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Post by Chaos 303030 on Jun 29, 2011 16:46:54 GMT
Eij nodded at her, pushing open the door. The frigid Solstheim winds immediately rushed in to greet the room, but Eij strode out into the freezing air unflinchingly. He wrapped his thick fur cloak around himself, taking long strides towards the exit of the fort. He payed no attention to Dark-Feather at this point, keeping his own pace.
As soon as he passed through the archway, he made a harsh turn right, striding confidently off of the docks and onto hard ground. After going no more than ten long, argonian paces, he called over his shoulder to Dark-Feather.
"This one apologizes, Dark-Feather, for his earlier show of arrogance. The Imperials have come to expect it of me. Islyths-Eij meant no harm." There was warmth in his gravelly voice, but he did not break his pace. Keeping mobile was one of the better ways to stay warm.
"The warm-bloods have a firmer presence on this island than the people of the Hist, for obvious reasons. Up north, from Lake Fjalding, it is all Nords." He chuckled, shaking his head. "If you think this place is cold, then you will want to stay far away from them." His eyes transfixed themselves on a hill in the near distance, out of which ancient, grey stone slabs jutted, forming the entrance to what was likely some sort of burial site.
"Our destination lies North-West, beyond those hills. Be alert, Dark-Feather; wolves and bears are the least of our worries here." He spoke quietly, getting tenser with every step towards the hill, and keeping one hand near the shaft of his axe.
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Post by Darkom on Jun 29, 2011 17:09:57 GMT
Alf the Bastard; Skaal Village
Alf followed the conversation between his mentor and the Elder with silent deference. He had been brought to listen, not to speak. He was not prepared, however, for Tharsten to turn the conversation to him. "There are those who don't believe Alf is pulling his weight for the Skaal."
Alf blinked, shocked that the Nord would bring up such a personal subject before most of the village. He was too bewildered to speak, both shamed and outraged at such an accusation. Korst, on the other hand, had no such reservations. The shaman pounded his staff on the stone floor, a fiery expression on his wrinkled face. "You know this is not true, Tharsten."
Alf took heart from his teacher's support, his look of shock turning to one of anger. 'Why would he do this to me?' The Nord was used to mistreatment from his peers, and even some more ignorant villagers, but the Elder had always been good to him. Tharsten was his dead mother's brother in law, afterall.
"I do. But as he is to be our next Shaman, I think it is important that their faith in Alf is strong. I want him to go and deal with the reavers who have taken over the river bridge." The Elder silenced Korst's objections with a hand. "We all have fought reavers, and none of us alone. A volunteer from our people will go with him."
Alf was prepared to shout out in protest, but a single look from Korst stopped the words on his lips. "You had better not argue," the shaman warned, his eyes brooking no debate. Alf matched his gaze for a moment before backing down, defeated.
'I am not a warrior,' he thought to himself, 'How am I supposed to fight Reavers?' He kept expecting someone to stand and offer to go with him, but none did. Alf looked around, but none of the Skaal would meet his gaze. 'It's because of my father,' he thought angrily, cursing the elf as he did so.
Just when he was sure he would be sentenced to fight the Reavers alone- punishment for his very existence- Tharsten began one of his famous tirades. "SKAAL!" The old warrior's call was rumored to have stopped bears in their tracks. Hearing it now, Alf was tempted to believe it.
"You dishonour me with your silence, your refusal to answer the call of duty and kin. Kin! This is why the Oneness is lost!" Alf cringed, both at the Elder's words and their implications. The old Nord was going to shame someone into going with him. "Do you think the All-Maker smiles on us when we refuse to help our own? No wonder the land is lost to us! Or that the All-Maker is pleased when we wait for others to do what is right? Of course the beasts don't come when called! Out! All of you, out! None of you is fit to bear the name of our clan. I shall fight alongside Alf myself."
Alf looked at the old warrior, a ray of hope lighting his features. The Elder's prowess was legendary; if anyone could save him from the Reavers, it was Tharsten. 'Was this his plan all along? Some kind of test?'
A guard whispered to the Elder, but Tharsten shrugged him off. "I am ashamed of my own people this day," he finished wearily.
Several Skaal began filing out of the hall, their eyes downcast. Alf smirked at them, still spiteful at their refusal to help him. 'Shows them,' he thought angrily. None would have lifted a finger to save his life; none cared whether he returned from his ordeal alive. His smirk slid slowly into a despondent frown. Within his whole village, he was completely alone.
Korst, along with a few other men, had not left. The old shaman approached the Elder's stiff throne, Alf striding up behind him. "Tharsten, you cannot be serious." The cold, indifferent village Shaman was gone, replaced once more by Alf's caring mentor. "Alf is not ready to fight those thugs, even with your help. Please, you must not do this. At least you two cannot go alone."
Alf smiled. At least his teacher would still protect him. The young Nord bowed to the Elder, his own words following on Korsts' heels. "I would be honored to fight beside you, Elder," Alf began respectfully. As much as he wanted to get down on his knees and beg the old man not to make him go, the whole village had heard his fate. Pride and honor were on the line now, what little Alf had.
"But I am no warrior; I would be no help to you. Your strength is great, but even our greatest fighters have fallen to Reavers. Please, let others accompany us on our hunt. There is no shame in sharing the kill." If there was one thing Alf learned over the years, it was how to speak like one of his muscle brained fellows. If that was what it took for him to get out of this alive he was more than willing to degrade himself doing it.
OOC: I hope you don't mind that I connected Alf and Tharsten by blood, Illusionary. I figured in such a small village, most everyone is somebody's cousin anyway. I'm not sure if there's a special title for your mother's sister's husband, but that's what I figured Tharsten could be. If nothing else than to give them him a special reason to try and make Alf a real man.
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Post by NotApplicable on Jun 29, 2011 17:34:50 GMT
What a PATHETIC S'WIT.
Alver was feeling mildly less optimistic than usual. If this was the guy he was going to be following around Solstheim then Alver was going to have to teach him a thing or two about command, one way or another.
Fortunately, he'd never had a taste for alcohol; it made for a very useful fire starter.
A bunch of Imperials bustled in and were told to sort themselves out. The Altmer stood up to brief them; Alver slumped back in his chair with a yawn and did his best to look as bored as he could.
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Post by Vicorva on Jun 29, 2011 19:05:57 GMT
OOC: Page 2. Woot!
That's totally fine, Darkom. As we're all in this small village, it'd be silly not to have history or connections. I'm really enjoying your posts, by the way: the character of Alf is really getting across.
I'm gonna wait to respond to that for FC4, if that's okay. FC, do you want me to force Erinoch to come, or does he have enough incentive now? Or do you have some solo plans to work on? IC:
Clock, Frostmoth
Clock couldn't decide whether to laugh or swear when the dunmer yawned widely. As if he hadn't pulled the same crap a hundred times over with Gaea, Severia and Peregrina (dammit, why were all the officers women? Apart from Saenus Lusius, of course, but he barely counted.)
He looked at the imperial recruits; dumb and completely indistinguishable from all the other imperial idiots in his place. He didn't bother learning any of their names; he mostly just referred to them all as 'imperial guard' and left it at that. These recruits would be no different, unless they proved interesting.
His gaze returned to the dunmer upstart. He had a special name for him.
Clock looked at the sorry gathering, crossed his arms, and got on with it. "Alright, recruits. You'll call me Clock; that's not my name, of course, but I don't expect any of you plebs to be able to pronounce it."
"We're going on a training mission, boys. It's really simple enough. All there is to drink in this place is the local mead swill, and we're running low on that to boot. So, we go, we buy, we return. If you survive; hurray! You're guards."
Clock crossed his arms. "Because I don't know your names, and I don't care, I'm going to give you nicknames. You, are Mole, you are Rat and you are Shrew." He pointed from one to the other in turn. Then he pointed at the dunmer. "You are Slappy, because the name pleases me and you yawned while I was talking. Alright then, Mole, Rat, Shrew, Slappy." He nodded in a mockery of politeness to each of them, face completely straight. "Move out, men. Follow me." He headed out of the door without looking back.
-----
Dark-Feather, Hirstaang Forest outside Frostmoth
The sandy argonian followed her brawny race-mate out into the cold. The cold. It was so profound it seemed to pierce her scales and coat her bones. Could your bones be cold? Because she certainly felt like she had cold bones.
She followed the argonian's harsh movements; he seemed as if he'd made this journey many times, which gave her confidence. Though his strides were swift and difficult to keep up with, she paused as they passed out of the fort, seeing the green trees like nature-giants. "So tall," she breathed, staring with dark eyes wide before hurrying to catch up with Fin.
Tall and beautiful. And cold.
"This one apologizes, Dark-Feather," Fin's sudden words broke her fascination with the trees, bringing her attention back to him. "For his earlier show of arrogance. The Imperials have come to expect it of me. Islyths-Eij meant no harm." He did not pause, but his tone was friendly, warm, even, and Dark-Feather wondered if she had misjudged him.
"The warm-bloods have a firmer presence on this island than the people of the Hist, for obvious reasons. Up north, from Lake Fjalding, it is all Nords." He chuckled, and Dark-Feather wondered what the joke was. She soon found out. "If you think this place is cold, then you will want to stay far away from them."
Somewhere colder than they were now? She certainly wanted to take his advice, but she could not hide her dismay, her eyes troubled. She had been hoping to set up trade with the indigenous people, and perhaps illicit advice. It would take a lot of potions and some pretty decent Frost Shield casting to make that possible, it seemed.
Fin didn't seem to notice her worry, his gaze not on her, but on a dark stone formation. She thought she saw something dark stirring in the shadows there, and kept a little closer to Fin, despite her anger earlier at his claims. "Our destination lies North-West, beyond those hills. Be alert, Dark-Feather; wolves and bears are the least of our worries here."
What could be worse than the fearsome bears and wolves she kept hearing about? And yet Fin seemed to grow tenser and tenser with each step, and his hands did not leave his axe.
To distract herself from her tension, Dark-Feather said, "If the imperials are why you acted as you did, then let me say that the dunmer have taught me to be cold. I apologise if I have seemed less-than-friendly." Her eyes smiled as she realised what she'd said, and she added, "Of course, the cold also makes me cold, but in a very different way."
"Um... Fin?" she looked nervously around for the enemies the argonian seemed so worried about, and in spite of her earlier outrage walked a little closer to the mercenary. "I am a mage was well as alchemist. I can detect enemies, look-," she focused, closing her eyes and reaching out for the magical energies she sought, drawing them back to her body in a flurry of purple light. It bloomed and grew brighter and brighter, at first filling her whole body before concentrating on her eyes; when she opened them, they appeared full of purple clouds.
"By Azura, Aedra and Hist, what is that!" she hissed, grabbing Fin's shoulder to stop him walking any further. "Hold still, there's a... a tree? Running- very fast!"
She pulled magicka towards herself again, this time pink light. It formed a shining dome around her, semi-transparent. "I've got my armour," she said. "I hope you can use yours!"
Of course, Fin had a weapon, and she was dearly wishing she had one, too.
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Post by NotApplicable on Jun 30, 2011 6:40:05 GMT
Alver jumped up quickly and barged “Mole” to step into line directly behind Clock.
He had not been ready to leave and awkwardly fumbled his sword into it's sheath as he spoke, “I'm already a guard, actually. And my name's Alver.”
They entered the corridor and Alver sped up to walk level with clock.
“Where are we actually going, then? Is there any chance of a fight?”
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Post by FC4 on Jul 1, 2011 14:09:00 GMT
Erinok the Craftsman, Skaal Village
Erinok looked around as warriors and hunters alike feigned indifference or outright did not volunteer to help the young apprentice. It was sad, but Erinok did understand their reasons; he was a bastard child, half-blood of Skaal, and half-blood of the ashen devils. Still, he was to be their shaman by decree of the Elder, and no warrior would step up to aid? It saddened Erinok, but he felt it wasn't his place to rebuke them or step over them.
"SKAAL!" Tharsten roared, his voice making Erinok feel vibrations in the wooden floor. "You dishonour me with your silence, your refusal to answer the call of duty and kin. Kin! This is why the Oneness is lost!" Erinok frowned, knowing the Elder was likely right. "Do you think the All-Maker smiles on us when we refuse to help our own? No wonder the land is lost to us! Or that the All-Maker is pleased when we wait for others to do what is right? Of course the beasts don't come when called! Out! All of you, out! None of you is fit to bear the name of our clan. I shall fight alongside Alf myself."
When he ordered the villagers to leave, Erinok remained. A battle was waging in his own mind over what to do, as Alf, Korst, and Tharsten spoke at the throne. He was no warrior; he was a craftsman. But he was good with an axe -at least at felling trees- and had a good swing to his hammer. He had fought Reavers once, as the Elder had said, but with a trained warrior with him. It had been in the defense of the village, when the hunters had left for their pursuits and only a few warriors of the village remained.
But Tharsten, a fierce warrior, would be there with Alf. That gave some hope didn't it? And the Elder was right; there was a crisis of faith in Alf throughout the village, and that needed correcting. Erinok made his choice, and stepped into the center of the hall.
"Elder Skaal, I, Erinok the Craftsman, will come!" Erinok raised his voice not in shout of rage or crying out, but with a deep, confident bellow, an attention catching call. "A crisis of faith is indeed upon us, for no warrior steps forth. My axe has felled many a tree, but in service to the Skaal and restoration of Oneness, it will fell Reavers instead. With the Elder and a craftsman by his side, Alf will have to pull his own weight in the battle to come, but the risk of failure will be lessened." Erinok proclaimed, silently wishing a warrior had stepped forth. This was not his duty to the village, this was not the role he was meant to fill. But it was necessary, and so he would fill the furs of the warrior for now.
"I only ask allowance, Elder, for time to skin the kills of my early morning hunt, while they are still fresh. Then, I shall willingly fight beside you, and Alf." Erinok hated leaving a job unfinished, and if the killing of the reavers took too long, the rabbits could be frostbitten, or worse, upon his return, and useless.
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Post by Vicorva on Jul 1, 2011 14:32:53 GMT
Tharsten Heart-Fang
As Tharsten might have expected Korst was there and fussing over he and Alf. The man was a good shaman, but acted like a mother hen to his apprentice, always clucking and tutting, reluctant to let the boy leave the protection of his wings.
Tharsten was already preparing a firm "No," when Alf spoke-up; Tharsten quieted, listening to what the boy had to say. "I would be honored to fight beside you, Elder," Alf began with a bow. Tharsten grinned behind his short beard, greatly pleased that the boy was not going to dishonour himself by begging to leave. The villagers are wrong about this one, he thought as he watched him. See, there is courage in him yet.
"But I am no warrior; I would be no help to you." Tharsten's chin lifted at this, but he did not interrupt. He had earned his two-fold epithet for his two-fold nature- carer of the village and fierce defender of it. "Your strength is great, but even our greatest fighters have fallen to Reavers. Please, let others accompany us on our hunt. There is no shame in sharing the kill."
Tharsten considered the boy's words while Korst laid a hand on the boy's shoulder, lending his support to the boy's statement. Though he asked for assistance, it was not in the tones of a weak or cowardly child, but with all the measured thought and concern for honour of his warriors.
"Alf. Korst. If help there was, I would grant it," he said gruffly. "But you saw for yourselves that none of our own have spirit enough for it. If they came, and fought for you, Alf, nothing would be achieved. They would still whisper as they do now." He shook his head. "There is no help for us."
All-Maker, lend strength to my sword and courage to young Alf. Let him prove himself beyond doubt to be a true Skaal. Restore the Oneness to our village...
"Elder Skaal, I, Erinok the Craftsman, will come!" Tharsten's eyes fixed on the lean craftsman, and could feel his heart swell with pride and hope for his village. "A crisis of faith is indeed upon us, for no warrior steps forth. My axe has felled many a tree, but in service to the Skaal and restoration of Oneness, it will fell Reavers instead. With the Elder and a craftsman by his side, Alf will have to pull his own weight in the battle to come, but the risk of failure will be lessened."
Tharsten gave the craftsman a grateful nod, waiting for him to finish.
"I only ask allowance, Elder, for time to skin the kills of my early morning hunt, while they are still fresh. Then, I shall willingly fight beside you, and Alf."
Tharsten barked a laugh, a harsh but joyous sound, and he strode forwards to clap Erinok on the shoulders. "Good man, of course, of course! Go and finish your work while young Alf prepares. Ah, you give me faith, Erinok the Craftsman. See this!" He turned to Korst and punched his fist into the air. "There is spirit in the Skaal yet! Three is a good number, a strong number. Three is a team," he looked at Alf. "We work together." He turned to Erinok again and there was fire in his eyes, the fervour of the young warrior he had been returning to him. "Go, Erinok, do as you must. Young Alf and I must make ready."
He rubbed his hands together as he turned to the young nord. "Come, Alf, we shall choose a fine weapon for you." He strode to the back of the hall, and there found a collection of weapons and armour, all fine-crafted nordic silver and steel.
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Post by FC4 on Jul 1, 2011 15:31:00 GMT
OOC: I am going off the vibe I am getting that Alf isn't viewed well at all by almost all of the village, here. Hope I am doing well enough.
Erinok the Craftsman, Skaal Village
Erinok smiled at his Elder, pleased at the fierce spirit his offer of aid gave the aging warrior. It was not right that the village Elder be down-heartened, and to bring his spirits up made Erinok feel in his heart that this was, indeed, the right choice to make. He looked into his Elder's eyes with respect. Looking anywhere else would have been disrespectful, showing a lack of attention to the great Elder's words. It was a conflict of culture the Skaal could never understand when dealing with the Imperials. When the Elder bade him go to his duties, Erinok beat his right fist over his heart and bowed before leaving, a warrior's salute.
For today, that was what he would become. A warrior. Because that was what the All-Maker required of him now.
When Erinok left the hall, he headed not for his shack, but instead straight to Snedbrir the Smith's, knocking upon the door and hearing his knock immediately answered. Swiftly he opened and entered, shutting the door before the chilled morning air could permeate the room.
"Greetings, brother!" Snedbrir grinned, approaching and hugging the craftsman. They patted each others' backs gruffly, in the way of men, before separating. "What services can I bring you this fine morning, Erinok?"
"Have you heard of the Elder's task for Alf the Bastard?" Erinok asked, pulling off his bear pelt cloak and hanging it beside the door, revealing bare, toned abs and pecs. His skin was tanned with the mark of a man who spent much time working in sun and fire light.
"Yes, I have. I spent much of yesterday preparing the weapons for the task." Snedbrir replied, looking slightly displeased. "I trust the announcement and volunteering did not go well?"
"No, it did not. I have stepped up to the task since no one else would." Erinok announced, sighing. Both men looked troubled.
"I would have gone myself, Erinok, but yesterday's work has left me weary, and my son is still too young to fight Reavers, or do my work." Snedbrir remarked.
"I trust you are not too weary to sharpen my axe, brother Skaal?" Erinok asked, removing the large iron hatchet from his hip. It was nearly the size of a battle axe, to give it the force to cut down trees, but was of war axe design for easy carrying. It wasn't meant to be a weapon, hence the lack of quality metal in its make, but it would serve this purpose today.
"As repentance for my inability to go in your place, your axe will be sharpened when you return, with my blessing to you and Alf." Snedbrir answered, taking the axe and placing it on the table beside him. "Now, I am sure you have skins to treat, or wood to carve, as you always do." Snedbrir chuckled, and Erinok smiled. "Go tend to them, and come back in short time."
"Thank you. All-Maker's blessings to you." Erinok grabbed his cloak and covered himself, before stepping out of the forge lodge.
"No, blessings to you, Erinok. You'll need them more." Snedbrir responded to an empty room, before grabbing the iron axe and heading for his sharpening stones.
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Post by Darkom on Jul 4, 2011 2:56:38 GMT
OOC: Sorry to everyone for the delay; I've had to pull two all nighters for a fundraising thing, and spent most of my weekend sleeping. I'll try to post tomorrow, shouldn't be too busy on the holiday.
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Post by Vicorva on Jul 4, 2011 7:03:27 GMT
OOC: You would rather fundraise for something important to you than post in this RP?! Not cool, Darkom. Seriously though, it's fine. I hope the fundraiser was successful and worth the lost sleep.
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Post by Darkom on Jul 4, 2011 17:24:52 GMT
Alf the Bastard; Skaal Village
"Alf. Korst. If help there was, I would grant it," the old Nord continued, his former fire dwindled to resignation. "But you saw for yourselves that none of our own have spirit enough for it. If they came, and fought for you, Alf, nothing would be achieved. They would still whisper as they do now." He shook his head. "There is no help for us."
Alf nodded glumly, his face downcast. None of his village would help him. None of his village respected him. 'Fine,' he thought, his melancholy blazing into a sudden anger, 'Let the cowards sit here. I'll show them, I'll show them all.' Alf clenched a fist in conviction.
'And yet...' The young shaman opened his fist, looked down at his hands- the soft hands of a scholar. The other boys in the village bragged of their own calloused fingers, hardened by work. They laughed at his spindly hands, said they would fit better on a woman. 'What will I do?'
"Elder Skaal, I, Erinok the Craftsman, will come!" A booming voice announced itself from the back of the hall, drawing all three Nords' eyes. "A crisis of faith is indeed upon us, for no warrior steps forth. My axe has felled many a tree, but in service to the Skaal and restoration of Oneness, it will fell Reavers instead. With the Elder and a craftsman by his side, Alf will have to pull his own weight in the battle to come, but the risk of failure will be lessened."
Alf stared at the man with sudden hope. Maybe he was not alone afterall. At least this man would help him. And to think, he had spoken poorly to him just moments ago. 'The last time I think less of a man for killing,' Alf promised to himself, 'I must apologize to him later.'
The crafstman asked the Elder time to finish skinning his kill- the very rabbits Alf had seen him with earlier, no doubt. Tharsten let the man go with a joyous air before turning back to Alf and Korst. "There is spirit in the Skaal yet! Three is a good number, a strong number. Three is a team," the old warrior turned his knowing eyes to Alf. "We work together." He dismissed the craftsman with a youthful exuberance, "Go, Erinok, do as you must. Young Alf and I must make ready."
Alf nodded, suddenly nervous now that the time had come. 'This is really happening,' he thought, doing his best to fake an excited smile.
"Come, Alf, we shall choose a fine weapon for you." Tharsten led Alf to the back of the hall, where a sizeable armory waited. Swords and spears alike gleamed dangerously; Alf reached out hesitantly for one of the weapons. His hand drew back as if burned, so cold was the steel. 'What am I doing?' he thought, eyeing the array of armaments. 'I'm more likely to hurt myself than any Reaver.'
"Uhm, Elder, I mean no disrespect, but I wouldn't know what to do with any of these." He indicated the racks of swords. "My skills lie in nature, in the power of the Oneness, not steel. I doubt I could even lift half of these."
Korst walked up next to the Elder, his face wrinkled in disapproval. "Sad as it is, Tharsten, the boy speaks the truth. He wouldn't know which end to stick the Reavers with." His voice carried a mocking fondness, but still earned a scowl from Alf. "However, he is skilled with his hands, and even better with the power of the All-Maker. Little as he likes to admit, he bests even me at fighting magic."
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Post by Vicorva on Jul 5, 2011 14:40:06 GMT
OOC: Sorry for anyone who's been waiting for me! Everything got slow, and then I got slow, and now... well, yeah. Sorry. IC:
Tharsten Heart-Fang, Skaal Village
Tharsten stood before the shining craftmenship of his people, trying to decide which weapon would be best for Alf's build. He tried to remember what the boy used in training sessions... and then struggled to remember a time when the boy had ever attended one.
"Uhm, Elder?" Tharsten turned at the nervous voice of Korst's charge, raising a heavy eyebrow. "I mean no disrespect, but I wouldn't know what to do with any of these." He indicated the racks of swords. "My skills lie in nature, in the power of the Oneness, not steel. I doubt I could even lift half of these."
The other brow raised now as well as Tharsten considered this, feeling shocked. His brain tried to pick through what Alf had just said. Wouldn't know what to do with any of them. Any weapons. Couldn't even lift one? He felt stupid within his own head, which was not a feeling he enjoyed. But all Nords could wield a weapon, heft an axe or swing a sword, or string a bow. All Skaal could; Solstheim was a bountiful gift from the All-Maker, for sure, but it was harsh, and the All-Maker rewarded strength in it's people.
Tharsten turned his head as Korst walked up as well, the look on his face making it clear that, as per usual, he would be putting his two copper's worth into the pot. "Sad as it is, Tharsten, the boy speaks the truth. He wouldn't know which end to stick the Reavers with." Though his words were mocking, Tharsten could hear the fondness in them; Alf scowled at him, but again, there was no malice there. "However, he is skilled with his hands, and even better with the power of the All-Maker. Little as he likes to admit, he bests even me at fighting magic."
"Fighting magic?" Tharsten considered this. Using magic had never occured to the Elder. He supposed it was true enough that it was a gift from the All-Maker and therefore worthy of use, but Tharsten had always been more comfortable with silver and steel, gifts lovingly taken from the earth, which could be handed down generations and had been skilfully crafted. "Fighting magic, then. If you best Korst, then you must be formidable indeed, young Alf." Tharsten gave the old shaman a whiskery grin. "When I was a boy your mentor gave me a right scare."
Korst chuckled. "I was a boy myself then," he said with false modesty. "And your hair did grow back eventually."
Tharsten turned back to Alf. "Armour then? Something to prevent a sharp prick in your belly or an arrow in the back?"
--------------------- Clock, Frostmoth
Clock gritted his teeth. Slappy seemed to have an answer for everything, which would have been an admirable had it not been directed at him.
As a matter of fact, Clock was growing to quite hate Slappy.
"As it happens, Slappy, Mole, Rat, Shrew," he nodded to each of them over his shoulder. "Yes. There is a strong chance of a fight. Hence 'training mission'. If this was just a jolly stroll through the snow, I'd have called it something else. Thank you for your completely useful and relevant input, Slappy." Clock exhaled through his nose, stifling an irritated sigh.
"Solstheim is bloody dangerous, alright? Bears, wolves, naked nords with bloody huge... axes. Red-haired bitches who can make it even colder and use poisoned daggers. THen there's the magical bears and wolves- the wolves are as big as horses, the bears what I'd imagine a hairy white dragon would look like. And of course, the vicious little Rieklings, Reavers and daedric tree spirits."
Clock rubbed his face. "Absolutely bloody dangerous. So stick close and shut up so I can pay attention. Luckily for you, you're with the best marksman Frostmouth has to offer. Unluckily for me, I'm with you lot."
They headed out of the Fort walls and into the forest; if there was a path, it was not one which could seen, though Clock seemed sure enough of it.
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Post by Darkom on Jul 6, 2011 18:13:31 GMT
Alf the Bastard; Skaal Village
"Fighting magic?" The Elder asked, apparently puzzled. Alf sighed silently to himself; honestly, even the wisest of their village thought of little but steel and blood. "Fighting magic, then. If you best Korst, then you must be formidable indeed, young Alf." Tharsten smirked at the old Nord. "When I was a boy your mentor gave me a right scare."
Korst chuckled. "I was a boy myself then," he said with false modesty. "And your hair did grow back eventually."
Alf could not help but smile; Korst had told him the story, once. Thinking of the two old men as young boys, however, was a strange thought to Alf. Korst had always been an old shaman, his face wizened by the years. His own mentor, a mischevious teenager? Never.
Tharsten turned back to Alf. "Armour then? Something to prevent a sharp prick in your belly or an arrow in the back?"
Alf cast a sidelong look at the rows of metal cuirasses, the gleaming helmets staring with empty eyes. He tried to imagine himself, loaded down by all that steel, weighing him down. 'I'd rather just get out of the way,' he thought, 'All-Maker willing it won't come to that.'
"Perhaps," Alf said reluctantly, "But nothing too heavy. I'll need to be able to move in order to use any magic." He walked past a row of metal breastplates, examining each as he spoke. He picked up pair of hard leather vambraces, lined on the inside with soft snow rabbit fur. "These may prove useful," he muttered, reaching for a pair of matching greaves. "Would this be alright?" he asked expectantly.
OOC: Not sure how long you want to continue in this vein, Illusionary. Unless we're waiting on someone else, I'm fine with skipping past a bit of the preparation and heading off on our hunt. Whatever you want to do.
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Post by Vicorva on Jul 9, 2011 18:53:00 GMT
OOC: I'd quite like to skip a bit as well, but we're waiting on FC4... He hasn't been online in a while.
Again, sorry for the wait! I'm feeling all creatively blocked and I have a lot of characters to think about. :/
Major apologies for the following post; again, creatively blocked, but I've always been bad at combat scenes anyway.
If FC hasn't posted by tomorrow, I'll post and move things on at the Skaal.
IC:
Dark-Feather and Fin, Hirstaang Forest
The spriggan screeched and whipped Fin with long, root-like fingers; the argonian took it on his bracer, then chopped at it heavily with his axe, shattering them,
Dark-Feather hovered behind him, wincing whenever a strike landed. "I can't apologise enough for not casting Detect sooner," she said.
Fin, who was a little bit occupied, grit his teeth and ducked another wild strike by the spriggan. He came up under it, dragging his axe upwards to bury it into the spriggan's chest.
With a shrill screech, the spriggan fell to the ground. Fin braced his boot against her chest and removed his axe.
Dark-Feather appeared at his shoulder. "Did you fight one of these before?"
Fin shook his head. "Not yet. But they aren't difficult to kill."
Dark-Feather frowned. "I suppose." She knelt beside it, looking into it's fierce, dead eyes. "Pretty, in a strange way," she said. she followed the tangle of leafen hair and felt around the roots of hands and feet, searching for anything of alchemical use.
With the sound of splitting wood, a crack formed down the middle of the creature, releasing an eerie green light. "Oh," said Dark Feather. "That's interesting." She leaned in closer.
Fin sighed and gripped her firmly by the shoulder, pulling her out of the way. "Hatchling," he said, hefting his axe as she opened her mouth to complain. "You might wish to cast your spells again."
The wood split further and then exploded in a shower of splinters as a larger spriggan grew out of the dying remains of the old.
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Post by FC4 on Jul 10, 2011 3:09:44 GMT
OOC: As promised, my post. Consider this the timeskip, I gave ya about an hour or so time, if that works for ya.
IC: Erinok hung each of the skins on the tanning racks, tying the cords tight so they remained taunt, even if they began to slacken over time. Weather had that tendency with ropes and cords to warp it and stretch and bend it. No doubt as the house got warmer from his wife's cooking fires the ropes would stretch. So, when the cleaned skins were finally ready to be hung, he made sure the cords were so tight the skin was practically stretching itself out. Of course, there was a balance to be achieved, but Erinok was a master of this, and it was practically second nature to him after so many years.
When they were all prepped for his absence, and he had applied the tanning fluids to each, he grabbed his bearskin travel cloak and slipped it on once more.
"Are you sure you have to do this, dear?" His wife's voice rose from the doorway to his workshop as he took two of his more worn down carpentry hammers and tied them to his belt beneath the cloak.
"Yes, I must. No one else will, and Alf will need the support of not only the Elder, but the people, if he is to succeed."
"I still can't believe none of the warriors were willing." His wife, a burly Nordic woman of sturdy build and typical blonde locks, folded her arms under her bosom. Her sea-green eyes -unusual for a Nord but hardly unattractive- were critical of the situation. "Their wives should be dousing their fires in shame." Erinok laughed, approaching his wife for an embrace.
"Just be sure your fire burns warmer and stronger than the rest, and be content with that, my love." Erinok told her, letting go to head for the door. "Where's my son?
"Out playing with the others, as the rascal always does. Don't you worry about him; I'll tend to the meat and the child. I can handle both." She snapped back mockingly, as if he was insulting her. Erinok grinned before his wife shooed him out the door.
It was a quick walk to the Smith's; it was a quick walk to anywhere in this village. Nonetheless, in the hour or so it had taken him to prepare the skins, Snedbrir had his axe ready and was waiting outside with the axe in one hand.
"Thank you, brother." Erinok patted Snedbrir on the shoulder, placing his hand on the axe as well. "I will end many a Reaver with your new edge."
"I pray to the All-Maker that you do. Keep Alf safe, and let the Elder do what he does best." Snedbrir replied, releasing the tool-become-weapon. Erinok strapped this to his belt as he had earlier that morning, the axe head on his hip and handle hanging just above his ankle. The men nodded to each other, having nothing more to say, before the Craftsman headed to the Elder's Hall and stood in the center of the building, watching the warriors who remained there always, in defense of the Skaal leader. There was a hint of disgust in Erinok's eyes, and it was mirrored in theirs. He had to agree with his wife; their women should be ashamed.
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