Private Rise of the Riders

[Freyja]

Morthal. A cold a dreary place, inhabited by strange creatures and superstitious folk. The dimly lit Moorside Inn was the most dreary place there. The Orc by the name of Lurbuk scared away the few people that would actually go there, and the remainder of the people was simply the innkeeper and the Orc himself. Fliers were posted on every door, every column, anything that people would notice. Yet no one seemed to pay attention to the bold print describing the Dragon Riders, and any extra volunteers could go to any inn at any hold. It was normally Windhelm and Solitude that got the most recruits-Morthal got next to none.

A gray Khajiit clad in black scowled at the emptiness of the inn. It was bitterly quiet, aside from the out of tune music that was obnoxiously loud. She had been assigned to Morthal for the whole week, and not a single volunteer had come to her yet. Today was her last day here, and she definitely did not want to go back empty-handed. Her sense of pride was to great for that. Occasionally people would work up the courage to ask her why she was there, but when the Khajiit informed them of the need for more soldiers to fight the Dragon Riders, they would rush out of the inn, probably back to their cozy little hearths. Everyone here is a coward!

The Khajiit, Freyja, sighed loudly and stood up, ordering a mead from the innkeeper, paying a few septims more than needed. The innkeeper stared at her like she was Kynareth herself in a mortal form. Freyja took the pint of mead from the woman, sitting back in the corner of the room, attempting to ignore the horrible music coming from the bard. She took a swig of her golden mead-this was going to be a long day. Freyja slumped against the wall, closing her eyes as if to seem asleep. She felt truly comfortable when she could observe people without them realizing she was awake. It freed her to stare all she wanted. Her ears would tell all.

Occasionally a door opened, and Freyja's eyes would halfway open, checking for people, but it was mostly the wind or Lurbuk coming back from some errand. Freyja, of course, would sigh softly in irritation and close her eyes once more, her ears flicking around, attempting to hear something-anything- that would suggest that a possible volunteer walked towards her.

 

[EpicVakarian]

Isabel Stark slowly sneaked into Morthal. She knew no-one here, and the Empire didn't even know she was still alive, as far as she knew. But Morthal was an Imperial town, and it never hurt to be too careful. She spotted the inn, just 20 yards down the road. She made sure there were no guards, then motioned behind her.
"Are you sure?" her sister, Arya, whispered.
"Absolutely," Isabel replied. "Come on, lets go."
Isabel and Arya had been travelling through Hjaalmarch by chance, but they had spotted a note on one of the lantern posts. Isabel had torn it from its pin and read that someone needed help to fight an important foe, that the Imperials and Stormcloaks had put off the war to fight them. She realised it must be important at that, and had decided to help. Arya had joined her, though Isabel had been reluctant to accept, preferring that Arya, still only 15, had stayed out of such a fight. But she knew Arya too well; she was the most stubborn person she had ever met. So they entered the Moorside Inn, her enormous wolf, Snow, loping along at their heels, nearly as tall itself as Arya was. They hoped no-one had seen them, with their cowls up and their sigils covered with mud so as not to be recognised.
The first thing Isabel noticed was the absolutely awful music coming from the Orc in the corner; it sounded as though Snow was being strangled, more than an actual song. Even Snow began to whine and scratch at his ears at the Orc's terrible singing. Isabel threw a septim to the man, saying,
"Do yourself a favour. Just stop." The Orc didn't seem to care about her insult, he just seemed happy he had gotten any money at all. She shook her head in disgust, and spotted a Khajiit woman sitting alone at the table. Seeing as she was the only other being in the inn apart from the innkeeper and the so-called bard, Isabel assumed that she was the one they were there to find. Isabel pointed the Khajiit out to Arya, who nodded. Arya went and sat down near the woman, while Isabel ordered a mead and a glass of milk for Arya, as well as a horker loaf and a piece of beef. As she sat down next to Arya, she said,
"Excuse me." The Khajiit turned to them, looking fed up and suspicious. Isabel was suddenly worried that the woman recognised them, even though their faces were covered and there were no distinguishing marks on show. "I'm just going to assume that this sent us to you?" she asked, holding up the note, which had been travel-worn; dog-eared, muddy and torn. But it was still legible, so she placed down the note next to the Khajiit and waited, throwing a morsel of the horker to Snow, who caught it in her teeth.
"Sit, Snow." The huge creature lowered its immense weight to the ground, and spread itself over the floor. Isabel looked back to Arya, who mouthed,
"Do you think she recognises us?" Isabel shook her head very slightly, almost not noticeable. Then she turned back to the Khajiit and waited for her response.

 

[Freyja]

Freyja looked up, surprised that two women had come. She looked at the one with a glass of milk. Oh. Scratch that. A woman and a girl. Freyja sat straight up, inspecting them. The two ladies looked very much alike, so the Khajiit assumed that they were sisters. She looked at the wolf behind them and scooted away from it a little. She detested wolves, or any canine in general, come to think of it.

Freyja picked up the flier that had been damaged in seemingly every possible way. At least it didn't reek-too badly. It was the one that explained the need for an army. Freyja smiled, at least someone would be volunteering. That was pretty impressive for the Morthal post!

"You assume correctly. Freyja is the captain over the archers and has been assigned to bring in new recruits." Freyja was rather tired, and her words came out blunt and slightly rude, even though she had not meant it. Freyja wasn't made for this life of war, and it bothered her deeply that she was chosen to lead the archers...At least the wage wasn't all that bad.

"What can you do that makes you special?" The thing that the flier conveniently forgot to mention was that the people who showed promise would be sent on a dangerous mission to Markarth, the base of the riders, and destroy all of the Ancients. Whatever. She didn't need to inform them quite yet. They had to prove first that they were good at what they did.

 

[EpicVakarian]

Isabel shuffled her feet as Freyja asked her what made her special. Her modest nature made it difficult to make herself seem like a special person. But she did her best.
"Well, I'm better with a sword than most," Isabel said, "and I can use a shield quite well too. I'm a decent healer. Not the best, but I manage to keep the three of us going," she continued, gesturing to herself, Arya and Snow. "Snow helps a lot in battle; she's quick, she's powerful and she can surprise an enemy. Sister, tell her what you can do."
Arya looked up from her beef and looked at Isabel, noticing that she had called her 'sister', which she had never done before. But she knew that it was necessary to prevent anyone discovering who they were. "I'm the same. I fight differently, and I'm smaller. I'm quicker than I am strong, but that means I can get a good hit in before they know what's happening."
Isabel noticed the anger in Arya's voice. She had always been a suspicious girl, quick to distrust anyone she didn't know. She nodded to Freyja, hoping to draw the attention away from her cold, hardened sister.
She also noticed Freyja's eyes darting to Snow every so often, almost with fear. She understood; she was a cat. Snow was a wolf; and not a small one at that.
"Oh, don't worry about Snow. She won't hurt you." Not unless I tell her to, she thought, but made sure not to voice the thought.

 

[Aster]

Aster walked into Morthal. It had been a long travel from Solitude, and she needed to rest. An inn was where she was supposed to find the leader of the soldiers who would fight the Dragon riders.
"Excuse me, sir?" She flagged down a man walking through the streets, probably towards his home and family."I am not from around here, I'm traveling... Would you be so kind as to point me towards the inn?" The man nodded, and pointed her in the right direction. "Thank you,"Aster continued in the direction of the inn. As she walked, she thought about why she was here. All because of that man she had killed... at least she had come to join. Many vampires, or assassins, for that matter, wouldn't have blinked an eye, continuing on with their day. But she had. That could not compensate for the fact she had killed him, but it was a start. She arrived at the inn, and opened the door. There were people singing, dancing, and making merry. As she was about to go rent a room for the night, she spotted a khajiit and two young women standing around a table with pieces of paper. These pieces of paper were fliers: the same exact flier she held in her hands. She turned around and headed for the women. "I'm sorry for interrupting, but can you three help me sign up to fight the dragon riders?"

[sorry for the short-ish post... this is good for me, I'm still working on my role-play... and also, sorry if my talking color is too dark. I can change it to a brighter red if need be...]​

 

[Freyja]

Freyja nodded at the two women. They sounded like they had potential. Freyja believed that they had something in them, and she would test their abilities if no one else came. An already impressive amount of volunteers have come...Freyja should not be expecting more.

But as soon as Freyja thought that, a Dunmer walked into the inn. Freyja narrowed her eyes, this one looked strange. She had seen eyes of that flaming color before. She knew a vampire when she saw one. But she was indeed surprised when the vampire came up asking to sign up for the Blades. Morthal seems popular today. Freyja smiled at the Dunmer, her eyes flashing. "You are speaking to the Blades recruiter of Morthal," she said bitterly. Freyja hated the people of Morthal and simply the place itself. It was full of racists and overly superstitious people who freaked out at the mention of 'magic.' Some people could just be so dumb. Whatever. Freyja sipped her mead quietly, staring down the three volunteers who had come. She chuckled ruefully-her day was beginning to get a little better.

 

[EpicVakarian]

Isabel saw Freyja's eyes light up as she was told what the both of them could do. But before Freyja gave a response, a small Dunmer woman interrupted the conversation. Isabel and Arya both looked up and saw the woman in more detail; quite thin, though not as thin as Isabel was herself. Short hair, brown but with pitch black streaks. High cheekbones, a pronounced chin, and deep black makeup. But what unnerved the two more were the woman's eyes; pitch black, yet still glowing with a golden tinge. Something about those eyes and her experience of her father having to sentence her kind to death made Isabel recognise the vampiric nature of the woman.
The vampire looked not much older than Isabel, maybe two or three years difference. But the gaunt cheeks of vampirism made her look, in Isabel's opinion at least, at least thirty.
Arya seemed to take no notice, which was probably wise. If the woman knew that they knew that she was a vampire, she would almost undoubtedly kill them without a second thought. Freyja also seemed to recognise what she was; her eyes were narrowed and flashing, and when she replied to the woman, her voice sounded irritated, impatient, bitter. Isabel made sure to keep a hand on her left hip, ready to draw North, and her other hand on Snow, who was snarling and growling, holding him back. Arya also moved a hand toward her skinny little blade, Needle. Both moved subtly, and the vampire didn't seem to notice. Isabel decided to keep talking to Freyja, trying to gather more information. The vampire was here for the same reason, so she could hardly complain.
"So what exactly are we all getting ourselves into?" she asked quickly. "You said you work for the Blades? What do they need help with?"
"Who are the Blades?" Arya asked, her youth showing there.
"That's a point. I know of the Blades and what they did, they were dragonhunters, right? But I thought only two of them remained?"

 

[Aster]

Aster looked at the two women and the khajiit. So, The khajiit- she was the Blades recruiter. She looked older than Aster appeared, yet a little younger than she actually was. She seemed tired, and slightly suspicious. But of course she was suspicious. Aster was a vampire, after all. The two women seemed young two. One was no more than a girl, yet she appeared to be joining with the other woman. They appeared to be sisters. She saw them both subtly reach for their weapons.
She smiled wearily and said, "Please, I am not here to harm anyone. I swear. I know it seems suspicious, but..." Aster turned to the khajiit. "I am simply here to join and fight with the Blades." She looked at them all staring, and sighed uncomfortably. I wish someone would believe my story.... stupid vampirism! Aster got up, and walked over to order a sweet roll and some wine. She then went back to the table. "So, is there

anything I need to tell you or anything you need me to know?"​

 

[EpicVakarian]

Isabel sighed. From the look of it, the vampire was not one of those typical, arrogant, self-obsessed vampires. She seemed to be sorry that she had the disease. She turned to Arya.
"I don't think its as bad as it looks. I don't think she wants to hurt us. Genuinely."
"Whatever you say, Bel."
The vampire sat down with them and asked if there was anything she needed to tell them.
"You're a vampire, right?" Isabel asked under her breath, making sure no-one but Arya, the vampire and Freyja heard. "What's your name?"

 

[Aster]

Aster turned to face the older of the two sisters. "Yes, I'm a vampire. No, I don't want to kill you or harm you in any way. And my name is Aster." She took a small bite of the sweet roll and chewed thoughtfully. "What are your names, and why are you two here to join the Blades?" She wanted to know a bit about the people she would be fighting with. Aster looked around. No one else seemed to be standing near or listening to their conversation. Were these three, along with herself, the only people who had taken an interest to fighting with the Blades?
"Has anyone else taken an interest to helping or fighting?... Are we all there is?" She frowned. It seemed like a small number. The flier had been up and handed about for a while now. It was odd that four women would be all who signed up. Maybe there were others signed up in different cities. Maybe it was just Morthal...

 

[EpicVakarian]

"What are your names, and why are you two here to join the Blades?" Aster asked. She seemed as though she was being totally honest with the answers to Isabel's questions, so the sisters decided they could trust her for now.
"I... can't really tell you who we are. Someone might hear who shouldn't. Believe me, if we get out of Morthal, I'll tell you who we are. But this is Imperial ground. The Imperials want us dead. Or at least, the Thalmor do. As for why we're here to join up, we heard about the riders and wanted to help. The wolf helps whenever possible."
Arya hissed quietly at that last line. Isabel's brain had instantly told her that was a bad idea to say. Even saying something about the wolf in proximity to an Imperial could get them both arrested and handed over to the Thalmor.
As her mind flicked back to the conversation, she realised that Snow was still growling. Isabel reached over and scratched the wolf behind her ears to calm her down. "Calm, Snow." Instantly, Snow stopped growling, but kept her orange eyes focused on Aster.

 

[Freyja]

Freyja's eyes darted back and forth at the conversation occurring between the three girls, listening to what they said carefully. They obviously had come into this blindly because of some family obligation-maybe they were even coming into this to get away from their lives. Either way, Freyja had no intent of intruding into their personal lives. Warriors were warriors, and this crisis might even serve to unite Skyrim once and for all, even after it had finished.

"The Blades consisted of only the Masters Delphine and Esbern. Once the threat of the Riders came up, they set out to recruit new members," she muttered without looking up from her mead. Freyja had a way of making her voice heard while seeming like she didn't put effort into it. She was a master of speech, after all. Aster's question caused the corners of her mouth to tug upwards, and she took another swig of mead to conceal it.

"Congratulations. You have successfully managed to set a new record of Morthal recruits. Wait till everyone hears that Morthal actually managed to bring some warriors to the table," Freyja said mockingly, keeping her tone light yet serious. She needed to be taken seriously in this matter, yet she did not want to scare away the newbies.

 

[Blackdoom59]

The Imperials and the Stormcloaks had made an alliance against a thread from Markarth. Most people would be happy at those news, the residents of Skyrim no longer had to fight each other. Even if this was not permanent, most took these news as good news. However, there were some who profited from the civil war, and for them, the news were grave indeed.

Phyrior was walking in the small hold of Morthal, angered and sad. His clients abandoned him, and his coin faded away alongside the civil war. He kept thinking of what force could drive the imperials and stormcloaks to unite. It was something from Markarth, so it must have been the forsworn…or the orcs? His thoughts kept on flying in his head, until he became to tired to even think. Some sleep would have done him good. He turned his head over to the inn from Morthal. It must have been quiet, seeing how the hold is so small.

He opened the door silently, without dragging attention to him. As soon as he took a step into the inn, his ears were crumbled by the awful music. He looked over to the bard, an orc, with no talent whatsoever. Phyrior wasn’t in the mood to tolerate such bard. He looked him in the eyes, trying to make him understand that Phyrior wants him to stop. The bard however, kept on going, even louder then before! Phyrior sighed to himself, as flame started building in his right hand. In one swing, he threw a fireball at the poor orc. As the orc saw the fire reaching out for him, he couldn’t even think straight. He dropped his lute as he eyed the devilish fire. When the flame was right next to his face, Phyrior closed his right hand, which made the fire disperse, leaving the orc unharmed. He immediately grabbed his lute and rushed to his room, closing and locking his door. That event had most likely dragged everyone’s attention.

Phyrior moved over to the innkeeper and without giving her any coin he said: “Glass of water”. The innkeeper, who was trembling in fear, quickly grabbed out a cup, filled it with some water and handed it to Phyrior, who then proceeded drinking it all at once, then turning his head to a most crowded table. 4 women were there, before distinguishing their race and age, he wondered why would so many people endure that orc’s song.

 

[EpicVakarian]

Arya nudged Isabel subtly. Isabel turned, and Arya pointed to a new man in the inn.
The orc bard had apparently come back, but Isabel hadn't noticed. The new man, who wore heavy robes and a cowl, had thrown a fireball at the orc, letting it dissipate before it hit. The orc fled back to the side room, and the mage went to the bar and demanded a glass of water, not even paying. Then the man turned, leaning on the bar and apparently watching the four women. Arya whispered to her,
"What do we do? I don't like this..."
"Neither do I. Hold on a second." She looked meaningfully at Arya, Freyja and Aster, then turned to the man in the robes. "Hello there. Is... Is there a reason you're watching us?"
Snow had stopped staring at Aster, and now began to growl at the new man, the only man in the bar at the moment, apart from the orc bard, who had locked himself away.

 

[Freyja]

Freyja turned her cold, hard gaze onto the man who had disrupted the Orc. She liked the quiet, but his methods were what caught Freyja's attention. And she liked them. A mage as relentless as him should be able to fight off some Dragon Riders. She studied him carefully-he was obviously a full blown mage-his robes pretty much screamed it. And his skin coloring was peculiar. Freyja's eyes narrowed to slits as he got a drink without paying. So this one relies on fear. How petty. But even though Freyja didn't like this man from his first impression, even she realized when someone could be of use to the team. The dark Khajiit sighed deeply, but stayed in her spot. Rule number one of recruiting:be colder and show them that you won't move an inch for their hides. Freyja just didn't want to go along with the folk at the inn and grovel at this man's feet. She huffed, sipping her mead, trying extremely hard to look calm. Something about this man made her skin itch. He jsut didn't seem right...

 

[Blackdoom59]

The inn was quiet after the orc stopped singing and playing his lute. That all pleased Phyrior, he always enjoyed the quiet, especially when he was angered. All of that calmed him. The quiet was, however, interrupted by one of the women at the table, who talked directly to Phyrior

"Hello there. Is... Is there a reason you're watching us?"

A nord, by the looks of it, she looked about the same age Phyrior was, however as he kept viewing over the table, it seemed there was an even younger girl there, not even out of her teens. The one who approached Phyrior angered him even more. You could see it in his eyes. His brows, which were already suggesting anger, tilted down even more as she spoke. Phyrior noticed the fear in her voice. It seemed when he entered the inn he left some marks. Angry as he was, he calmed himself down and gracefully responded:

“I’m just curious why so many outsiders gathered in this exiled place, suffering such awful music. You may have gotten the wrong impression, I am not an assassin hired to kill you”


Phyrior smiled to himself as he dropped the last line. The girl seemed way to suspicious and scared. His anger flew away after he spoke, he already forgot that he was empty-pocketed and on the run.

 

[EpicVakarian]

Isabel turned to Freyja questioningly, asking without words whether they should tell him. Arya did the same thing, and they both waited.

 

[Aster]

Aster looked at the newcomer who had thrown a fireball at the orc bard. She sighed heavily, Who did he think he was? She didn't say anything, but continued to stare at the stranger. He seemed full of anger for a reason unknown. She heard him asking why they were gathered. Aster saw the two sisters turn to the khajiit questioningly, probably wondering whether to tell him or not. She glanced back at the angry stranger, summoning a bit of magic to be ready if the situation got out of hand.

 

[Freyja]

Freyja sighed, not getting up, but projecting her voice loudly enough for the strange looking mage to hear. "You may of heard of the trouble in Markarth caused by...Dragon Riders." She intended to sound cold and uncaring, it was weak to show anger or fear. Freyja had broken minds the way she talked, and she intended to reach the Altmer, or whatever he was. She rubbed her temples, trying not to seem interested in this cruel man-elf thing.

"Well, Freyja is here to recruit an elite team of sorts." That was all the information about the mission that she would give away now. She wouldn't know how truly gifted these folk were until she watched them either kill a Dragon and its rider, or be ruthlessly slaughtered by it. Freyja chuckled softly, trying not to let the grotesque image get into her mind. These people showed promise, and Freyja hoped that her luck would continue to bring her more talented volunteers.

 

[The Honorable Gidian Diva of Sass]

Gidian was a little miffed about his newest assignment. It had taken him away from a rather nice vacation with his family. Sure, he was retired, but one never truly left the Rangers. There was always something you could contribute, usually intelligence, and effectively the closest thing to a promotion you ever got. Apprentice, to Ranger, to Retired. The entire organization was rather secretive, and few new anything about them, but those that were retired tended to be the most incognito due to their status. However, few were fit enough for field operations by retirement, and different people retired at different ages. Gidian was one of the ones fit for field operation, and he'd been summoned abruptly from his home on a mission of the utmost importance. At first, with the dragons defeated, they'd thought they'd finally done it. They'd stabilized Skyrim. Then the civil war broke out again, but it was called to a halt once more by an even greater threat. An unimaginable one. Dragons and ancient riders. Or so the rumours went. Gidian was sent in to Skyrim to separate fact from fiction, and stabilize the situation if he had the opportunity.

They'd thrown him on their fastest horse, planning his route so that he had replacement mounts along the way. His routes and replacement locations were to be kept under the utmost secrecy, and the routes kept clear so he could ride without interruption, from Cyrodiil to Skyrim. Intelligence in the area that had already been acquired stated that the blades were taking up the fight. He was to seek them out for further leads, and observe their position. And so, he'd been riding hard for days, resting in Falkreath, moving on to Whiterun, resting there, and so on. Until he came to Morthal. So far, he had heard little of the situation. the people did not trust strangers in these dark times, and like it or not, he was a stranger. People's hushed conversations would be stopped when he approached. And so, he was forced to eavesdrop and use subterfuge. He could've revealed his presence as a Ranger, and simply demand the information, but the details of the assignment demanded he remain incognito unless the situation absolutely demanded he reveal himself. And even then, if he was caught, they would most likely deny his status, claiming he was retired and acting on his own accord, as was the nature of the business. From what he'd managed to gather, the Blades were on the rise, and they were recruiting for something, supposedly to combat fierce dragon riders. Both sides of the Civil War had temporarily called for peace until the situation was resolved. People had apparently been disappearing into the night, never to be seen again. The last part was probably vampires. They were on the rise as well, but being a Ranger, he had to investigate every lead. So, he went to Morthal. The obvious place for vampires to conceal themselves. Approaching the town from the swamps, he'd left his horse behind at Solitude stables, and was now trudging through the dark, gloomy, rough terrain. His boots sank into the mud at times, and he had to often crawl across areas of mud and water that could literally swallow him into the earth. It was tough, brutally slow progress. He'd come in the night, to maximize his chances of encountering whatever it was that might've taken people off into the night.

"Bloody Vampires... always a pain in the neck!" Gidian said sarcastically to himself. He smiled a smile which no other would be able to see, (not only was he a master of moving without being seen or heard, he also wore a mask under his deep cowl that would conceal most of his face) for he was enjoying himself. To him, he was living the life, as all Rangers thought they were. He would rather be nowhere else, except for home with his family, then patrolling the wilds. This was his element, his home away from home. Eventually, he came upon a strange figure in the swamp, and Gidian decided to kick it up a notch, sacrificing a little stealth for speed to keep up with the rapidly disappearing form. He was sure that whoever it was hadn't seen him, and yet they were moving briskly and quickly, as if they had a purpose. Because Gidian had to remain undetected, he gained ground on the stranger painfully slow. But soon, he came close enough to make out some of the man's features, for it was a man. A nord about, 6 feet tall, with the trademark fair skin and hair, the hair tide into a warrior's braid, and odd eyes. They were glazed over, as if the man was in a trance. Other than the eyes, Gidian saw nothing threatening or odd about him. He was wearing a simple green tunic and pants, and looked like he might have been a civilian of Morthal. His curiosity peaked, he looped around the man and got in front of him a ways, found a clearing, and stood on the far side of it with his powerful bow in hand, and an arrow knocked, ready to draw the bowstring back fire his arrow at a moments notice. Soon enough, the man passed into the far side of the clearing, and Gidian called, "Halt! Stop right there! I only want to talk for a moment." He said confidently, and with a slight edge to his voice. The man however, if he noticed the bow and arrow, or heard Gidian's commanding voice, showed no sign of digesting these facts. He continued to walk briskly across the open field. Annoyed, Gidian raised his bow, and drew the bow to its full draw, aiming at the man's chest, "Stop, or I swear I will put an arrow in you!" The man continued advancing, and, not willing to shoot him, as well as curious, he lowered his bow, and allowed the man to advance. Shouldering his bow, he advanced to meet the man. Gidian had made sure there was no one else nearby, so he was confident he wouldn't be ambushed. Planting himself right in front of the nord, he stood defiantly at 5 foot 6, everything about him commanding authority. "I commend your bravery, you dam*ed fool. Now stop-" The nord continued to advance, and ran straight into Gidian, attempting to shove him out of the way. Growling, Gidian twisted caught the nord's left arm with his right, as he danced around behind him and kicked him in the weak joint behind the knee, forcing the big nord down, and twisted his arm around behind his back. The nord let out a growl of his own, but before he realized someone was trying to impede his progress, it was too late. He was helpless as Gidian danced on the edge of breaking his arm behind his back.

"Give me answers!" Gidian demanded, "What are you doing out here? and what's wrong with your eyes?!" The man let out no cohesive words, only grunts as he tried to escape the Ranger's iron grip. Having no choice, and unwilling to break the man's arm, Glidias hit him on the back of the head, hard, with the palm of his hand, knocking him unconscious. Hoping he hadn't caused any permanent damage, Gidian picked the nord up and threw him over his shoulder, and said with a grunt, "Fat basta**!" which wasn't true, as the man had quite a bit of muscle on him. And so, He hauled the man all the way to Morthal on his shoulder, hoping someone would recognize him, and getting a few odd looks from the townsfolk. They all did their best to avoid him, which he didn't blame them for, and so he didn't get the chance to ask any questions. He was covered nearly head to toe in mud, sticks, and grass, and carrying a big unconscious man on his shoulder. And so, he abruptly opened the Inn's door, and accidentally bumped the poor man's head on the top of the doorframe on the way in. "Sorry about that, you blumbering behemoth. but, really, it's your own fault," He barked. And then he noticed all the people in the room, staring, open mouthed at him. Well?! Don't just stand there! He's not very light you know!"