours you sit there, your training keeping you alert. As soon as dark begins to fall over the city, you see a tall hooded figure slowly walk towards the mausoleum. You can see the pricks in his hood that could only mean one thing- Elf ears. The High Elf crouched down in the back of the mausoleum, and chanted his spell under his breath. The circle in the grass shone bright blue, then faded to a dull pulsing purple color. He stood on the circle, and you watched as he sunk straight into the ground. One by one more people did the same, you counted eight of them total. The last one to arrive was wearing robes as dark as a Vampire’s soul, and a small female figure who was about to step into the portal dropped to her knees and bowed to him. This must be the Speaker. Both of them stepped into the portal, sinking through the ground.
You could not take the portal. For all you knew of the magical arts, only members of the Brotherhood could use it and live. You walk to the front of the mausoleum and push on the door with all your strength, but it would not budge. You draw your steel shortsword and thrust it into the small gap between the stone door and the outside of the mausoleum, and pull on it as hard as you can. You feel the door come loose, but the thin blade snaps and nearly slices one of your fingers off. You curse and drop the broken hilt, grasping your Elven dagger. You manage to squeeze your arm behind the door, and with a grunt, you dislodge the stone slab and make your way into the mausoleum.
A dark spiraling staircase sank into the ground, and you begin to climb down as quietly as you can. At the bottom of the stairs is a steel door, you can hear voices behind it, sounding far off as though down a long hallway. You silently push open the door, and proceed down the dark hall. There are three doors on either side of the hallway. You can hear two men speaking inside the first on the left. You need to get a real weapon incase a real fight breaks out. You peer through the keyhole and see what appears to be a Nord, like you, and a wood elf, who seemed to be half the Nord’s size.
The Nord had his back to you, but the Wood Elf was across from him, with a clear view of the door. You had to be fast. You listened to see if you could hear any voices from any of the other rooms, but everything was quiet.
You stood, drew the Elven dagger, and kicked out at the door, smashing it off it’s hinges and slamming it against the Nord’s back. He fell over, and the wood elf let out a small shout, before you thrust the dagger into his chest. The Nord let out a roar as he stood up, and began to draw two Dwarven-made longswords from inside his robes. You sprint forward, landing a hook punch right on his kidney. He collapsed onto his knees, and you grasped the hilts of his two longswords, drawing them and beheading the Nord assassin. These people deserved no mercy. Two of your enemies were dead, and you had weapons of extremely high quality. You take the sheaths of the weapons off of the dead Nord, and strap them over your armor.
You leave the room, and continue down the hall. None of the other rooms are occupied, and as you turn a corner at the end of the hallway, you see one last room. The door is almost glowing red, and it had designs of human figures who seemed to be cringing in pain under a large skull in the air.
Suddenly, you hear a hissing voice coming from the door itself.
“What is the color of Night?”
You stand there silently, wondering what you should say, when you hear a voice coming from the other side of the door. The voice sounded Khajiit.
“It must be the new recruit. Didn’t anybody tell him the password?”
And the door opened. The Khajiit looked at you for one second, his eyes opening wide in surprise. “WHO IN SITHIS’ NAME ARE YOU?” he hissed, and then all hell broke loose. You drew your new longswords, kicking the Khajiit back, and you charged into the room. Five assassins surrounded you, each drawing a weapon, and one of them, the high elf who created the portal, held up both hands, and you watched as they ignited into flame.
You swung your right sword down, splitting the Khajiit’s skull, and felt a dagger’s stab nearly pierce your chainmail from behind. You had not anticipated a full-on battle, or you would have worn your plate armor.
You turned, swinging both longswords to the left, cutting down the dagger-wielding Redguard woman. The other two melee fighters charged, one of them a Dark Elf with a simple iron shortsword, the other a large Orc with a massive silver Claymore he seemed to pull from nowhere. You kick away the Dark Elf with the shortsword, and cross your longswords into an X shape to parry the Orc’s claymore strike. You throw your blades apart, making the Orc lose balance and he trips over a stone bench. You leap over the bench, and bring down both swords, stabbing through the Orc’s body, just as the Dark Elf lunges at you with his shortsword, he was too close to avoid, and the attack landed on your arm.
The blade was nearly blunt, and would leave a bad bruise but nothing worse. You kick him again, sending him tumbling back, when suddenly you feel a blast of scorching heat crash into your back. You turn to see the High Elf, a look of pure rage on his face, generating another fire spell to throw at you.
He hurls the ball of flame towards your head, you dodge to the side, and the attack crashes into the Dark Elf, setting his robes ablaze. He screams in agony, and you spin with your longswords, putting him out of his misery. The mage is roaring in anger now, tossing spell after spell at you, with all the accuracy of a drunken archer. You effortlessly dodge his spells, and grin as the fire in the mage’s hands dissipates as the mana in his body runs dry. He draws a tiny steel dagger, and sprints towards you, and you don’t even bother killing the helpless mage, as you crash a gauntleted hand into his head, knocking him out cold.
There is another door in the back of the room. You smash it open with your boot, and feel a heavy impact on your chest. An arrow had pierced the outer leather layer of your armor, but had been stopped by the chainmail on the inside. You see the Dark Brotherhood Speaker backed against the wall, trying to nock another arrow. You pull out the one in your chest, throwing it to the ground, and you unsheath your Elven dagger, throwing it at the Speaker. The dagger hits it’s intended target, sinking into his leg and dropping him to his knees.
You deliver a powerful kick to his body, before grabbing him by the throat.
“I would assume you’re looking for Scar?” he hissed. “My Brotherhood is gone, and I will never fight again with this injury. We have not yet been paid, so I have no need to hide the information. The man has been taken by the darkness. He has become a Vampire. He resides inside of Ymirgar’s Stand, the old fortress north of this city.
You release the Speaker, and turn to leave when you hear the sound of a blade being unsheathed. You turn to fight, but watch as the Speaker plunges a silver shortsword into his own body, and falls to the ground, dead.
You sigh at the stupidity of some people’s “Honor” and head back out of the mausoleum, picking up the Orc’s silver claymore and gathering his sheath, strapping the heavy weapon to your back. Then you strip the Dark Brotherhood robes off of the Orc, revealing heavy steel armor. You put the robes over your shoulder and head out of the Mausoleum and back to your chambers, where you quickly fall asleep.
You wake up and equip your heaviest steel armor, strapping the silver claymore to your back. You also bring the two Dwarven longswords, sheathing them at your sides, and the Elven dagger, which you attached to your boot straps. You would not find yourself caught without a proper weapon this time. You pull the Orc assassin’s robes over your head, they are much too big for you, but succeed at the job of hiding your armor, weapons, and identity.
You decide not to use the main gate of the city, as other guards might find you suspicious with the robe. You struggle to scale a wall behind the city’s smith, and drop down the other side, and begin heading north. You knew the fortress the Speaker told you of, you had actually been there before, when you were a hunter before being accepted into the city guard.
You walk to the large door to the fortress, and pull on the handle, and are surprised when it slides open easily. You slowly walk inside, and find yourself inside a large stone room with four long ancient wooden tables and at least a hundred wooden chairs spanning the long room. It must have been a dining hall at one point. There was a raised stone platform with a throne in the middle. On the throne, alone, sat the old Count. He sat perfectly still as you walked down the hall and stopped about ten steps in front of him, your robe hiding your face.
“What has become of my target, assassin?” he hissed. You can see a massive scar going from the very top of his forehead, all the way to his chin, crossing over his right eye. The other half of his face and his left arm and hand were badly burned, and his eyes glowed bright red from his Vampirism.
You reach up and grasp your hood, ripping it down and gripping the hilt of the silver claymore. The Vampire stands, a look of pure hate on his twisted face.
“YOUR DEATH WILL BE BY MY OWN HAND THEN!”
You charge towards him, bringing the claymore over your head, but the Vampire moves with unbelievable speed, rolling out of your range, and draws two small silver daggers, lunging at you and landing five strikes on your torso, shredding the robe and revealing your steel armor.
You slash backward with the claymore, but he gracefully sidesteps it, slashing at your face with his daggers. He lands a cut on your cheek, and another on your neck, although not deep enough to cause any real damage. You flail the heavy weapon around, but he dodges it with ease. You throw a kick, knocking him back, and you raise the claymore above your head, hurling it at him. It was close, but he manages to evade it, and it crashes into the wall behind him.
You rip open your robes, unsheathing your dual longswords, and begin to slash at the demon, but his speed was too great, he landed four strikes for each of your misses. If it were not for your thick armor you would have been dead ten times over. The vampire dives through the air, crashing into you and knocking you onto the floor. He kneels over you, and plunges both of his daggers towards your neck. You have no choice but to drop the longswords to block his attack with your gauntlets, trying to push his blades away from your throat.
He throws off your arms, and raises his daggers for another strike, but you reach down and grip the dagger in your boot, slashing it upwards and sinking it to it’s hilt into the Vampire’s shoulder. He hisses and rolls off of you, and you stand and grasp a nearby wooden chair, swinging it around and smashing it into the Vampire’s head, snapping off two of the chair’s legs.
The Vampire loses his balance and falls, and you grip the ends of the broken chair legs and climb onto the fallen Vampire. He swings at your face with his daggers, but you lean back and they miss. You raise the two chair legs above your head, and stab the sharp, broken ends of them into the Vampires chest. You stab again and again, and the Vampire suddenly bursts into flame. You tumble off of him, patting out flaming shreds of the small amount of robe that remains on you. You collect his silver daggers, and head home to inform the countess that you had completed your quest.
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Post by Will on May 7, 2011 23:09:33 GMT -5
You finish eating your venison steak, and begin to pack up your tent for the day’s travel. You have been sent as a messenger from your hometown to deliver a Nord-forged blade of the highest quality to a noble collector in the city of Falkreath, in the far south. The master smith of your village had forged this blade over a period of twenty days, making sure it was flawless. While Nords preferred broadswords, axes, or hammers, this blade was curved and the blade was very thin. You had seen illustrations of weapons like this, these Katana, in history books, a functional replica of a weapon used by emperor’s personal guards for centuries. It had been specially ordered, and although the smith had never forged one before, he had done an impeccable job.
The weapon was enclosed in a wooden case, padded with wool to avoid any damage to the blade. You strap the case to your horse Snow, mount her, and begin to travel south.
After three days of travel, your supply of smoked venison begins to run low, and you set up camp, preparing for a day of hunting. You dismount, leashing your horse to a nearby tree, and unstrap your longbow and iron shortsword from your horse, sheathing the blade and strapping on your quiver.
You slowly proceed into the birch forest, eyes peeled for any movement. You walk directly east for about half an hour, using the sun as direction, when you hear a rustling to your right. You drop into a crouch, and stare into the forest, when you see a large white wolf wandering through the trees.
Wolf meat was not as juicy nor as flavorful as venison could be, but it would do well enough. You slowly nock an arrow, and aim your heavy bow directly at the wolf’s heart.
The second you release the arrow, an ear-splitting roar shatters the air around you, the wolf bolts into the forest, your arrow hitting a tree behind it. The world around you begins to shake, and you look all around you but see nothing. And then everything goes dark. A massive shadow envelops the ground around you, and as you look up in terror, you see it. A Grand Dragon. Fifty feet from head to tail, with deathly black scales, and eyes, red of Oblivion. It slams into the ground in front of you, nearly knocking you to the floor. It stares directly at you, as still as a statue.
You can’t run, your legs won’t work. You stand still, and you slowly nock an arrow and raise your bow, aiming for the beast’s right eye. You release the arrow, and the Dragon’s speed is incredible, twisting it’s neck as the arrow plinks harmlessly off it’s Mithril-hard scales. It charges at you, swinging it’s massive claws at your body. You jump back, and they rip into your leather armor, shredding it as though it were parchment.
Your legs find life, as you turn and sprint with all your strength. You head west, trying to make it back to your horse. The dragon opens it’s massive black wings, and takes to the sky, soaring above you as you run. Suddenly you hear a blast of fire, and dive to your right, avoiding the impact of the dragon’s massive fireball by less than a foot. You roll to your feet, and continue to sprint west.
After five minutes of running and dodging fireballs, you burst out of the forest, and see your horse rearing and kicking, trying to free itself from the tree she was tied to. You draw your shortsword, and slash through the rope restraining her. You roughly shove your bow into Snow’s saddle strap, and vault onto the animal’s back, kicking at it’s sides. The animal begins to gallop at full speed, and as you look back, you see a burst of fire erupt from the forest, as the black dragon launches into the skies.
It begins to pursue you, and catches up in less than a minute. It dives towards you, and while you try to duck, it’s massive arms still smash you in the back, knocking you off of your mount. You struggle to stand, and shout out as you see the dragon grasp Snow in it’s teeth, and toss her like a toy a hundred feet into the air. She crashes down onto the earth, dying immediately. The dragon turns it’s attention to you, running towards you rather then flying. You roll out of the way of it’s claw, and sprint towards your dead horse. The case with the Katana you were supposed to deliver was smashed open, the blade laying on the ground and the sheath snapped in two. The village smith would kill you if this dragon did not.
You gripped the hilt of this weapon, and felt your hands conform perfectly to the leather wrapped hilt. It was nothing like the rough wood of your iron shortsword. Made from Elven steel, it was lighter even then a small dagger.
You face the dragon, and it slashes at you again, but this time you do not run. You gracefully sidestep the attack, and bring the Katana slashing upwards with all your strength. You feel almost no resistance as it slashes through the soft inside of the dragon’s arm, severing it’s right claw.
The beast roared in pain, thrashing around, it’s tail slamming into your side. You would not let it throw you, as you thrust the blade of the Katana through the dragon’s tail, as it picks you up and flails you around like a doll. You pull the sword out of the dragon’s tail, and it launches you into the air, spreads it’s wings, and flies up to meet you. You bring the sword over your head as you fall, and as the dragon opens it’s maw to swallow you, you slash downward, cutting the beast’s neck and body all the way down, and you land on the road, rolling to ease the impact. The dragon shrieks and flies higher, but then stops moving and begins to spiral towards the ground. The beast’s blood rained from the sky, and it’s massive body crashed to the ground.
You walk to the dragon’s body, placing your hand on it’s chest. You feel the beast’s soul being absorbed into your own, and hear a whisper inside of your head. You cut out one of the dragon’s massive teeth, planning on having it turned into a blade. You walk to Snow, and kneel over her, still hearing the dragon’s whisper in your head.
“Ret Hyn Dah” you whisper, and a blue light emanates from your mouth, surrounding the horse’s body. Her wounds begin to close, her bones begin to reshape, and her eyes spring open, and she stands with a quiet neigh. You smile as you mount the horse. You examine the Katana, there is absolutely no damage on the blade, and while the wrapping on the hilt was soaked in blood, and the sheath was snapped, you had knowledge of leatherworking and woodworking, and could easily fashion a new wrapping and sheath for it when you reached the city.
You strap the dragon’s tooth to Snow’s saddlestrap, and once again begin to travel south.
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Post by Will on May 7, 2011 21:58:00 GMT -5
You're slowly making your way through a cave, looking for loot and equipment. Suddenly, there's an enormous crash, and the cave begins to collapse around you. You run for your life, dodging falling boulders and stones. You dive into a massive chamber right as the hall you came from caves in behind you. In the center of the chamber is a large hole sinking deep into the abyss.
You hear an earth-shattering roar, as a scarred and wingless Dragon, both it's eyes gouged out and only dark holes in their place, bursts forth from the pit, rocking the foundations of the dungeon you are trapped within. You draw your blade, accepting your death, and ready to fight this dragon to your last breath.
The blind dragon smells the air, and turns to you, before letting out a massive breath of fire, which you attempt to defend against with your shield, when the iron of your shield melts before your eyes. You drop the shield in pain, and ready your single longsword. You stand and face the dragon, sword held in front of you, when a battle cry the likes of which you never heard shatters the air around you, and a man bursts from the wall of the chamber, and seemingly in slow motion, brings down his massive sword onto the dragon's neck, severing it's head in one strike.
As the dragon's body sinks back into the abyss, the man turns to look at you. He is horribly deformed, half of his body seemed to be burned nearly to the bone, and the right half of his face was nothing but skull. He wore frayed hunter's pants, but nothing more. You can tell from the shade of the small amount of undamaged skin that this man was-or once was, an Imperial, of the region of Cyrodiil. He was obviously no longer alive. You look at his weapon, a six foot long Claymore, that he was holding in only one hand, as though it weighed no more then a dagger. It was glowing a dark shade of purple, and even though you were no mage, you could feel the evil radiating from the weapon. The man's eyes begin to glow bright red, and he raises the Claymore to your chest.
"THIS IS THE TRUE FORM OF UMBRA, YOU WILL BE THE FIRST WITNESS TO THE POWER THAT WILL CONQUER SKYRIM, AND THEN ALL OF TAMRIEL! YOUR SOUL SHALL FUEL MY BLADE!"
The demon sprints toward you, slicing the air with the evil blade, and you dodge it by an inch, feeling the demonic heat radiating from the blade, burning your flesh without even making contact. He slashes at you again and again, seemingly toying with you. You misjudge one of his attacks, and get a large gash across your arm, which immediately begins to fester and bleed from the demonic taint. Using the very basic knowledge of spellcraft your priestess mother taught you at childhood, you chant a weak healing spell, which is just enough so sew the wound.
You look up at the demon, and he seems to almost teleport through the air, appearing above you and slicing down with the blade. You roll out of the way, and the blade impacts the ground, shattering the stone floor of the cavern. You bring your steel longsword over your head and towards the demon's neck, but he spins and deflects your blade with his bare hand.
You feel one of your ribs shatter as an incredibly powerful kick lands on your chest, knocking you towards the Abyss. You grasp onto the edge with one hand, dropping your blade in the process. You scramble desperately to get back up, but the demon slams a foot onto your hand, using his weight to keep you from falling.
"I have no use for a pathetic soul such as your own," he hissed. "Now fall into Oblivion."
And he released his foot, letting you fall into the abyss. You close your eyes, accepting your death-but before you can fall twenty feet, you crash down onto something soft. It knocked the wind out of you, but you were alive. You stand and look around, and you see the body of the slain dragon. It must have gotten caught on a ledge in the pit. You smile to yourself, and place your hand on the dragons body. You feel the familiar power, the dragon's soul becoming a part of yourself. You look up to the light above you, and with one powerful jump, launch yourself out of the abyss. You come to a landing on the edge of the pit, and you see the demon attempting to blast clear the caved in entrance to the cavern.
He turns around slowly, a look of shock in his remaining eye.
"I do not know how you survived, but I will make sure it does not happen again." And he sprints towards you. You smile as he lunges his weapon at your throat, as you take a deep breath and stare him straight in the face.
"FUS ROH DAH!" And the demon is thrown away from you, as though the breath of the Nine combined came rushing through the cave. The blade was blown out of his hand, and his body slammed into the cave wall, where he collapsed at the floor. You walk to the blade, and carefully grasp it in your hand. You can feel the evil, but you will not let it take you as it did this other man. You hear a quiet moan, and the beaten body of the demon rises from the floor. His skull is crushed, his torso is shattered, black ooze leaking from the wounds in place of blood. He stumbles towards you, now nothing more then a mindless zombie. The blade is impossibly light, and you raise it above you with one hand, and with one swift stroke, slash the demon in two, and watch as his body ignites and burns in front of you. You smash your way through the cave, and come to the exit, and emerge into a forest of birch trees. You slide the blade into your belt, and begin to travel east.
You can feel the evil of the blade trying to take you over. You fight it and fight it, but it grows stronger each day. After six days of travel, you finally make it to your home town of Horundir, a small village on the eastern edge of Skyrim. You stumble into the chapel, the evil of the blade burning and tormenting you. A beautiful Nord woman runs to your side, grabbing you by the shoulder.
"Brother, what has happened? What evil is in this blade?"
All you can do is grunt, as you collapse at the alter of the Nine. Your sister pulls the sword from your belt, and places it upon the alter. You immediately feel the evil lifting off your body, and you manage to get to your feet. Your sister kneels in front of the alter, and begins to chant a prayer in a language unknown to yourself. The blade begins to glow a bright blue, and you can literally hear the screams of souls long dead being released from the weapon. She stands and hands you the blade.
"I do not know where you found this weapon brother, it is of unsurpassed quality, but It's past is best left unknown. I have cleansed it, and it should make a fine weapon for you now.
You grasp the hilt, and you no longer feel the evil trying to consume you. It still radiates power, and retains it's light as air quality. You thank your sister and head for the smith to forge a sheath for it, quietly pondering the future of the weapon.
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Post by Will on May 7, 2011 21:55:37 GMT -5
The bear tears into your flesh, rearing back on it’s hind legs, and slashing at you with it’s massive claws. It inflicts a long gash in your chest, shredding straight through your leather armor. You fall to the ground in pain, and the bear lunges onto you, pounding your body with it’s powerful arms. Somehow, you manage to reach your dagger on your belt, and bring it up and through the bear’s throat. It roared in pain and tumbled off of you, and you jump to your feet, thrusting the dagger through the bear’s skull. It trashed around, knocking you to the ground, before falling to the ground, dead. You stand, and with your dagger, begin to cut the skin and meat off of the beast. Over the course of three days, you work a new set of armor and a cloak from the bear’s pelt, happily sustaining yourself with it’s meat, and drinking melted snow. You were a hunter, and a master archer. This was the first time you fouled up one of your shots, as the bear laid down without warning just as you fired your powerful bow directly at it’s heart. Wounded but still powerful, it charged at you, leading to melee combat with the beast. You felt lucky to get away with your life, but without healing from a priest or alchemist, your wound would get infected. You pack up as much meat as you can carry in your pack, and begin to head back to your village. You forgot how far you traveled, and within half a day without washing the wound, it became crippling. You collapsed in the road, and tried to call for help, hoping a trade caravan or another hunter would be close enough to hear you. No help came as you slowly blacked out and saw only darkness.
You feel only pain, a burning sensation surrounding your torso. And then the pain is gone. You slowly open your eyes, and see the smiling face of a beautiful young Breton woman looking you right in the eyes. She could not have been older then 15. “Get up lazy!” she yelled, playfully slapping you in the cheek. This wakes you up fully, and you sit up in the bed. You are in a small wooden house, and all you can see is pine and birch trees out the window across from you. “So what’s your name?” she asked. You tell her, and she smiles at you. “Huh, can’t say that’s what I woulda’ picked for you, but if that’s your name… I’m Gendrina. I used to be a chapel initiate, but now me and my family live here. Mother, he’s awake, come in here!” An older and heavier Breton woman came in from the other room and smiled at you. “You’re lucky I was a priestess boy, or you would be in a grave right now. Still have some magic in these old hands. My husband is out collecting firewood, he should be home soon. You just get some rest. I am Jenessa, by the way.” You roll over and fall asleep instantly. You wake up a few hours later and meet Jenessa’s husband, a tall Nord man named Asard, at sundown as he arrives home. You spend hours discussing hunting tactics, and sparring with wooden longswords. He was once a member of the guard in a far-off city called “Bruma,” you had never heard of the place. You felt you would become good friends with this man. He was halfway through a speech listing different human-safe poisons to use on arrows, when suddenly he stopped short and seemed to choke. His eyes opened wide in fear, and he stumbled over to the window. “No! It was not supposed to be tonight!” he gasped. you stand and look through the window, and freeze in fear when you saw the sky, and immediately knew what I was facing. The moon was full. Jenessa came stumbling out of the kitchen, and you could hear Gendrina screaming in her room. “We must have miscounted, it was supposed to be tomorrow!” she cried. Her body began to change, her face elongating, her clothes tearing as she grew taller, her hair beginning to whiten and spread across her entire body. The same was happening to Asard, and there was the sound of glass breaking and a wolf’s howling coming from the second floor. “Get out of here boy!” she growled, just as the transformation completed, and two fully evolved Werewolves stood before you. You grabbed your longsword and sprinted for the door, but the wolf Asard grabbed hold of your arm and through you with unbelievable strength at the wall. You scramble to your feet, and make a run for the door again, this time met with the claws of the wolf Jenessa. You had no choice but to fight. Asard slashed at you, and you swung the sword upward, slashing the werewolf’s hand off, and he fell back and howled in pain. Jenessa jumped at you, claws flailing wildly through the air. You roll just in time, and she crashes into the wall, and as she turns, you thrust your sword forward and strike her in the heart, and she immediately falls, dead. Asard is on his feet now, bleeding from his missing hand, and begins to bite and scratch at you with is remaining arm. You block his claws with your sword, and kick out with all your strength, forcing him off balance. He trips and falls, and you lunge forward and stab the blade through his torso. He thrashes around hissing and slashing at your face, as you thrust the blade deeper, ending his life. You don’t even have time to breath, as the door crashes open and the wolf Gendrina sprints into the room. This wolf was solid black, not white like the others, and actually looked bigger then her parents. She jumped at you, grabbing for your neck with her claws, and you did not hesitate as you swung your sword with all your might, beheading the werewolf. They were all dead. Slowly they began transforming back into their human bodies, as the curse left them in death. You fell to your knees, knowing you just slew an innocent family who could not control themselves. Werewolves are not like Vampires, with some semblance of their human minds. They are thoughtless beasts, who’s only release is through death. You wanted to take your own life, you did not know if you could live with this horror. You raise your sword in front of you and turn it towards your throat and begin to cry. Then you hear voices. “Captain, there’s a house over here!” “Let’s investigate it, swords out, I don’t like what we heard” You take the sword away from your neck and stand, and try to make a run for the window, when the door is kicked open, and three Mounted Guards rushed into the house. You knew what it looked like. Three people dead, a woman and a child. The youngest of the guards vomits, another went blue in the face. The older guard captain pulled himself together and saw you running for the window. “STOP RIGHT THERE CRIMINAL SCUM!” and as you begin to climb out, you felt the intense pain of an arrow impacting your shoulder, and you fall over, unconscious.
You wake up in jail. You do not know how many days it has been. No matter what you told the court or the guards, they would not believe your story about the werewolves. Three years passed in this prison, as you worked as a blacksmith, making armor for the guards-they would not allow you to smith weapons, as you could use it for an escape.
One night you awake to the clangs of metal from swords hitting shields. An old bearded man is standing outside your cell, melting the bars with a hand of fire.
“Get up, young one. You…are Dovahkiin, Dragonborn.”
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