18+ Hands of the Sorrowful Knight

[Kir the Silent]

Hands of the Sorrowful Knight​

In our world there are heroes of every era, men and women alike who rise against all odds and become legends. But there is one hero whose legend exceeds any other. He assisted the Nevar against Dagoth Ur, helped both sides sign a truce in the Great War, and traveled to Sonvegard to fight alongside the Dovahkiin. He has stopped wars before they begin with words of wisdom, defeated the most powerful of enemies with a single blow, and saved Skyrim a dozen times over from destruction. For his valor and selflessness, dedicating his entire life to the people of Nirn, he was gifted immortality by the gods. He is the Knight of Golden Dawn, his righteous flame cleansing evil wherever it may hide. He is Yirim the Archon.

Ten years have passed since the end of the civil war in Skyrim and three years since the fall of the Aldmeri Dominion. Ulfric managed to convince Elisif to wed him in the name of the greater good, bringing peace to their homeland. But even more surprising is the fact they fell in love, had a child, and skyrim is united; healing from past wounds, making the land stronger than ever. The Empire turned it attention towards the Aldmeri now that the conflict there was resolved. Allied with the Argonians of Blackmarsh, they attacked the homeland of the High Elves. After two brutal years the Dominion surrendered, was dissolved, and the people of Tamriel rejoiced.

Thus a new age begins; the Fifth Age. An era of hope, peace, and prosperity. Or so it would seem...but on the first year of this new age, a shadow falls across the land of the Nords. Dark magic effects the land. Women give birth to infants already dead, children become emotionless in some cases slaying their own parents, and the darkness of the night deepens. What is this strange event gripping the land in paranoia and fear? To ensure the peace of this new Age, the Archon appears. The immortal hero ready to serve the people of Tamriel once again.

But something is off about the hero of heroes, said those that witnessed his passing. He held himself strangely. He was last seen headed towards Rorikstead, now a much larger farming town, a town under siege by their own loved one who rise from their graves nearby. The guards of Whiterun have erected a large palisade wall around the large settlement to contain the dead...and the survivors trapped within. They tried to take it back by force but an entire squad of guardsmen were decimated by one massive draugar that seems to lead the siege. Now they contemplate burning the village down. That is, until the Archon arrived and walked into the town. But it has been nearly a day. Could the hero have fallen to simple undead? Is there a greater threat lurking behind these events? Is the attack of the undead related to the other strange events in Skyrim? No one knows. Now the guards must resort to burning the town down. Unless...a group of strangers, brought together by fate, can band together and save the town. But this is only the beginning. This is just the start of a journey that will change you...forever.

Cast
Kir the Silent: Kvothe/Yirim the Archon
Simus: Titus Psyrakon
EpicVakarian: Lyanna Lightblade
The OP3RaT0R: Astius Aerius
Valin Oakthorn: Valin Oakthorn
Majir-Dar: Majir-Dar
CapObvious: Dolmas
Pufftuff: Vladier

 

[Kir the Silent]

Prologue: End the Beginning​

“Fall back!” The captain screamed towards his remaining men. Only three out of the fourteen remained and as they rounded a corner heading for the barricade gate one wouldn’t make the turn. Black arrows like quills protruded from his back. He fell to the ground with a disturbing gurgle as blood frothed from his mouth. The captain hesitated only a moment, glancing back at the dying man with pity and fear. The fear won out and he left him to his fate. Only one of the three men turned back to try and help him, but it was too late. The light had left his eyes and as the he realized this the ravenous horde of undead fell upon him.

The captain heard his unholy screams as he was ripped to pieces behind them; blood and gore splattering the ground, mixing with the soil which once gave birth to life. His eye ripped from the socket and throat ripped to silence his death screams.

The captain and the other survivor made it to the gate of the barricade which surrounded the town once known as Rorikstead. He pounded on the oak palisade screaming desperately, “Open the gates dammit!”

“I can’t sir,” came the subdued response from the other side. The gate guard had never heard such fear and desperation in the captain’s voice. This alone was enough to somber him and make him yearn to open the gate, but he knew he could not. “We…we can’t risk the plague leaving…overwhelming the countryside……….I’m sorry…”

The dead villagers and risen skeletons were closing in, the stench of decay and blood on the air. The captain went back to beating on the door as the other guard tried climbing over the wooden wall. He reached the top where an arrow, this one the yellow of the guards, entered his eye; his lifeless corpse falling off the wall and hitting the ground with a wet thwack, bones breaking and protruding from the mangled mess.

“YOU OPEN THIS GATE RIGHT NOW SOLDIER! RIGHT fl*ffING NOW! OR BY TALOS I WILL HAVE YOU EXECUTED. RIGHT NOW!!!” The gate guard hung his head, fighting back tears and sorrow. He tried to, tried to tune it out, the screaming of the captain to open the gate…the banging on the solid wood barrier…the sounds of death. The captain was crying now; begging. He was beating his fists bloody. And he kept beating them to the bone…right up until the moment a bloody skeleton with remnants of flesh still clinging to it cleaved his skull in two.

 

[Kir the Silent]

Chapter One: Dreams of Good and Evil​

The Third Age saw the reborn Nevar cast down Dagoth Ur. The Fourth Age saw the end of the Septims and Oblivion upon Tamriel. Now, in this new Age, we were supposed to see peace. The Dominion? Has fallen. Morrowind? Is rebuilding. Skyrim? United. But evil never dies…it is simply; reborn. It takes many shapes, has many names, and will always exist. For what is light without darkness? What are shadows without the flame that casts them?

I have lived longer than most. I have seen things, learned things, that many could never hope to fathom. I’ve loved, I’ve lost. I’ve rejoiced, I’ve wept. I’ve lived and I’ve died. But now…something is coming. No, it’s already here. Events have been set in motion, events that cannot be stopped. Unless those few chosen ones, unknowing of their destiny, stand up. Stand against the darkness rising once again to threaten, not only Tamriel…but all of Nirn. The shadow has begun to spread. Skyrim feels the cold of an unnatural winter; colder, and darker, than any that has come before to even this frigid land. Children walk around with empty eyes…some even killing the very ones that birthed them. Crypts lay empty with not even undead nearby to explain this mystery. Crops are grown filled with decay and maggots.

Now this evil has made its first move. Rorikstead, once a small farming village, has become a thriving town. That is, of course, until the dead began to lay siege to it. The dead are legion. Fearing the same death and destruction unleashed upon the town would spread, the Jarl of Whiterun ordered near every guard to surround and barricade the town; trapping the dead inside…along with the survivors still fighting for their very lives. They tried to purge the town by force, but they only added to the dead army within. Then as they began to lose hope and contemplate the grim task of burning the entire town, along with all undead and living within, he appeared.

Like a beacon of hope he shined. Walking towards the ruined town unafraid was Yirim the Archon, an ancient hero with a legend that surpassed so many. He helped the Nevar fulfill his prophecy, fought alongside Martin Septim when Dagon assaulted the Imperial City, and followed the Dovahkiin to stand as his brother against Alduin. If any could stop this army of the damned, surely it was he?

But yet…two days pass. The situation grows ever grim. Now I send out this cry, to the heroes and heroines unknown. Even to themselves. Dream…dream and heed my desperate words. Nirn needs you, the gods themselves need you. Find your way to Rorikstead, for any reason. Any at all. I tell you this, for you will not remember this when you wake. But your desire, for some reason, to go to Rorikstead will remain. When you find me…you will remember.

Who am I? An unsung, tragic hero. A broken hero, not a hero at all really. But then again…heroes are never who you would expect. The stories, the true stories, aren’t of perfect legends. But imperfect people who rise above themselves to become the heroes that a darkening world so desperately needs.

I’ll see you soon.

 

[Kir the Silent]

Chapter Two: Shades of Grey, Shades of the Dead​

“I say we just burn the damn thing down. Now! While we have the chance.” Said a young guard to an older one.

“And what about those innocents; men, women, and children?” The older man spat at the other angrily. “Just damn them to Oblivion to save your own cowardly ass?”

The young man held up his hands as if to ward of the venomous words, some guilt in his expression and voice. “Oy now, I didn’t mean it like that. I will go if ordered, fight if ordered. But we aren’t soldiers! What we have is an ‘army’ of guards. Old men like you who have been part of them for years and young men like me they drafted for the emergency. I mean…I’ll admit I’m scared. Terrified even, but if the Archon couldn’t do it. What hope do us regular men have?”

“Talos was a regular man once upon a time,” said the old man. His voice losing some of its edge. “I say we give the stranger his chance after all. He’s the only one brave, or crazy, enough to go in after the Archon. Besides the captain already said he’s waiting on word from Whiterun before a final decision.”

Suddenly the sound of thunder filled the air. The old man flipped backwards, his chair falling with him in it. The young guard rose with sword drawn and fear in his eyes. But he relaxed when he noticed the gate guards cheering. Maybe the Archon had returned. The two rushed over to see what the commotion was. The old man was the first to speak, “What in Talos’ name was that?”

One of the sentries smiled through the dirt and weary expression on his face. “Go up the tower and look into the town! It’s safe to look over the wall, for now at least, and you won’t believe it!”

The two quickly climbed to the top of the wooden wall, looked over the sharpened ends, and…let themselves have a smile at the small victory they saw a few yards away from the gate. The stranger that had offered to go search for the Archon and survivors stood tall surrounded by a circle of charred corpses. He had single handedly killed nearly a dozen undead that had been scratching at the gate for the last two days, many were former comrades.
The young guard yelled triumphantly for the monsters killed and the old man smiled as he let a single tear fall; for the friends now at rest. He looked to his young partner, “He might actually be able to do some good after all.”

“If only we had a few more adventurers as good as him, eh?” The young man smiled back. He turned to the stranger who carried no weapons and yelled out to him as he walked back to the barricade gate. “A good start! I owe you a drink but send all those bastards back to their graves and kill the bitch-born whore that caused all of this! I’ll owe you two drinks!”

The stranger waited as they opened the wooden gate, greeted by weary smiles and pats on the back. The other guards called for the two to climb down before more skeletal archers appeared. They all smiled to each other and the stranger as they stood at the gate, letting them feel something they thought they had lost; hope, even if it was just for a brief moment. They knew one man had little chance of ending this alone.

 

[EpicVakarian]

The moment I saw Rorikstead on the horizon, I knew it wasn't good. I knew the rumours were true.

The rumours reached the Hall of the Vigilant just under a day ago. They had sent me to check it out, to see whether it was true; to see if the dead really had taken Rorikstead from Skyrim's hands. From what I saw, it looked like they were right. The tall, spiked logs were arranged in a wall, surrounding the town, with a thick wooden gate leading into a large camp. I kept a hand on Sol, my sword, as I walked towards the camp, ready for any trouble the men might give me. A woman was never particularly welcome in a place like this, even a woman like me.

But before any of the guards noticed me, a great cheer went up, and a young man began to yell inside the wall. I had no idea what they were so happy about, but I couldn't help smiling with them. Then the gate opened. A single man walked through, waving at the guards who were patting him on the back and yelling congratulations.

He was about the same height as me, but much more bulky. His hair was almost plastered to his face; its unnatural pitch black and pure white shades covering one eye. His torso was uncovered, allowing me to see his toned, pale chest. It was covered in tattoos, and completely open to the elements. His arms and lower half were completely covered, in a black ebony plate decor and black silk leggings. A stone on his belt glowed slightly, giving the impression it was enchanted with some magical power. He wore no weapons; no sword at his waist, no axe at his back, nothing.

He must be a mage...
I removed my hand from Sol's pommel, making sure I didn't look so threatening. It was never a good idea to approach someone with your hand on your sword. Then I approached the man, curious as to what had happened.

"Excuse me." His head snapped around and his eyes narrowed, and I was suddenly unnerved. "Uh... What did you do? I know Rorikstead is infested with walking corpses; you didn't just get rid of them, did you?"

He said nothing for a few seconds, so I bent my knees slightly and pulled my skirt down, making sure my unspeakables weren't on show. It was a price I had to pay for comfortable movement in a skirt, so I dealt with it. Then I looked up again, waiting for the mysterious man to answer.

 

[Kir the Silent]

Kvothe turned and looked to a woman who had approached him. His black eyes looked over her, taking in every detail before speaking. She had the appearance of a Nord but there were angular features present in her face. No pointed ears, so she must have some Breton in her. Dark hair of auburn brown and green eyes as deep as the pines of Falkreath. He saw her fidget with her rather short skirt, probably a bit self conscious. He thought on her words and answered with his melodious voice, a strange accent no one could seem to place present in his words. "Not hardly. I simply...thinned the ranks and gave the good men here some much need peace of mind."

He turned and looked back to the ruined town. He then looked to the guards around him, "Where's the Sergeant? I've dealt with the undead at the gates like he asked and proved my skill. I want to go further in and search for the Archon. Along with any survivors."

The guards nodded, several running of through the makeshift warcamp to find the man in charge. Many of them eager to tell him of this small, but uplifting victory. While he waited Kvothe turned back to the woman and bowed slightly. "I am Kvothe."

He was curious as to whether this was random chance or perhaps she was one of the unknown he had reached out to.

 

[EpicVakarian]

"Kvothe? I'm Lyanna. Lyanna Lightblade." I felt a bit awkward, but I kept talking. "What happened here? And who's the Archon?"

He appeared to be judging me. He examined me closely, especially my eyes. His black ones bored into mine, and I had to look away because it was so unnerving. Eventually, I looked back up at him and began to speak again.
"If you're going back in there, I'm coming with you. Whoever this Archon is, if he's alive, we can save him. Even one life is better than none." I folded my arms, resting them just above my tiny waist. I didn't fall to his stare this time; I matched it. I glared into his eyes, just as he was doing to mine, and waited for his response. Even if he said no, I would be coming with him, but better to do so on good terms.

 

[CapObvious]

Dolmas sat in the dark corner of his new cell, his legs folded with his hands on his knees. He straightened out his back and exhaled, trying to keep his body peaceful in his final moments. His mind was clouded, as he kept himself from killing and feeding for days. He was determined to make this work. He was determined to make this cell his tomb.

He opened his eyes to study the cell again, which had already felt the wrath of Dolmas' baser side. The walls were clawed and marked deep. Around those were the markings of a madman, Valen's handiwork, no doubt. He could see his clothes and weapons beyond his cell door, across from him in a chest. He didn't need them where he was going anyway. He took another look at the dark room around him and nodded to himself. This dismal place was fitting for a murderer.

For a monster.

His superb focus, even in the face of death, waned a little, and as a result, two figures entered his cell. But by now, Dolmas had chalked them up as hallucinations, brought on by either his hunger or his madness. But these figures were more than just that. These were the other two sides to Dolmas.

One was the embodiment of his insanity, and darkness of mind. He stood as the one who would kill, maim, or destroy the world, at the drop of a septim. This was Valen, waylayer of lives, families, and anything that Dolmas had ever loved. His form was a mirror of Dolmas himself, as they were truly one.

The other was the embodiment of violence, and blood-thirst. It him who truly loved to see little Dolmas squirm. He took the form of the wolf; of the curse set upon him by one of those Daedric bastards who promised to help with the blood-lust.

Both of them watched Dolm intently, each one waiting for the poor bastard to finally crack. But he sat solemnly, waiting for the end.

But with one noise, the figures left and Dolmas' ear twitched.

"Lise, we shouldn't have run! They needed us back there!" Dolmas' left eye twitched, and another voice rose against the first. "You saw what happened to the captain. They left him in there to die. I'm not about to let them to do that to me. Now go downstairs and make sure we're alone. I don't want to go out fighting some simple bandits."

They were going to come downstairs. No! Dolmas began to pace the floor, distraught. He could see this playing out a thousand different ways, but all ended with the death of the two upstairs. There was no way around it.

The sound of a door creaking and footsteps pounding the floor urgently woke something within Dolmas, and he began to lose control of himself. Valen was appearing.

He didn't begin to fall apart. He didn't try to shift into the beast. No. Valen was indeed crazy, but also cunning. He had a plan. And it began with the girl who was now inches away from his cell door.

A young Nord woman stepped out from the shadows, staring at the worn and hungry elf now peering back at her through the bars. A look of pity stained the poor woman's rather beautiful face, but soon, that wouldn't be the only thing.

The woman spoke to him, instead of her friend upstairs. Interesting. So she wished to die alone.

"Are you alright? Why are you locked in here?" The woman questioned innocently, her hands lightly grasping the bars. Valen began to weave a story out of nothing. A crafty trait that came naturally to him. He stepped away and looked to the ground, acting the part. "I'm not sure. I came here looking for supplies with a friend of mine. We had run out of food. Hoped there was some in here." He made a pitiful look to sell the story, and he could see the woman was starting to feel the sadness he was fabricating. "We were waylay-ed by bandits. They beat me, locked me up in here. They took my friend somewhere else but...I could hear her screaming from..." Valen clutched his face and began to cry.

The woman had heard enough. She scanned the bars thoroughly, then looked over to the chest. A key found its way into her hands and she scrambled for the door. "Don't worry, I'll get you out of there and we'll see if we can find her."

This was just too easy.

Valen nodded and waited for the door to open, then headed straight for his things. He muttered thanks when he could, trying to keep up the thankful prisoner act. "I don't think we'll find her. But thank you for at least wanting to try." He stepped away from the trunk, not sheathing his sword. The woman had turned away, to give the elf privacy. She wouldn't have time to regret it.

He stepped up behind her and clutched her to him. With one, stiff motion, he dragged his blade across her throat, slowly and painfully. He listened and felt joy as the screams pierced the air, then slowly died.

The force of the shriek awoke Dolmas from within, and he wrestled power back from Valen, but it was too late. He fell to his knees and wept. He clutched the unknown woman's body to him, and held it. He apologized over and over. To her, to her friend upstairs, to her family who were probably waiting at home. He had absolutely lost it.

Rushing footsteps came up from behind him, and a loud gasp broke the silence. He turned to see a larger nord man, his sword drawn and pointed at him. This must have been Lise. The man looked to the elf, than to his friend, who was now dead. A great roar came from him as he dropped his sword and grabbed Dolmas by the collar. He dragged him across the room and slammed him into the bars, the walls, anything with a flat surface that seemed hard enough to hurt. He paused to look the now bloodied elf in the eye. "Are you crazy, elf?!"

Magic words. Dolmas' eyes got serious, and he looked into the man before him. "You have no idea."

The elf began to shift in the man's hands, all the while undressing the best he could . The man quickly let go, out of shock as well as the disgusting feeling as he felt the elf's bones shift inside his hands. The elf grew in size, and each of his limbs grew tougher and harrier as the guard looked on in fear and disgust.

The freshly transformed elf growled, not looking at the man.

Then, without any sign or warning the wolf leaped for the man and tossed him about the room like a rag-doll, making his bones crunch against the hard cold stone with every hard push. How did he like being slammed into things? Not so fun, huh?

Finally, his hunger getting the best of him, he stopped playing with his food and cleaned up the scraps. He dragged both bodies into the cell, then began his first meal in a long time.


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Dolmas finally got dressed and armed up. As he tied the fastens on the chest plating, he focused on what he was supposed to do next. He couldn't do the starvation thing again. He couldn't lock himself up or hide himself away, as people were to stupid to leave him be, and he was to crafty to stay locked away.

He had to leave here, though. This place marked a failure that pained Dolmas deeply. It proved that he was meant to survive any attempts to push away the "gifts" he had been given.

He felt as if he was cursed to walk nirn a tortured soul forever.

Maybe he was right.

Grabbing an apple off a table and taking a bite, he stepped out into the bright world, shielding his eyes from the sun. He played a quick game to figure out which direction to go, then began walking off toward the north. To Rorikstead.

 

[Kir the Silent]

"Strange," said Kvothe lightly when he learned this Lyanna did not know who the Archon was. "I thought everyone knew of the Archon, legendary immortal hero blessed by the gods. He helped the Dovahkiin against Alduin not even a decade ago."

He looked sidelong back at Rorikstead and shrugged softly. "As for what happened here? Who can say, but I feel a shadow stretching across the land."

"This is only the beginning..." His eyes changed for black to gold, but only for the briefest of moments. To some it might have been a trick of the light. His expression went back to normal and he brushed some of his hair out of his face. "I doubt we would save him by the way. He has saved the world plenty of times, but of course you never know. There are limitless possibilities for the future. But now I'm rambling. I suppose if you wish to accompany I might as well accept. I recognize a Vigilant of Stendarr when I see one, so no doubt you would just follow me regardless. I hope you are good with that blade and you don't have a weak stomach."

 

[EpicVakarian]

Now that Kvothe mentioned who the Archon was, I did remember. The lessons that Vigilant Carsten had taught me about the hero that played some part in every historical event of the past two hundred years. I'd just forgotten the name. It didn't hurt me; I'd never much cared for the history lessons. The combat training and the private lessons on restoration with Keeper Carcette had taken my interest much more.

Kvothe looked back at Rorikstead, speaking almost casually, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. And as he spoke, his eyes flickered from black to gold. I did a double take at that; a small one, however. But before I could look again, his eyes were back to their original colour.

I listened silently, up until he questioned my nerves and my skill with a blade.
"I'm not a Vigilant. I'm just... with them. Trust me, I'm not an actual Vigilant. But I've had years of training with this very blade. I know Sol better than I know myself. And as for my stomach..."

I raised a hand to my left shoulder, pulling my jacket down over my arm and my shirts down enough to see my scar. The long, white line that wrapped around my shoulder, resulting from the wound that had almost killed me. I held my clothes there while I pointed to the scar with my right hand.
"Do you see that? Bandits. I was just walking around the forests by the Hall of the Vigilant, and they attacked me. I fought them off, but one of them managed to bring his greatsword about nine inches into my shoulder. Missed my heart by half an inch. My arm was nearly falling off, and I had to heal it myself. It took all the energy I had, but that was all that was left; that scar, exactly as it is now. The Vigilants said it was the most amazing feat of restoration they had ever seen." I paused, staring into Kvothe's eyes, my mouth tilting upwards slightly. "I was half an inch from death. I saw my heart beating while I was healing the wound. And I'm still here. So don't try to question my stomach again." I grinned at him, making sure he knew I was being friendly rather than challenging, then pulled my clothes back up over my shoulder again.

"I'll be sat over there waiting. Come get me when you're ready to head in there." I smiled, letting my cloak flap around in the breeze. The illusion enchantment made it appear as if rose petals were flaking off the fabric at every movement, and it managed to entrance almost everyone that saw it. I was curious to see if Kvothe was as interested, but I didn't turn to look. I just sat down on a bench near a campfire, facing the road into Rorikstead.

The moment I sat down, I realised just how blistered my feet were. I pulled off my thighboots, folding them and resting them on the bench beside me, and pulled my feet up towards me. I muttered a word, and all the blisters were gone. I let out a small sigh of relief and put the boots back on.

But then I looked up and saw a guard sat across the road, staring at me. But not at my face. He took advantage of my sitting position to look up my short, tight skirt at my undergarments. I gasped, then stood up and rushed him, grabbing him by the collar and pressing my forehead to his.
"Look up there again and you won't be looking anywhere ever again." I put a hand on Sol to emphasise my point. His eyes widened. "And if you're thinking of trying to get something else up there, think again. I'll send it to Oblivion alone before I let it inside me, if you catch my meaning." I raised my eyebrows. His eyes widened further, and he nodded quickly, hastily, silently apologising. I threw him away from me forcefully, sending him facefirst into the dirt and walking back to the same bench, but crossing my legs this time so he couldn't see anything. His friends were laughing at him, and looking at me in wonder. I looked away, my chin resting on my hand, waiting for Kvothe to come and find me, making sure to give a threatening look over at the guard if he looked at me again. I caught him looking at my cleavage a couple of times, and rarely at my face. Every time, I put a hand on Sol's pommel to make sure he looked away quickly.

A lot of guards, however, seemed to be transfixed with my cloak rather than my body. The rose petals that weren't really there were drawing the attention of most of the guards around me, and I let them look. It was really quite beautiful to see. The petals only flaked off every time the wind picked up, because I'd enchanted them to appear every time I moved, rather than every time the cloak moved in the wind. But still, they were flaking off every so often, and the guards kept looking. Eventually, I sat up, careful to keep my legs crossed, and rested my head against a tent behind me. It was really quite comfortable. I closed my eyes, casting a quick spell to keep my legs in place, and drifted off to sleep, hoping that Kvothe would wake me when it was time.

 

[The OP3RaT0R]

"Your money or your life!"

Astius stood in the center of the road that headed east from Markarth to Whiterun, glaring from under his wide hood at the Argonian who flipped a blade around in his hands, fidgeting, waiting for the fearfully-stammered surrender and the backpedaling and the tossing forth of a hefty coin purse he was obviously used to and had obviously planned for. This one surely knows how to pick a mark, the Imperial who stood a head above the thief thought to himself. "Alright," Astius said evenly, after waiting a moment. He slowly pulled his large travelling satchel around to his front. "Let me just... rummage through here..." The Argonian chuckled in delight. "Looks like you picked a bad time to get lost, friend, maybe next time you'll have better favor."

Astius would not have needed to rummage through his bag to find coin, had he been looking for coin; but he did not fear thieves, especially the petty variety. So instead, he simply took in his hand a small black sphere. "Okay, here you are." His voice remained even as he paused for a second; the Argonian looked confused. It was then that he swiftly hurled the ball into the face of the would-be thief.

It exploded in a puff of enduring smoke, obscuring the vision of the untrained eye and marring the lungs of the unprepared inhaler. Astius was careful not to allow the smoke to enter his body as he flicked his wrist and sprung forward, activating the mechanism attached to his forearm; a golden-colored blade grew out from within his loose sleeve, and the Imperial sent it into the center of the Argonian's chest, cutting through weak armor and skin and ending the attacker's life. Yet another reaps what he sows, Astius thought. He almost felt pity on the Argonian's stupidity; that he thought that with his hand in another's pocket was a way to live! Yet this same fact was what steeled Astius against any remorse for his self-defense.

As the Imperial stepped out of the man-made cloud, he scanned the horizon and saw Rorikstead in the distance; from here he planned to move to his latest target, a necromancer cult to the north. Of course, he had heard the rumors of the town's recent plight with hordes of undead - and of course he realized that he was travelling into the midst of this plight - but it was nothing he could not handle, he knew. He went over his options for gaining entry to the besieged town as Rorikstead grew closer, but the sound of an explosion up ahead drew his eyes, and the distant cheers of guards as the gates were opened negated the necessity for an entry plan. Not to mention that the small city, which had previously been growing enough to necessitate stone walls, was now barricaded closed, most of the activity now in a large camp outside the town.

Eventually, he was at the doorstep of the town; his observational mind took in many abnormal aspects of the village under siege - wrecked structures, dried gore, hollow people, all visible from outside of the city. And two apparent outsiders. One, a woman dressed in black and armed with a glowing white sword; Some kind of paladin, perhaps? He considered the idea with disgust. Maybe that combat gear is just to make her look able; the way she's dressed, it can't be easy to actually fight. Astius took note of the woman's looks, and easily set them aside on all levels other than pure fact.

The other, a man also dressed in black, but with ebony and silk garb and a bare, tattooed chest, all in addition to a glowing white stone on his belt. He almost groaned slightly, but the Imperial's rationality resisted the slight urge to immediately throw this man under the umbrella of 'mystic mage;' he also caught the error of his thoughts on the woman, and decided to rightly let reality be the judge. First, however, he would quickly settle himself in... somewhere. His plan of staying at the inn was foiled.

Moments later, he returned to where the woman sat, his bag safely hidden nearby. His scientific nature set to work; he had observed the two odd ones out, and now it was time to ask a question. Why are they in Rorikstead? This situation was unlike a conventional experiment in that Astius was able to answer his question while going around the scientific method. Keeping his hood up, he approached the woman. He had observed a particular guard nursing a wounded bravado injured, by what he gathered from the man's taunting peers, by the woman's refutation of an attempted peek under her short skirt. Astius made sure he was professional in his approach; then again, he always was - back straight, chin up, eyes open clearly. "Ma'am." He said, drawing the woman's attention to the strong jaw just visible within the hood's shadow - waking her actually, she had been dozing still enough to make Astius think she had been awake. "You look out of place here. What brings you to this place?"

 

[CapObvious]

Dolmas' pace remained slow as he walked the plains, and Valen's usual counting of steps continued in the back of his head. "...Four hundred and three, four hundred and four..." Dolmas let him count, as it gave him time to think.

Where was he going to go?

With his best attempt at barricading himself from the world foiled, he felt lost. Should he try going back to mercenary work? He had a good run going for awhile. Even thought he had beaten the curse. Or at least calmed it for a while.

A blood-soaked face appeared in his mind's eye and chuckled murderously. "Not even close."

His depression knew no bounds, and he felt pathetic. Rather, Valen was calling him pathetic. Sometimes it was hard to tell whose thoughts where whose.

As he walked, he found evidence of a stream, and went down to it to wash himself.

He began removing his clothes, and as he did so, more and more of his scarred body became visible. He would have felt self-conscious, had anyone been around to see the many marks. As he washed, he traced the scars with his finger, recalling how Valen thought his scars could be made into art. Some of them connected together, forming patterns similar to tattoos. They were all crude, however, as they were all done by hand with his own dagger.

The painful memories of waking up with all of these cuts and marks left him reeling, and he almost forgot what he had been doing. He started to get back to business.

After finally finishing his task, he redressed and retied his armor. This time, he pulled up his hood, and untied his mask from his belt. He looked at it for a moment, staring through the black holes where eyes had once been, and put it on. Without further delay, he went onward, toward wherever his feet were taking him.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A ways further, and Dolmas began to hear voices. Well, different voices than usual. Surprisingly neither of the two unwelcome occupants said a word. "Must be full." He whispered to himself. He sped up the hill he was climbing to get to a spot to see what all the fuss was about.

A plethora of guards were standing around some sort of structure that Dolmas had not recognized from his time in this region. The guards all seemed exhausted. They're faces were marred with dirt and scars. What was going on around here?

Dolmas silently slid down the opposite side of the hill, keeping his eyes on the guards, who didn't seem to either notice him or pay him any mind. He adjusted his clothes and hood accordingly, making sure the only thing people saw was the mask. That was his warning sign to them.

Stay away, or die.

He headed towards the larger groups of tents, to see just what was going on. He tried to stay away from prying eyes, but his curiosity was getting the better of him, and he was desperate to find out what these guards are trying to keep in there.

His eyes finally caught a rather odd being. A mystic by the look of him. This one was surely connected to what was happening in there. He was too out of place to be much else. He thought of speaking to him, but odds are Valen would attack and the mystic would kill them both. He decided against it. He tried not to stare. Attention to himself was the last thing he needed.

As he continued on, two more out of place characters came into view. A woman, sitting in front of one of the tents, and a man speaking with her. They were mercenaries, by the looks of them. The man seemed to be getting information on what was going on, same as Dolmas. But talking was out of the question.

Instead, he leaned up against a post near their tent and listened closely, hoping to catch some info. And if he got caught, he'd handle it from there.

 

[Majir-Dar]

Majir-Dar looked on at the village. He had no idea what its name was or why it was walled up. It was a very curious sight, and Majir-Dar loved curious sights. He took his ebony locket from his neck, and opened it. He looked on at his deceased wife, Aahin, with his one good eye. His left eye was blinded by a tree branch. Not the most glorious of stories, but it was his, nonetheless. At any rate, Majir-Dar sighed and whispered to the locket, "You always said my curiosity would kill me. 'Curiosity kills the cat,' I believe those were your words," and then as if to himself he said," Shurh," It was Ta'agra for "be brave". Majir-Dar looked up from his locket, and studied the village. It was drawing him in, so Majir-Dar figured he shouldn't keep it waiting. Majir-Dar made a small prayer to Alkosh, the dragon cat of time, and ran towards the walls.

Majir-Dar's forest green shirt and brown fur rippled in the wind as he ran toward his objective. While he ran, he threw up two spells, one was an invisibility spell and the other was a muffle spell. Normally these spells were useless to him, as he could easily climb from tree to tree, but Majir-Dar was in a land with few trees, making his illusion magic all the more valuable.

He soon came upon a group of guards, and a few obvious outsiders. He was there long enough to see a beautiful woman threaten a guard. Her cloak flaked off when the wind moved, it was a stunning display. Majir-Dar nearly laughed when she told the man off, but he remembered where he was and caught himself. He didn't know these people, and from past experience, the guards of Skyrim do not care for Khajiiti. Especially Khajiiti like Majir-Dar. Majir-Dar was a rare breed of Khajiiti, he was a Dagi. He was a small cat of about 4 feet and he weighed very little. He was an odd enough sight in Elsweyr but in Skyrim he was a one-of-a-kind.

At any rate, he studied his surroundings. There was gore from past battles, wrecked buildings, torn soil, and depression all around. There was a Dunmer, the beautiful woman from earlier, and a few others. Majir-Dar didn't want to show himself, but needed information. He decided that his best bet was an outsider. After all, guards are usually not the best cat lovers.

Majir-Dar looked around until he saw an Imperial male and the beautiful woman talking. They were talking about the situation, something that Majir-Dar was quite happy of. This meant he could listen and learn, without risking his life. If the story behind the village appealed to him, then Majir-Dar would follow them and reveal himself when necessary. If the story behind the village turned out to be boring, then Majir-Dar would simply walk away, no-one would be the wiser.

 

[Valin Oakthorn]

It was dark night in the forests of Valenwood, many were a asleep, but suddenly one would wake in a cold sweat. Valin stirred the makeshift bed in the trees that he shared with his newly married wife. His long dark hair was unclean, and his wolf paw tattoo showed plainly across his heart. Cylnia, his wife woke with the movement of the bosmer man. "What is it dear?" She asked, looking at him as he sat upright. "I don't know, but I have this urge to return to skyrim, Rorikstead in fact. Valin said, now looking at her. "Can't it wait until morning?" She remarked. "No dear, this feels important, I must leave now. I will write you, tell the pack of my absence at sunrise." He said, an odd tone to his voice.

Valin dropped from the tree and gathered his light sleeveless tunic, along with his bow, stuck his knife in his boot, and headed off. He stopped, just out of earshot from the clearing the tall trees wolf pack lived at. He morphed into his wolf form, bones cracking and muscles tearing, midnight fur covered his body. He took off towards skyrim at full speed.

~~~~~~~~

He wasn't far from Rorikstead when he took the time to morph back. And continued his march further towards the town, taking a sip from his canteen at his waist. When he reached the camp that was once a simple farming town, he noticed a few others, mercenaries by the looks of them. Upon getting closer, Valin was nearly knocked over by the stench. His lycan smell picked up smells of hundreds of dead, and a disgusting scent of burning flesh. He examined the people around, an imperial, a vigilant, a rather insane looking dunmer, and then Valin turned his attention to another, a shirtless man covered in tattoos. Visions flashed in his head of the dream, and Valin struggled to keep himself standing. The visions came in flashes and gave him a headache, he struggled to shake it off.

Valin approached the man and spoke out to him. "You, I had a dream of you. Why have you called me here."

 

[Pufftuff]

Watching from a decent distance, a young man strange looking armor and an energy or some kinda aura coming off his body; he approached the gates of what was once Rorikstead, he was aloud to enter. Vladier watched dumbfounded, other than the Archon and some hapless groups of soldiers, nobody had gone into the doomed town. Then awhile later there was a loud noise, it was the guards celebrating, the young man emerged from the town. "Unbelievable, I suppose its time to get closer." Vladier thought to himself walking slowly towards the makeshift camp.

He arrived in time to hear the young man and a woman speaking to each other, learning their names to be Kvothe and Lyanna, respectively. He was using a combination of illusion magic and the crowd of dirty and morally drained guard camp to continue watching as others began to approach. An Imperial approached the two coming from the inn. Vladier had a tingle up his spine, a chill he learned over many, many years to indulge. He looked around and notice what appeared to be a Dunmer sneaking into the camp and stopping, assuming that he was doing the same as Vladier. "This is getting very interesting." Vladier thought about the dream he had the night before, "These must be the people that were summoned." his thoughts were confirmed by a Bosmer now walking toward the young man and woman. Speaking to the man saying. "You, I had a dream of you. Why have you called me here."

Vladier walked closer so he could hear better the conversation. He was at this point paying to much attention to the group ahead of him talking, his invisibility spell was broken by a soldier running into Vladier. He appeared out of thin air and hoped that the group didn't notice, he dropped to the ground, yelling at the guard, "Damnit have you no respect for your elders you whelp! An old man can't be getting knocked over like that." Vladier was good at playing the decrepit old man for he looked the part. The guard stuttered in shock sure the man wasn't there a moment ago, "I-I-I I'm so sorry sir are you alright?" Vladier snapped back. "I'm fine just go! Leave me be!" He hoped that none of the people he had spotted saw what happened and decided to walk away back towards he was camped. He was sure the Dunmer saw him and was bracing to be stopped by someone.

 

[Simus]

Alice and Titus Psyrakon walked along the road to Rorikstead. The day was cold but sunny and relatively cheerful. This was in stark contrast to the troubling rumors they had heard about the quiet little farming town. Some sort of plague had sprung up here and had worked its way into most of the citizens. The Jarl had deployed most of the city guard to Rorikstead at the suggestion of Alice and Titus' father General Simus Psyrakon. Technically he had retired several months ago but he still carried weight in the hold due to his heroic deeds against the Aldmeri Dominon.. He was also being groomed as the next Harbinger of the Companions and was now running most of their affairs thanks to Kodlack Whitemane's failing heath. This allowed him to keep involved in the goings on in Skyrim and let him stay active in his elder years.​

He had assigned Titus and Alice to go to Rorikstead and ascertain the situation. The guards stationed there hadn't reported in for several days and he was worried something was wrong. Alice was a Legate in the Imperial Legion so she was honorbound to go. Titus was a member of the Companions and only had to go if he wanted to but a dream he had the night before compelled him to do just that. A mystic looking mage in black leggings, ebony shoulder and arm pads and no shirt came to him in this dream and instructed him to go to Rorikstead to participate in the fighting of some great evil there. something even the legendary Yirim the Archon could not stop. Titus couldn't remember anything more than that but it had shaken him up pretty badly. Alice was quite familiar with visions and Titus hoped his sister could help. They discussed the matter as they walked along the road.​

"So can you tell me again what you saw?"​

"Not much I'm afraid. Just this mystic mage character and some compulsion to go with you to Rorikstead. It doesn't make any sense. I don't want to go to Rorikstead. I'd rather be in Jorvasskr with Njada getting my pole wet, yet here I am with you on this cold arse yet sunny day."​

"Hmm...so you just got this sudden urge to come with me today for a reason you can't put in words but know is important. Sounds like you had a vision Titus."​

"A vision?" He asked, genuinely surprised. "You mean a vision like...a vision? Am I starting to see the future like you Alice? Because considering what you've had to go through in your rather interesting life I really don't want that. No offense."​

"None taken." She said with a chuckle. "And no, I don't think you're becoming like me. Remember that my powers manifested when I was eleven. This is the first time ever this has happened to you and we're both twenty eight. My guess is someone reached out into your mind and called you here. Quite possibly this mystic you've described."​

"Why would he do that?"​

"Probably to show you something important. He's probably already here. Those who practice mysticism tend to be a little...eccentric, so he should be fairly obvious."​

"Yeah, I guess you would know." Titus chuckled. Alice had a deep understanding of mysticism, divination and in general less understood magical schools of Tamriel. It gave Titus plenty of material to tease her about when they were growing up and she laughed at yet another instance of such. "Yeah, I guess I would know a crazy mystic. It takes one to know one right?"​

"Exactly. See, and you thought having me along would be annoying." Titus said with a wolfish grin. Before Alice could make a snarky retort however Rorikstead came into view and it took their breath away. The village was completely walled in, long trails of smoke rose from inside the walls and the smell of burning flesh hung heavy in the air. It made Alice's stomach turn and Titus' usual grin faded into slack jawed awe. There were far fewer guardsmen at the heavy wooden gate than there should have been and they seemed to be cheering for a mage-looking fellow that just walked out. Titus' werewolf vision and hearing allowed him to recognize the mage instantly and the fact that the guards rallied around him for most likely causing the smell of burning flesh meant something was very wrong. ​

"Alice?" Titus asked. "Are you seeing this?"

"Yeah." His twin sister said in awe. She turned to him, her twenty eight year old but still young and innocent face full of concern, her neck length ebony hair framing it just so. Her small, slender frame sheltered by a deep blue cloak with the hood up and tight around her head. It was over her powder blue dress which went halfway down her thighs and had short sleeves that went down to just above her elbows. Under this was her white one piece leather bodysuit that covered all but her head and hands, including her feet. Her brown leather gloves went up to her wrists and her soft brown leather boots went up to her knees. Overall she was quite fashionable and very quick on her feet. The enchantments on her armor and clothing also provided reasonable protection as well as made them easy to clean.

Her brother wasn't much bigger than she, standing at five and a half feet, but he was a bit wider and had much more muscle. His body was built like a wolfs and he could run like one. He had the temperament of one as well but that was part of being a werewolf. His sister was more like an elk. Fast, perceptive, cunning, dangerous if underestimated or provoked.

Titus shared his sister's sapphire blue eyes and easy smile, though his was more of bravado than calm politeness. He also shared her pale skin and ebony hair but his was down to his shoulders and secured in a ponytail by a leather strip. His steel armor wasn't as fashionable as Alice's outfit but it was well maintained and had served him well. His gloves and boots matched the set but he didn't wear a helmet. Stifled his vision too much and like any true hunter he never lost sight of his prey.

"Anyone in there?"

"I'm not sure. There is so much death here Titus. So much pain, so much sadness. If anyone survived this apocalypse then they are very few."

"I guess you're feeling the presence of...whatever did this. You had any visions that could help recently? Anything like people wandering out to find us?"

"No, not really. Lately it's been death, death, death."

She saw the concerned look he gave her and acknowledged it, knowing he wouldn't pry too much concerning that. Titus knew very well that Alice saw plenty that he did not want to know about.

"Dad and Cilla are gonna be okay, along with Carlotta and Mila. Whatever's going on here they'll stay out of it. It isn't their show this time around. Our fates, however, aren't so clear."

"Well you know me sis, I like to make my own luck. No use worrying about what might happen I always say. Which is why I find this eerily familiar scene very, very disturbing."

Titus' comment could be seen as short-sighted but Alice usually found it comforting. Being able to see the future meant that she thought about it a lot. That inevitably made her worry and that added stress. Titus was something of a relief for that stress. He was a very in-the-moment person, very down to earth. Alice couldn't always see what was in front of her and Titus helped her with that. Despite rather intense sibling rivalry they made an excellent team, and they made their father very proud. That's why the fact that he was worried worried her.

Alice gave her brother a rassuring smile. "It's gonna be okay Titus. Whatever you saw, we'll figure this out. I'm the one that worries about stuff, remember?"

"I know sis, but you're a special case. Pretty amazing what you can do even if I don't understand it. Makes me feel better knowing you can see what's ahead. Kind of like a forward scout for time, you know? I mean, things have been pretty good for us lately. We're alive, Dad and Cilla are alive, the Dominion's gone, the Empire's whole again, we have a stepmother and stepsister that love us, we're pretty happy. that's what matters. Besides, I can turn into a giant furry monster so I should be able to protect us both. Right?"

"Right. So long as you keep your temper." They were both scared and neither really tried to hide it. They had faith in each other and they were both thankful for that.

"Right."

"Right. Okay. Well, I guess we should see what all the hullabaloo's about right?"

"Sure. Right. How 'bout you go first."

"You're the one with the vision mister, you go first. C'mon, I'm sure none of them will bite."

"If they're anything like you they'll just whine." He said with a grin.

"Just get going furbrain."

Titus headed down into the guard camp with Alice following close behind. Several civilians were already there, probably adventurers or mercenaries looking for work or maybe others who had shared the same vision Titus had. Alice noticed a dozing woman by a tent. She had the coolest outfit ever. Armored thighboots, a cute little skirt, an even cuter jacket and a cloak that seemed to peel off little rose petals whenever she shifted. Alice quietly walked over to her.​

"Pardon me? I'm sorry to bother you but I really love your outfit. Where did you get that cloak?"​

Titus walked over to the gathering crowd with much less subtly.​

"Greetings!" He said with his usual confidant smile. "Can any of you point me to a certain mage who showed up in my dreams last night? He left a pair of boots behind and I was hoping to return them."​

 

[Kir the Silent]

Kvothe was lost in thought, using his inner sight to observe those arriving; their very souls. He laughed musically to himself upon watching a foolish, lecherous guard have his manner quickly changed. By the woman with the cape of swirling petals. She was an interesting one. His inner sight saw all that came next. An Imperial, a mage from his bearing, soon arrived. Along with several others; first there was the masked figure on a ridge nearby, then a kahjiit a ways off, an old man who only looked such, and then there was the bosmer walking up to him.

He opened his eyes, his sight returning to normal. The elf approached him and said, "You, I had a dream of you. Why have you called me here."

"Did I?" Kvothe said with a small smile, again brushing the hair from his face. Though he whispered the next words, all of those that had been drawn or called here heard his voice. "Perhaps I called all of you. You, all of you, are imperfect people in an imperfect world. But that's exactly what this world needs..."

He stood up, black silk robes swirling around him. The orb on his belt began to glow softly. He looked to all of the strangers that had come to Rorikstead. "Who I am is not important, but my given name is Kvothe. Kvothe the Arcane if you're feeling formal. Did I call all of you here? Perhaps. But fate and destiny isn't something I believe in. We make our own way in this world. The simple truth is this; the world is once again becoming dark. A legend has disappeared and mysterious events are happening all over Skyrim. I have devoted myself to halting this rising darkness. But, as powerful as I am, I am but one man."

"I am about to enter this besieged town, slay undead, find a legend, and discover what is behind it all." He noticed the Sergeant approaching and finished his little speech. "I can answer all of your questions. Even those you do not yet know to ask. But first I will ask all of you one....will you follow me on an unknown quest to save the world from a threat no one knows about? If so, follow me. Sorry to be abrupt, but if we survive there will be time for introductions and questions later. This is just the beginning..."

"Sergeant, here I am. Alive and well. Now I don't really have time to talk, every second is critical. So please, open the gates." The Sergeant looked as he he was going to speak. But then he smiled and signaled to the gate sentries. The heavy wooden gate began to open slowly and Kvothe walked towards it, looking back only once at the others. A slight challenge in his stance saying, Face the darkness if you dare.

 

[Pufftuff]

Vladier was stopped mid stride by this familiar voice in his head, it was the same as the voice from the night before. The voice was giving a speech and almost a challenge, Vladier was stunned he was so powerful in the arts of Necromancy and Illusion he knew the one speaking to him had to be very powerful in order to get in his head. So the old Breton turned back towards the dying village. "Could this young man know who I am?" Vladier thought to himself. "Why else would he call a seemingly useless old man to help with this task."

He could see the glowing man walking through the gate again, giving a inviting and challenging look once more seemingly right at him. Vladier knew that whatever darkness if it was to be cast away that he would be needed, although not much of a team player and a bit of a recluse. He sighed, took a deep breath and dropping the old man routine ran over to the mystic. Standing next to Kvothe, Vladier not saying a word nodded took out a very intricately adorned bottle took a swig and waited to follow into the village.

 

[CapObvious]

Dolmas stood their silently, waiting for the woman to respond to the man's greeting, but surprisingly she did nothing. A small snore escaped her lips, and Dolmas chuckled to himself.

A heavy sleeper, eh? Not going to get much information out of her, for sure. Figuring the man wouldn't start talking to himself about what was happening, Dolmas began to step away from the tent, hoping to eavesdrop on someone else.

But fortunately for him, he didn't have to.

A sudden voice swept through the camp, loud enough for Dolmas to discern it wasn't just in his head. It didn't take long to figure out who the voice came from either, as the armored mystic from before stood and looked among them all.

"Who I am is not important, but my given name is Kvothe. Kvothe the Arcane if you're feeling formal. Did I call all of you here? Perhaps. But fate and destiny isn't something I believe in."

Dolmas scoffed out loud, but not too loud. What was this guy on, anyway? What was so special about him, other than his eccentric taste in dress?

"We make our own way in this world. The simple truth is this; the world is once again becoming dark. A legend has disappeared and mysterious events are happening all over Skyrim. I have devoted myself to halting this rising darkness. But, as powerful as I am, I am but one man."

Dolmas shut up and listened to the man, now intrigued. The mystic had a very powerful tone. One any man or woman would raise their blade for. One that any would follow into battle. In awe of this man's seemingly endless power, Dolmas stepped out from the shadows and towards the mystic as he spoke, hanging on every word.

The man didn't notice Dolmas' advance, but continued on with his speech. "I am about to enter this besieged town, slay undead, find a legend, and discover what is behind it all." So that was the gist of what was happening here. Some sort of evil taking over the town, eh? The man continued even after noticing a guard, the head one from the looks of him, heading his way. "I can answer all of your questions. Even those you do not yet know to ask. But first I will ask all of you one....will you follow me on an unknown quest to save the world from a threat no one knows about? If so, follow me. Sorry to be abrupt, but if we survive there will be time for introductions and questions later. This is just the beginning..."

The man stopped and spoke quickly to the guard, who in turn opened the gates and let the man wander over to the entrance, which looked even bleaker than Dolmas' own past.

The man turned back to face them. All of them. Dolmas could swear he looked each and every one of them in the eye, a gesture which unnerved him greatly.

Dolmas stopped walking for him, and looked to the ground. Heading into a deep black unknown seemed like a very, very bad idea. He felt that he might take to it too well, that such a place could feed off of his madness and make it worse.

But Dolmas still felt led to go. Dolmas' need to prove himself as good was strong. He had always wanted to do good, and prove to himself that he didn't need to die to save the world. That he could do it even with his corrupted mind.

And if he died in there, then Valen and the wolf bastard would die with him.

He couldn't lose.

Dolmas exhaled and stepped forward, taking his place next to the rather energetic old man who had raced for this mystic named Kvothe moments earlier. He put one hand on his hilt and on his hip, and waited for the others to start filing in.

 

[EpicVakarian]

"Ma'am."

The Imperial's voice jerked me from sleep. Slightly annoyed, I looked up at him. His face was hidden; he wore a hood that shrouded the upper half of his face in shadow, leaving only his jaw visible. I could tell from his height, his skin, his accent, that he was an Imperial, though.
"You look out of place here. What brings you to this place?"

I rolled my eyes. Was this really the reason that this Cyrodiilic idiot had woken me?
"Does it really matter? I'm here because I need to be. The undead are my business. If you want to call it that. I'm going to help deal with them."

I looked past him, seeing Kvothe talking to a new person; an elf. A Bosmer man, with tanned skin and long black hair. I then saw a man get knocked down by a young soldier, and come up beside Kvothe. I wasn't entirely sure what was happening, but before I could think any further, a small woman came up to me. She appeared to be just slightly older than me, but quite a lot shorter.

"Pardon me? I'm sorry to bother you but I really love your outfit. Where did you get that cloak?"
Good gods, the slow and the unstable are out in droves tonight.
"I made it myself. I enchanted it myself. Everything I'm wearing, I did myself."

I suddenly noticed Kvothe talking to a guard captain, who opened the gate. Kvothe stood by the entrance to Rorikstead and looked back at us all challengingly. I nodded.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, duty calls." I wasn't usually this rude, but people woke me up to make small talk. I released the magic on my legs, stood up and stepped between the Imperial and the woman. I rested my left hand on Sol's pommel, walked over to Kvothe, the rose petals flaking off my cloak perfectly in the breeze. I stood beside him, looking through the gate into the eerily silent town. I turned to him, gave a small smile, and nodded to show him that I was coming with him. I decided to wait and see if anyone else was coming with us. I wanted to unleash a new ward spell I had learnt; rather than forming a small shield in front of me, it would form a bubble around me, as big as I pleased. It wouldn't protect against undead swarming through it, but it would at least stop us having to worry about dodging arrows and spells constantly, allowing us to focus on the true threats.