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    Andante

    Roleplaying Moderator
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    "When I reminisce about all those years - I see many things.​
    Life and death strung together, like the mountains and valleys in which we lived.​
    There was wealth and opulence, but also tribulation and loss.​
    There was laughter and song - And there were also tears. But even more than tears, blood was shed. And so many were left to their unadorned graves.​
    Unburied.​
    But to us death was but another journey, and close by the darkness through which we strode.​
    There was also light. The light of life and immortality.​
    And after all, when I reminisce about those years, I mostly remember our songs.​
    We sang.
    As if to drown out the sound of clashing swords - as if the battle cries fell silent.​
    Because, war had lost its meaning."​
    The rise of a new dawn.
    Years had passed, uncertain in number, though they felt like a pitiless eternity. The fog of war had long since settled over the province of Skyrim. The fighting had stopped long ago. The clashing echo of steel was but a faint and distant memory. Though, the bloodshed and true suffering had only begun. While no opposing sides drew weapons against the other on a field of battle, the landscape of the province had forever been changed; less than a shadow of what it once had been. The richness and complexity of life and the land had all but been destroyed. Homes and temples ravaged and burned to the ground, farmland razed and left in ruin, and clean water poisoned with disease. Death and decay dotted the landscape, and embraced what remained with a corrupt affinity.​
    So many winters had come and gone, the only predictability left amid the disarray. So many lives had been changed, and so many lost. Brother turned against brother in haste and anguish as persecution spread like wildfire. Hardly a true heart remained, as corruption crept among the masses, venomous, and poised to strike at whomever had succumbed to their desperation. Survival was all there was to life now, and there were those that would do anything to keep themselves alive. Whether it be to sell their lives into the hands of their oppressors for just a scrap of gold, or risk labeling themselves a traitor for security, no one was above the adulterating fear that death and uncertainty could instill.​
    Small in number were those that remained true to themselves. Few were those who feared not death, and would stand to meet it without hesitation to defend what they, against all hope, still believe in…​
    Nertom woloutom que etsi snis...
    ...We are strong and we are rich.​
    Emmos snis riyi emmos snis...
    ...We are free, that's what we are.​
    Emmos snis riyi emmos snis andometi...
    ... We are free and we are untamed.​
    In our hearts, and in our minds...by the gods, we are still free.​
    Every time she closed her eyes, the nightmares returned. Seamless as they were with her waking hours, she would endure a lifetime of hardship to escape only a moment of the horrors that plagued her rest. For those who had ever known a semblance of normalcy, a mere echo of peace, memory proved to be even more painful than the stark reality.​
    There were some, children mostly, who knew nothing of a time before conflict. They knew nothing but oppression and war. They knew nothing of life outside the walls of their crumbling sanctuary. All simplicity and innocence were corrupt, and nothing remained but primal instinct. Fight. Survive. It was the natural order of things - it was all they knew.​
    Life was no longer about living, but a mere gruesome struggle to stay alive.​
    Perched atop one of the ruined watchtowers of what once was the thriving city of Helgen, she fought to keep herself alert. There was no certain way of telling the last time she'd slept soundly, much less an entire night. One eye always open. Always on guard. One false move meant lives. The lives of helpless men, women, and children who all looked to her to provide them with safety, with sanctuary. In such trying times, trust was in short supply and she couldn't let a dependency like that rest lightly. Commander. Commander Stone-Hilt they called her of their own accord, as if she were at the helm of the world's strongest army. Pioneer of an unknown fate. Though, to live again, was all she desired - the same as the rest of them.​
    There was no knowing how long she'd sat, gazing out across the barren plain. She had taken a risk in emerging from the deep, and crumbling halls, but food was running low. Sickness and starvation ran rampant, and people were dying as quickly as they came. Her own body ached with hunger, but there were those in more dire need than she, and the danger was well worth the cost. Narrowing her eyes against the murky light of early morning, she looked for any hint of movement but to no avail. It had been months since she'd seen any creature of substantial size, much less anything decent to be hunted. If the deer and elk weren't dying themselves, they were being hunted to stuff the gullets of the wealthy and privileged. Little was left otherwise. Still, the situation had become desperate; children dying in their mother's arms, entire families wracked with disease falling where they stood. Their corpses littered the deepest halls of the hold, a solemn reminder of what awaited them all.​
    Rising carefully, she descended from the tower and crept quietly along the uncertain boundaries of the ruined fort walls. The salt blocks she had wedged next to the piles of rubble lie untouched, save for a few gnaw marks left by a wandering skeever, no doubt. It had been an incredible gamble, using the last of their quickly depleting supplies in such a carefree manner, but if it meant attracting a few animals it was a worthwhile prospect. Her stomach gave a clearly audible growl at the thought of roast venison, and she patted it with disgust. Desperation had driven her more than once to eating nothing better than rodents to keep herself alive, and she was almost ashamed to admit she would do it again if she had to. She doubted she reserved enough strength to properly draw her bow, but at this point she would resolve to strangle an elk with her bare hands if one would simply wander her way.​
    Falling back slightly she crouched behind the collapsed ruins of an outbuilding and waited patiently. Drawing an arrow from her quiver she ran it slowly between her fingers, anxious to fire it into the first living thing that wandered her way. Elf or elk, she would make certain they wouldn't leave the ruins of Helgen alive. She closed her eyes if only for a moment, and listened for the even the slightest disturbance, but the only sounds that filled her mind were those she was already so accustomed to hearing.​
    Deep below, the moldering tunnels echoed with the hushed voices and labored, ragged breath of the huddled masses that claimed the keep as their sanctuary. The muffled cries of ailing children. The stifled muttering of the dying. Driven so deeply underground, no better than vermin, they scavenged in their own squalor, awaiting their uncertain fates. Then again, nothing was certain anymore save that this, abysmal as it was, was preferable to whatever lie in wait for them on the surface.​
    Suddenly, there was a short sound that echoed in the distance. Hana snapped to alertness and wrapped her hand around her bow, ready to strike. It sounded again, a short rasping breath, the shuffle of something being dragged along the ground, and a piteous bellow. It was no sound an elf or human would make, not even in the most mortal of peril. She slid forward in a silent crouch, almost shaking with exhilaration. Just along the horizon, where the fields dipped into low, rolling hills she caught sight of the creature, a small deer barely of age to be on its own, shuffling weakly toward the ruins. She bit her lip in anticipation, gently sliding the arrow into place, hoping it would be desperate enough to wander within range.​
    The withered creature lifted its head into the softly blowing wind, almost certainly catching the scent of the salt she had laid out. Cautiously, it inched closer, its thin, spindly legs hardly strong enough to crush flat the dry grass underfoot, and began rooting at a pile of rubble that concealed the salt block it so feverishly searched for. As it approached she could see what a wretched state it was in. Half dead no doubt with starvation, its thin skin clung tightly to the jagged bones protruding through its patched fur. Hardly enough meat to satisfy a dog, much less a hall full of starving refugees, but this was too golden an opportunity to let pass.​
    Her bow creaked slightly as she drew back the string, and the deer's ears twitched slightly and it looked around in a panic, ready to flee at the first sight of danger. Without wasting a moment, she loosed the arrow, burying it deeply into the pitiful creature's neck. It let out a blood curdling bellow and fell to the ground, its legs flailing in terror as it tried to make a run for it, to escape with whatever bit of its life remained. Hana sprang to her feet and made to pursue the deer. Even if it didn't manage to feed anyone, she had to retrieve her spent arrow at least; iron was simply too precious a commodity anymore to waste on a failed hunt.​
    Reaching the top of the nearby ridge she caught sight of the deer again, limping weakly toward a slow moving stream, its useless legs collapsing beneath it in exhaustion. It struggled, groaning in pain before it fell finally, weakened and nearly dead, into a silent heap. Hana clenched her fists suddenly in elation and made toward the carcass, dropping her bow behind her.​
    "Oh, oh, ooh..." She whispered under her breath, approaching the deer and grabbing it by the ears to examine its head and neck. Its tongue lolled limply from its partially open mouth, and its wide eyes were far set and glassy. It was dead. With a sigh of relief, she grasped the small, golden amulet at her neck and pressed it to her lips in thanks.​
    "...oh, yes. T-thank you." She whispered again, dragging the deer onto its back, and giving it another look up and down. "You really aren't much to look at are you?"​
    Getting to her feet, she lay the deer across her shoulders and carried it back to the top of the ridge. Sunrise was upon her now, and her cover of darkness slowly fading. There hadn't been sighting of Dominion agents in the area for weeks, but it was certainly no reason to become lax and careless. So much as a trace of her presence on the surface could betray them all and lead to ruin. She tread lightly, careful to take back all of her weaponry as not to give any indication there were more than scavenging animals at Helgen, and once again disappeared into the dark, and dank ruins of the fort; uncertain of the next time she might have the privilege of seeing the sun.​
    Hana was cautious not to let too many see what she had brought back into the fort, lest she incite a stampede at the prospect of food. Hollow eyes glanced upward, and narrowed in longing at the deer carcass at her back, but none were bold enough to reach for it though a few followed quietly behind her in hopes of getting a portion for themselves. She covered her mouth with her hand and coughed roughly as the putrid air of the halls flooded her lungs, a stark difference to the cool air outside. The stench of death and decay hung heavily along the corridors and bore down relentlessly. It was nauseatingly strong, but she knew sooner or later she'd grow accustomed to the smell again, and would hardly notice it. Hardly.​
    Entering the small galley, she lay the deer across an empty table. Its head lolled, almost comically to one side and hung limply over the edge, dangling slightly. She grabbed hold of the arrow at its throat and wrenched it free with a sickening, unpleasant crunch and wiped it clean on the hem of her tattered leather vest.​
    "Look what I managed..." She called toward the far end of the room, where a few shadows dances against the mossy wall. Her voice was a mixture of pride, and solemn disappointment.​
     

    Uther Pundragon

    The Harbinger of Awesome
    Staff member
    "Hana, you wasted your time and our resources. That is what you managed to do. How many starving people will this wretched carcass feed? Not enough, as you are well aware. I admire your determination but the results are less than satisfactory."

    The Bosmerian captain spoke in a calm, neutral tone, as he got up from his seat and strode over to where she stood. He ran a gloved hand along the body of the slain deer, feeling each boney rib as he did so, the skin pulled tightly against the cage. A sigh escaped his lips as he looked over the pitiful creature on the table. Half the night had been wasted looking for her and he was not amused to discover she was out hunting, deer, of all things. Scrawny, diseased ridden deer more like it.

    "Who exactly do you plan to feed this magnificent catch to? The orphans of the struggle? Maybe the elderly who have nothing else to lose? Could even be that miserable mutt that came wandering into town the other day? Well, that is, if someone hasn't eaten it yet. So tell me Hana, who?"

    He gave one of the boney ribs a flick with the tip of his finger. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate what she was trying to do, because he did. But the time and resources risked were just not worth the reward. Didn't she understand that or was she allowing her over-protectiveness of the children to cloud her better judgement? Aengoth looked up from the table and stared across into Hana's eyes, waiting to see how she would respond. Not gently, he assumed.
     

    Kir the Silent

    Until Your Flesh Is Consumed
    Ignar had finally made his way to what was once known as Helgen. It had been destroyed long ago by a dragon attack and had left to become a silent ruin. It was now home to the "Rebellion," if it could indeed be called such. Frankly he was underwhelmed by what he saw within. Weary men and broken souls were the only people he saw within the crumbling walls. There were also so few of them, maybe a few dozen. Maybe. Even so Ignar decided to stay, the Stormcloak within him ready to fight back against the oppression plauging his land and people.

    In the weeks that followed Ignar tried to remain opptimistic. The leader was a powerful and inspiring woman, but very few new faces had joined. Food was quickly becoming a commodity and this hit morale even further. Starvation was a horrible reality many across skyrim were facing...Ignar had come to help anyway he could in the rebellion for this very reason. He had seen a child starved to death in the street of Solitude...and their body left there...

    Ignar sat beside a fellow comrade, just another typical do-nothing day, when the Commander arrived at the base. Carrying a deer! A lean dear albeit but meat was meat especially these days! "Shor's ass! Venison!" Some one said behind him. A few men stared hungrily, others started to follow the Commander, but Ignar just sat there. The man next to him elbowed him in the ribs, "Ignar, your drooling all over my boots."

    "Sorry about that." The middle-aged man scratched his head and wiped the drool from his mouth. "It's just...were drooling over food like it's as rare as ebony. The sad thing is, with the Thalmor and Imperial constraints, its almost true."

    Suddenly a memory played at the edge of his mind. Thalmor...elves...wait, I may actually be able to contribute to the war effort! What was his name? Memories started to flood his mind, memories of the Civil war and the day he almost died...the day the war ended...Suddenly he was there.

    "We have to fall back! Sound the general retreat!" The Stormcloak commander in charge of the forces trying to break the Imperial lines and enter Windhelm to aid the defenders was yellingover the clash of steel and the screams of the dying. Ignar, a young officer under the commander, turned and looked at his mentor in horror. "Sir!? We have to break the lines and provide aid to the city's defenders! Ulfric is in danger! We have to press the attack!"

    "Don't you get it!? We have lost all the lands in our control! And now...now Windhelm is lost! And so shall we be if we do not sound a general retreat!" The commander looked every bit his age, and even more so he looked devastated that their cause had failed. "My first responsibility is to the men! I have to-" An arrow pierced his throat, cutting off his sentence.

    Ignar was staring in absolute shock...the commander was dead. "Talos...what do I do now?" He stood still as the battle raged around him, neither hearing nor seeing. He knew he should do something...anything...he was in charge now right? So did they retreat or fight on? They had suffered heavy losses..."I don't know what to do..."

    Suddenly someone was standing in front of him and slapped him hard. "Get a grip! Men are dying every second and you need to make a decision! Mourn him later!" A very young wood elf was standing in front of him. His face was mature beyond his years and he was speaking authoritivly. At first Ignar thought he was a Thalmor, but he noticed the Stormcloak armor. "Wake up! We're taking heavy losses! We can't hold the line for much longer, we are losing ground! Their flanking the left side with a tactical Artemix manuver! We need to counter it with heavy armor and anyone armed with an axe!"

    "I've never been in charge!" Ignar yelled back at him, this earned him another slap.

    "Just do what I tell you and we will get most, if not all, of your men out of this alive!" The young elf stared into his eyes radiating calm and confidence. He put his hands on Ignar's shoulders, "Trust me we will get out of this! Live to fight another day!"

    Ignar nodded and over the next hour followed the elf's instructions to the letter. Unbelievably the young mer's tactics were incredible and at one point they actually managed to push the Legion back, if only momentarily. With his help Ignar was able to get a majority of his men and comrades out safely. They slipped away into the mountains, there the elf suggested that they split up to make themselves harder to detect and track. He gave an incredible speech saluting everyone's bravery and sacrifice. That while they had been defeated, they would live to fight another day. That their spirit was unstoppable and could never be defeated.

    As they started to head their seperate ways, Ignar managed to catch the young elf's arm. "I wanted to thank you...for everything..."

    The elf held up a hand to stop him. "You don't have to thank me Ignar, I did what I could to save lives and support the cause which I believed in with all my heart. Trust me, one day they will fall. This is not the end."

    "You know my name, but I don't know yours. I'd like to know the name of the man who saved my life." Ignar held out his hand to shake the elf's.

    The young bosmer took his hand and shook it firmly. As he turned and began to walk away, he looked back with a sarcastic looking smile. "My name is Kir Dayash." With that he turned away again and disappeared into the snow.

    "Goodbye my friend," Ignar said to the fading figure. But after a minute Ignar was dumbstruck. There's no way he could be...Everyone in the Stormcloak camps have heard of the former Thalmor tactician prodigy that was now assisting the war effort. But could that young mer really had been him? Ignar remembered the strategy and advice he had given to get everyone out safely and no longer doubted it.

    "By the way!" Though Ignar couldn't see him, he still heard his voice. "If your people ever have need or cause again! You will find me in the forests were the living and the dead live side by side!"

    Now snapping back to the present, Ignar stood up and headed after the Commander. I need to bring this to Commander Stone-Hilt! This could be just the advantage we've been looking for, at least a step. He rushed through the keep looking for the commander. He heard voices in the kitchen and unceremoniously burst in. "Commander! I have some news, well...not news exactly but an idea. Sort of...I-" Ignar stopped when he realized the Captain was in her too and he seemed to be interrupting. "Sorry Captain, Commander."
     

    A.Auditore

    maybe...
    “Where the hell is it?”
    she started to rummage through the dresser drawers of the small little house, pulling clothes and whatever else was in there out and throwing it behind her. “Ugh” she stopped suddenly when she heard footsteps above her head, listening and planning her next moves, they muffled about, stopped then went back to where they had started, her heart racing, she started her search again.

    Her eye caught the little jewelry box that rested high on a shelve above the bed “Yeah go figure the one place I didn’t look first” shaking her head, she jumped on the bed and opened the box looking through the jewelry, until she found her silver necklace with purple and white stones imbedded, in the pendant, her tiny fist gripped it tightly as she looked around and started for the window, sneaking out and down the road back towards her run-down farm house.

    “It’s nice to know that some have the luxury to live like that while others, like myself have to live like rats” she looked back at the house shaking her head “One day I will return and slice your throat for taking what was once mine”. She hurried out of the small little town. The cold night wind blew around her tattered dress, what was left of it, the war had taken its toll on everyone and everywhere, but what was not claimed during, the afterwards was what got it the worst.

    Slowly approaching the end of the tree-line she saw the farm, her parents once owned but now belonged to her, seeing that there was no light in the broken window of the house, she smiled, cause that meant she had beat him home, from him trip looking for something to eat, and would not have to hear about her leaving the house without him. Stopping at the edge of the forest, what was left at least, she looked around and ran as quickly as she could to the run-down shack she called a home, jumping over the broken fence and running up to the door, the door creaked as she slowly opened it peering in to double check that he wasn’t sitting in the dark waiting for her.

    Seeing it was clear, she slipped in shutting the door behind her, there was a slight chill to the room, she wrapped her arms around herself trying to keep warm, making her way over towards the fireplace, she started working on it until she got a flame going, with little heat and light she had from the fireplace, she sat down on the cold floor, looking at the pendant in her hand, closing her eyes she held on tight to it.

    Hours had passed, she was lost in her thoughts and did not hear the door opening and closing behind her, and his voice calling out to her. He slowly approached her, but made enough sound to let her know he was there with her in the house, still lost in thought she didn’t feel his hands run up her back, to her shoulders and into her hair. She opened and closed her eyes as she leaned back into him “You are home, did you have any luck?” his hands moved from her hair back to her shoulders as he started to slowly and gently massage them “No, there is hardly anything in this Talos-forsaken land now” he draped his arms around her pulling her closer “How was your time while I was gone, after they came and started collecting taxes” she sighed, shrugged her shoulders “The usual, cold nothing new” he spun her around to get a look at her face that he so longed to see, but was angered at the site of her busted lip “Who did this to you?” his tone was low but angry, she lied not wanting to cause anymore trouble “I slipped and fell over the mop bucket” he grabbed her, looking back at the bucket then at her “You’re sure about this?” she nodded at him cracking a smile.

    but what had happen was after they collected the money from them, they had waited until he was gone and came back. She had meet him at the door “You’ve already collected our share of taxes, what more do you want?” the man just looked her up and down as his eyes rested on her pendant “That would bring a nice price” looking down she grabbed it in her hand “You cant have it” she went to close the door, his foot shot out stopping it, as his hand slammed up against the door opening it wider “Look here Lass, I don’t care if I cant have it or not, Im going to take it” he reached out to grab it from her neck, her natural reaction kicked in as she struck him across his face, his hand touched his lip and looked down at the crimson color, giving her a sly grin, his hand lighting quick backhanded her, causing her to fall to the floor, the man was on top of her within seconds, he continued to backhand her face, while the other hand was choking her, she continued to fight him as long as she could before she passed out on the cold floor of the farm house, satisfied with what he had done he took the necklace from her, leaving the house and shutting the door behind him. She woke up a few hours later, curling into a ball, reaching for the pendant that was now gone. Waiting a few days she decided to get her pendant back.

    A few days had passed, and they had went on with their daily chores around the farm, getting as much as they could with little they had, cabbage soup seemed to be the only luxury food they were getting during the hard times, but alas it was better than getting nothing at all.

    It was a cool windy morning when a knock on the door, had awaken the two from their slumber, without getting a chance to get out of bed and open the door, it was kicked down and the man from the previous encounter stepped through “You have stolen what was rightfully taken, wench” he jumped out of bed, putting himself between her and the man that had “welcomed” himself in “What in Talos’ name are you talking about, she hasn’t stolen anything!” the man crossed the room almost face to face with him “Hmm is that so, that pendant she wears around her neck is mine, I came for it and she has taken it back, she is a thief and will pay for her crimes”

    His fist curled into a ball and he slowly looked back at her “tripped over a mop bucket?” she looked down and that was all he needed to know, before he turned throwing his weight at the man, tackling him to the floor, beating him up until he had stopped moving, she sat there the entire time watching him wide eyed “What have you done?” she stood up walking over to him, placing her hand on his shoulder, without looking at her “Get dressed, grab everything that you can not possibly live without, we are leaving” she stepped back “But.. But this is my home” he turned around, the look in his eyes knew she should no argue and do as she was asked “Alright, it will take me a few, what are you going to do with him?” he looked down at him “Don’t worry just be out of the house and down the road waiting for me” she nodded at him.

    She didn’t know how long she was sitting on the side of the road with her few things she had taken with her, when she saw his figure walking towards her and behind him a smoke cloud, she sighed as she knew what he had done to her house, as he approached her “You have anything else you want to do before we leave, like say good bye to your parents?” “Yes, if you do not mind”.

    While they were heading to another place to call home, they were unaware of a man following them, he was the right hand man, he had finished off and he was seeking retribution for his friend. As night started to fall, he had a sinking feeling in his gut, he told her to go into the woods and sleep in the tree while he laid out near the tree line, although she was confused by this request she did not want the press the issue and climbed into the tree, falling fast asleep.

    Opening one eye she saw that he was no longer there, panicking she jumped from the tree and ran over to the spot she saw him last, it looked like there was a struggle and blood “Blood? Oh my goodness” she started to freak out, searching franticly for him, she stayed in the trees and followed along the road until she saw a camp site and him a little on the outskirts of it bound to a pole, she covered her mouth and closed her eyes, she sat there watching him as the man, tortured him, anger building up in her, she started to slowly creep out of the forest and towards the camp.

    Staying low to the ground in the grass, like a cat stalking its prey, she got closer and closer to the site, looking around to see if there were more or just the one man, she hid behind the tent, looking out on both sides, grabbing a rock that could do damage she snuck up behind him, hitting him hard over the head, watching him fall to the ground with a thud as little particles of dirt floated up then down around him, a crimson color start to seep from his head, as he lay there bleeding.

    She dropped the rock and fell to her knees at him, reaching up touching his bloody face, as gently as she could, without saying anything to him she untied him, he collapsed into her arms as she fell backwards on her rump, stroking his hair, she held on to him, weak he managed to speak a few words to her “Open your hand up” she held her hand open as he placed something in it, closing her hand with his he held onto her hand “I’ll always be with you, no matter where you go” he coughed “Do the right thing and don’t put me in the ground” she held on tighter to him and started to cry into his hair “Please don’t leave me now, I don’t even know where we were going” managing a weak smile at her “Don’t worry my love, just take this road and follow it until you reach Helgen” he gripped her hand tighter “I will be waiting for you in the next life, please try to enjoy this one as long as you can, even though it looks bleak now, there is always light at the end” he touched the side of her face before taking his final breath, as his body went limp in her arms.

    Not knowing how long she sat there holding onto him, a wagon pulled up as an old man got out of the cart, letting a low whistle out “My word” startled she reached for the rock ready to throw it at him, he held his hands up “Woah Now hold on there Lass, I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just saw your locks from the road and thought Id be a service and help out” he looked at the man who bleed to death off to the right and the one she held in her arms “Its none of my business, but it looks as if you need help, cleaning this up no?” she nodded wiping the tears from her face “Yes, I suppose”.

    The old man helped her with her lovers body, giving him the burial he wished for, she watched as the flames started to consume him, until there was nothing but ash left, she stood looking down at the ashes, tear soaked cheeks, a gentle breeze started to pick up and whisk his ashes away spreading them all over the land, she felt the hand of the man on her shoulder “We’ll leave the other one for the wolves, they have to eat to” he said with a small chuckle. “Im headed to Helgen, care to join me, I could use the company” she looked at him “Helgen? Yeah… Yeah sure I will join you” her spirits started to pick up a little with the mention of Helgen, as she was heading towards the mans cart she reached into her pocket, not looking until now as to what he had placed in her hand, it was the necklace she made him, when they were kids, growing up together, she smiled at it, surprised he had held onto it as long as he did, she put it on with her mothers pendant and jumped into the cart as they rode off to Helgen.

    Days later, they had reached Helgen, he stopped the cart outside and they both got out and walked towards the place, the old man was going on about how different this place was compared to when he was a kid, she looked around seeing nothing but sadness and despair, she grabbed the arm of the man and politely excused herself as she started to walk around the place.
     

    rizen

    A to the K homeboy
    Pent Edge Market, Windhelm
    -------------------------------

    It could be fantasized that one day somebody might say over the brim of a tall drink “You know, the market is thriving, we’ll need to expand the stores”.
    Now, the modest market within Windhelm, consisting of three makeshift stalls and shops bordering the outskirts collected dust rather than coffers, was known as the ‘Pent Edge’ market.
    Within Pent Edge, a small cluster of children giggled and cat-called each other as they played a vague facsimile of hopscotch, lines etched crudely along the cobblestones, made by a long-ago discarded brick.
    Only two stall operators were trading today, the term ‘trading’ used as loosely as possible. They bickered amongst themselves in good nature, glancing at the children’s antics during lapses in conversation. Not a single customer had graced the merchants with presence all morning.
    An unusually long lull hung over the two, an unspoken agreement of opinions regarding the absent merchant and vacated stall.
    “I don’t know why you continue to feed those thirdlings, Cooky” said Taylor, breaking the silence “You know, that’s the reason they loiter around here”. Thirdlings were the off-cast children to a distant relative or perhaps the orphanage, from parents who couldn’t afford the tax.
    Cooky sideway glanced at the old Nord and waved the comment away “They’re smart, Taylor. That’s all. They wait to see if I’m selling - if nothing goes, they know I have to offload the food before it spoils”.

    Cooky loudly cleared his throat and raked a hand through his messy blonde hair. “He’s doing it! He’s doing it!” cried one of the children alerting the others to gather around Cooky’s stall.
    He began by telling the children about a few minor details of herb-lore, leaf characteristics and where said herbs could be found. He told them about both good fruit and bad fruit. A speech that warranted some rolled eyes from the children, this was after all, a familiar lesson of Cooky’s. Then he reached a new part to his tale - He told them about a very special and different sort of tree he happened to chance across, yesterday, as it just so happens. According to Cooky, this tree could talk with a deep rumbly voice and was a very grumpy tree indeed, angered that he couldn’t move and was planted firmly to the ground. So, this angry tree began to throw things at Cooky, jealous of his legs. He jabbed at the air with his finger “zing, zing, woosh, pow”. One child held a hand over their mouth and gasped, the kid’s were hanging on his every word. “And then...” said Cooky “He shouted so loudly at me, I was afraid and ran!” He glanced about the group. The child that gasped, uncovered their mouth and blurted out “What did it say to you, Cooky?” He gave the child a solemn grave look “Well...” he said “I couldn’t possibly tell how that tree could know about the likes of all of you standing here before me but...the tree said...”
    Cooky reached beneath the counter of his stall and pulled out a basket full of apples.
    “ENJOY YOU LUNCH!” he bellowed. The children hooted and clapped, they grasped small handfuls of apples and darted away around a corner, their giggles following closely behind.

    “Bulls**t!” exclaimed Taylor from his own stall. This sent Cooky into peals of laughter. “I saw you with my very own eyes, I did, trading for those apples with that travelling merchant yesterday.”
    “Yes, yes...it’s all just a bit of fun -- Here!” Cooky tossed an apple to Taylor, who deftly snatched it from the air “Maybe that’ll keep you quiet for a while”.
    “Well now, that’s it right there, Isn’t it?” Taylor scrutinised the apple, turning it over in his hand “You never seem to sell anything anymore, do you? It’s all charity. Not a soul carries a septim in Windhelm anymore, aside for the shames along The Alley”.
    As if to counter this point, a slender Elf in extravagant refinery strolled into the market.
    “WARES! ... WARES!” shouted Taylor at the top of his lungs. The showmanship had seemed to work because the elf approached, examined the neatly folded shirts at Taylor’s stall, however, without expression. Cooky bit into an apple. He rested his chin into the palm of his hand, chewing as he sized up the Elf, noting the emblem of the Dominion stitched into the robe.
    “Perhaps a crisp shiny apple then?” ventured Taylor holding up his apple. Cooky snorted “He’s not buying” professed Cooky “He’s dominion”.
    “That’s correct” said the Elf, his eyes remained fixed on Taylor “and you...are the Taylor. Well, Taylor – the Jarl demands an audience with you”. Taylor’s shoulders slumped forward.
    “The Jarl” snickered Cooky, sounding more bitter than intended.
    “And you’d do well to hold still your tongue, failed baker” warned the Elf. Cooky tried to stare a hole into the head of the elf to no avail.
    The look of concern stretched across the face of Taylor, forcing Cooky to think fast and cover the whereabouts of Taylor and add more witnesses. People went missing frequently. “Don’t forget about the meeting this afternoon” he said to Taylor “I’ll let everyone know you’ll still make it, they’ll be pleased to hear about your visit with the Jarl”.
    “Is that so?” asked the Dominion Elf with a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth “A meeting? And what might this meeting be about? We wouldn’t want any suspicions in Windhelm concerning conspiracy, would we now?”
    “What!?” Cooky was shocked at the accusation, he spoke quickly “No, no. Just some people that like to pool together things so that we might be able to have a decent square meal is all”.
    The Elf stood for an awkward length of time considering this concept of shared rations and finally spoke “Interesting indeed, trading in a sense, it seems there should be a tax put towards that” with that, the Elf turned on his heels and led Taylor away from the market by the crook of his elbow, leaving Cooky alone in Pent Edge, angry at himself about what he’d divulged and the unsettling premonition that Taylor wouldn’t return.
     

    Znowcicle

    Chimera~
    The sound of chickens clucking could be heard after the rooster finished crowing for the fifth time that morning. The light filtered through the dirty broken window and caught the swirling dust in the air of the bare room. A pale foot was hanging limply off the bed, and long tawny tendrils of hair curled against the pillow and the pale shoulders of the woman just waking in the golden light. Her wan face was groggy and still relaxed with sleep. Her eyes were soft slits of muddy green in the light, and her brow furrowed as she grimaced slightly and turned over on her side. Suddenly the furs were tore off of her resting body revealing the simple white night gown that was hiked up to her thighs in the tussle of troubled sleep. On her skin were red depressions where the fabric had pressed into her arms and the side of her face could be seen. The pale olive birthmark on her neck was now visible now that the thickness of her hair had fell off her shoulder and onto the pillow behind her.

    "Wake up Le." A wise, hoarse voice said softly as a hand gently touched her shoulder. She huffed out a breath and reached a hand to rub her eyes and free them of the sand like gunk that clung to her lashes.

    "Father, the stalls don't even need to be set up until mid-morning." She grumbled while she rubbed her eyes, the cold air clinging to her warm skin as goose-flesh broke out on her legs and arms. She curled against herself and pulled down the hem of her simple white gown over her knees.

    "I know Le," he chuckled, "I just needed to talk to you. Me and Wilmuth both want to speak to you." She felt him pat her shoulder and then heard his steps as he left the room to go into the kitchen. She groaned and rolled onto her back and stretched out the length of her body and curled her toes. She expressed her satisfaction with a pleasant sigh and then her light pink lips spread apart into a healthy yawn. After closing her mouth, she sat up and rubbed her scalp, ruffling her hair, and looked around the room. There was a broom in the corner and a simple broken down chest that was rotting away. The breeze outside blew in through the broken glass of the window and the dust danced in the sunlight as she tried to remember what her father had said to her. Something about wanting to talk to her.

    "Must be about the potatoes I gave to the kids yesterday." She sighed to herself as she stood up, her long hair falling down to her full hips. The gown was tight around her hips but loose around her shoulders. She walked over to the broken chest and pulled out a simple grey dress. She laid it out on the bed, and then pulled out a dark brown apron and then pulled out a pair of fur shoes.

    Sleepily, she slipped the white gown over her head and folded it neatly before putting it back in the chest. Then she dressed slowly, slipping the grey gown over her head and letting it fall down close to her ankles and then slipped the apron over her head and tied the strings neatly behind her back in a tight bow, tightening the cloth around her waist and showing her hips off without thought as she had done many times before. She sat on the bed and slipped on her shoes before taking the bone brush she had made in recent years to untangle her hair. She then began to fix her hair in the same fashion as she had for many years. She braided the tawny colored hair on either side of her head, the hair that was closest to her face, and brought the two separate braids together at the back of her head and tied it off with a thin leather strip, which she also tied into a neat bow.

    Taking a breath to wake herself up, she stood and rubbed her neck, her fingers rubbing over the tiny moles that dotted her neck, and walked into the kitchen with the sleep still hanging in her limbs.

    "Le'zha!" Wilmuth announced with a rasp due to his elderly age. He smiled weakly and motioned for her to sit down. Confusion tried to break into her face but to no avail as her mind was still bogged down with sleep, but she still obeyed by his wishes.

    "They just looked so hung-" Her father raised a hand to her explanation about the potatoes and offered her a smile while putting a small cloth pouch on the table. It jangled with the sound of gold inside and instantly, Le'zha was alert.

    "Where did you get so many coins?" She asked as she reached out tentatively to look inside the pouch. There were close to twenty in the pouch if she was to count them out.

    "We've been saving for you." He stated with a smile as he motioned with his hands to take the coins eagerly. She picked some out of the pouch and stared in awe at the gold pieces. She looked up from her thick callused fingers and to her father and Wilmuth who were both wearing grins.

    "Why would you...why..for what?" She blabbered nonsensically in gleeful confusion as she stared at the two of them. Wilmuth and her father exchanged glances and Wilmuth nodded to him.

    "You tell her Algernon. It was your idea." Wilmuth said softly with his wide smile still lighting up his face. Her father looked at the ring on his finger with a sad sort of fondness and then looked up at Le'zha.

    "Your mother would have wanted a better life for you, so we decided that you should head towards Windhelm. The city is bigger and we thought you would have a better chance there than here in this one horse city." Algernon said while holding his hands out, she took them in hers in return.

    "Your writings might please the Jarl or someone in a high position. I know you hate being stuck here." He held up his hand as she began to protest and then continued, "Ever since your mother...passed away, you have hated it here." His voice grew soft as he spoke of her mother, but there was a happiness in his eye that showed the love he still felt for her.

    "But where shall I live there?" She asked glancing at the pouch of coins. He and Wilmuth's smiles shrunk a little before Algernon replied.

    "In these times of poverty and war, I'm sure that someone in Windhelm would take you in. If anything, you could offer them a riddle a day in return." He chuckled and rubbed his thumb against her knuckles. "And don't worry about your stall. Me and your grandfather here will take care of it for you."

    That was a day ago, but that day was all Le'zha could think about. She kept the pouch on her at all times and kept it hidden on her person. Algernon had told her that they had been saving the gold for the last few years and had just barely been able to save the measly amount of coins. It paid for her carriage ride from Whiterun to Windhelm and soon they would be stopping at her destination. The trip had taken a bit longer than expected due to debris in the roads and having to constantly reroute.

    It was morning again, and the sun was hidden behind the clouds. She looked around at her surroundings and saw snow everywhere and more still falling from the sky. She had heard that the city was in shambles during the war, but from the looks of it, it had gotten worse. The rocks that built up the town were crumbling down, even more so than before, or that's at least what her driver had said when they had grown closer to Windhelm. To her the place looked full of disdain. It was broken down, physically and otherwise. This was just one other place in the province of Skyrim; what would the others look like? What had the war really done over all these years? What else had the Empire taken from those born in the native land?

    "This is our stop miss." The carriage driver said in a dull tone. He looked weary and worn down, but when she had given him the gold the day before he had brightened a little. It made her sad in a way to see someone get that cheerful from the sight of gold when it used to be more commonplace.

    "Thank you." She said as she grabbed the satchel she had stuffed with provisions such as food and her night gown as well as a rusty kitchen knife her father had given to her "just in case." The world was a scary place now, but she still had her solace in writing. In fact she had written on the way. Albeit it was scribbled and hardly legible unless you were Le'zha herself, though she could barely make out some of what she had written, but it had still helped her be calm while she was awake. She was out alone in the world now suddenly. No family to talk to, and nothing familiar to look at. Only new spaces and new faces.

    She walked through Windhelm calmly, after talking at length with the guard outside she finally persuaded him to let her inside. As she walked towards a section her father had told her was called "Pent Edge" she couldn't help but get more crestfallen. Where will I sleep? What about when I run out of food? She kept wondering these things despite her telling herself not to. It wasn't long that she came upon the stalls. They gave her a sort of hope. They were familiar, and she was confident she could find common ground with the man that was working the stall.

    "Excuse me?" She said softly but loud enough for him to hear. She had gingerly approached the stall and she kept her head sort of low and her shoulders hunched in a way that showed that she was a bit fearful and defensive of her person in this new place.
     

    rizen

    A to the K homeboy
    Undergarments, trousers, shirts, whatever this was? Cooky held the material out in front of himself at arm’s length and shrugged. That went into the storage drawers too.
    Cooky had busied himself by locking away Taylor’s wares beneath the counter of his stall. They couldn’t stay out exposed to thievery, although it was likely the storage drawers would be jimmied open overnight anyway. He could have taken the clothing home, they’d be safer there of course, but the risk involved was far too great, there was too much to carry. He could picture the grim result – here comes the cook, if anyone has rations, it’s him, lugging a swollen burlap sack slung over his shoulder too? He might as well broadcast from the rooftops “ROB ME! ROB ME!”

    ...“Excuse me”...

    Startled back from his musings, a Nordic woman stood before him in a pensive way that made her look small, although her stature suggested that she was no stranger to physical labour.
    He hadn’t heard her approach, although Cooky could now see that the children, however, had. He cast a glance over her shoulder at the young boy taking deliberate, muffled steps towards her. Cooky met the child’s eyes, frowned and slowly shook his head. There’d be no pick-pocketing today, the nerve of these kids! The woman had followed Cooky’s gaze, just in time to see the young boy slink away, red faced from embarrassment.

    “Ma’am?... Ma’am. I’m sorry but I’ve closed business for today. Had a decent sized bushel of apples earlier but...”He gave her an apologetic look “...it’s all gone”
    He slung his burlap sack over his shoulder, it made a dull thud as it hit the small of his back. He negotiated his way out from behind the stall. “Sorry again” he said “maybe come back tomorrow?”
    As he made his way across the cobblestones to head for the others waiting (and probably growing very impatient by now), he’d noticed she hadn’t moved. He turned back to her “Ma’am? When was the last time you’ve eaten? Are you hungry?” She met his eyes and gave a reluctant nod, seeming terribly uncertain and somewhat suspicious. He couldn’t blame her for that. His face softened into a warm smile “Well...I don’t know about you, but I for one could use a hot meal” he jerked his head in the general direction he was going “It’s this way”. He paused for a moment “By the way, I’m known as Cooky” he nodded “I know, I know...they just call me that and it stuck”.
    They left Pent Edge Market. If Cooky had have known he wouldn’t be returning, he might have tidied up more.

    She followed a few steps behind, as Cooky led them out into the expanse of hide tents clustered before Candlehearth Hall, to its credit still remained standing, as a windbreak to the shanty town of tents.
    The travelling merchants would lodge at Candlehearth, given rooms toward the back of the Inn – as a precaution of the Innkeeper, both easier to manage and his family could sleep further away from potential danger. These merchants would frequent ‘The Alley’ during the night (known to the older folks as the gray sector), engaged in all mannerisms of debauchery and, if not for corruption, activity considered illegal.

    Cooky greeted men and women from around the encampment and emptied his burlap sack of tubers, another man held out a bowl containing a small amount of salt with such reverence one could mistake him for cradling a newborn child, yet another with a pail of water, and another and another. They pooled together ingredients. Cooky washed his hands with enthusiasm and then repeated the ritual before setting to work over a cauldron sitting on embers.

    They sat crossed legged on the cobblestones, amongst tufts of snow, elders sat on tattered blankets. They ate, loudly slurping hot watery soup, talking and laughing, Cooky explained the absence of Taylor, and eventually chatter turned to the lifeblood of communication – Gossip. Gossip about ‘The Alley’ because that was all there really was to gossip about. Cooky had noticed that the new Nordic woman had distanced herself slightly away from everybody else, eyes bright and listening intently to everything being said. He approached her and offered the remaining contents of his bowl before speaking his suspicions about her being new to the city, and that he was more than happy to give her a place to sleep, although it did happen to be sacks stuffed with straw for bedding but it was warm and sheltered.
    She seemed to consider this while an awkward amount of time drew out, appearing reluctant as ever. It was a relief to Cooky when she accepted, it’d do no good to leave somebody out in the cold when you could do something about it, also, it was somewhat of an ego boost knowing that you didn’t seem like a sleaze and gave off a trustful vibe...Wait...He mused, sure, he’d helped out the odd guy down on his luck before but never a woman. He supposed it simply came down to her desperation in the end, because let’s face it, it had all the obvious signs of being sleazy, a guy asks a woman to come back to his place? A woman he’s only just met? Yep, SLEAZY. He’d have to be conscious not to give off the wrong impression.

    What he’d failed to mention...was that he snored like a bear.
     

    Melee

    I'm back, bitches
    War. War never changes. But it does change the people who are affected by it, drains them of life and vitality until they're just a shell that resembles their former self. Fen knew that all too well; most of the citizens of the city she had until recently called home, Markarth, walked around town as if their very souls had been sucked out of their bodies.

    It had been more than she could stand. That, and supplies necessary to Fen's line of work were becoming more and more difficult to obtain as time passed. With new trade restrictions being passed everyday, she decided to take it upon herself to travel across Skyrim in search of ores and metals for her blacksmith shop. She had braved the world of Skyrim before, when she had still been new to the dangers and surprises that it held. Going on a brief work hiatus in order to find materials so that she continue doing what she was best at (she didn't want to sound boastful, but it was true, at least in Markarth) didn't strike Fen as outlandish in any sort of way.

    Of course, that had been a few weeks ago, when she still had food, motivation, and any shred of her good composure about her. Fen had been growing increasingly agitated over the last few days or so, having only found a small vein of nearly depleted iron ore about two or three days ago. At this point, she was beginning to think that all of Skyrim's mines had been completely exhausted, as much as she hated thinking about scenarios like that.

    Night was beginning to fall when Fen spotted a couple of flickering torches down the road, still quite a fair distance away. Pulling out her map, she frowned in confusion when she saw that although she was certain of where she was, there was no marker on the map indicating that something was there. The number of torches was too many to be just a nightly resting spot for travelers. Indeed, as she approached, her sharp eyes caught a frame around the light, indicating lanterns hanging from posts.

    As Fen made her way closer to the outpost, she noticed a pair of figures approaching her, seemingly unaware of her presence. She quickly made her way into some bushes just off the path, watching as two guards made their way past her, arguing with each other about something pointless and trivial, no doubt. Wondering why there were guards this far away from Whiterun, Fen turned her attention back to the lit area. What she saw caused her to clasp her hand over her mouth to stifle the gasp that slipped out.

    It was a mine. A formerly abandoned one, by the looks of the pile of old timber planks stacked next to the door. Of course. It had been reclaimed so that the ruling powers, fair and thoughtful as always, could claim any material they happened to find inside the long deserted tunnels. Judging by the amount of attention surrounding the area, Fen knew that there had to be ores inside.

    Hastily crossing the path after furtively looking both ways a number of times, she slipped inside the door, closing it gently to ensure no one was alerted of her presence. For safe measure, she placed one of the sturdier planks of wood across the lock, smirking slightly at her precaution. She then turned around and, making sure to tread lightly, began searching for some valuable ores to mine.
     

    Andante

    Roleplaying Moderator
    Hana lifted her eyes from her prized catch as she heard someone making their way toward the table where she'd laid the decrepit deer. She caught sight of her old friend and partner approaching and managed a half-hearted smile, though his face hardly reflected the subtle praise she was expecting. She sighed in exasperation before he'd even had time to speak, and placed her hands on the edge of the table to support her tired frame. It wasn't as if she didn't know that the emaciated creature was far from being enough to curb the insatiable hunger of even one person, much less a keep full of starving refugees, but it was truly all she could provide.

    "Always the critical one..." She muttered, running a gloved hand along the edge of the splintering wood, the unfinished cracks and uneven planks absorbing the steady trickle of blood oozing from the deer's neck wound. "Tell me, when last did food pass your lips?"

    Though she knew she had taken an insurmountable risk, his words bit deep and she felt belittled, and scolded like an impudent child. She slammed her clenched fist into the table top and turned to him accusingly, her chest swelling in her own defense.

    "Oh, but you could just go prodding about in the hall of the dead any time you're feeling peckish, couldn't you?" She managed in an unsteady, mocking tone, almost goading him into retaliation. Barely able to meet his eye, she spun quickly on her heel and paced back and forth in muted anger, before suddenly turning on him again.

    "You think I'm unaware of the fact that-that this-" She pointed sharply at the body of the deer, dangling dangerously off the edge of the table. "-isn't enough? Of course it's not. When, when in recent time have we ever had enough?" Her voice trailed off, quivering both in anger and a hint of defeat, though she refused to admit to either.

    "If it saves even one child from the brink of death...the risk was more than worth it." Her eyes met his, and she let out a sigh that seemed to cause her to tremble to her very core. "...you think I don't see my boy's eyes in the face of every single child I'm forced to bury before th-"

    She was cut off as the door to the kitchen burst open, and a breathless Ignar stumbled in, his eyes wild with excitement, as if for the first time in a long time, he'd heard some good news. Hana straightened up, took a deep breath and gave Aengoth a stern look before she turned toward the doorway.

    "It isn't a problem, this conversation is over." She gave a quick glance back at her Captain and nodded, letting him know it was probably best to keep his cool regardless of their disagreements while in front of others. If nothing else, they could at least feign the illusion of peaceful cooperation, despite feeling torn apart by every misgiving.

    "What news do you have for me?" She added, clearing her throat and trying to regain her composure.
     

    Znowcicle

    Chimera~
    Le'zha watched as the man at the stall was busy looking through pieces of cloth and putting them under his stall. He seemed to be thinking awfully hard since he didn't notice her approach. When she voiced herself, he jumped a little, and then went back to locking up the crevice under his stall while he looked up at her. She had heard the soft foot steps and the small giggle from behind her and she looked over her shoulder, curious, when she saw a small boy creeping up to her with his hands poised. He met her soft gaze and then flicked his eyes over to the stall vender before his face flushed red. The boy gave Le'zha a small apologetic glance before giving his gaze to the cobblestone ground beneath him as he retreated to his small group of friends.

    She turned her head back to the lonely stall vendor and watched him as he finished stuffing things into a burlap sack. He began to explain that he was closed but had had apples earlier. She opened her mouth and raised her hand to interject, but he began talking again as he stood up and slung a sack over his shoulder. She brought her hand, curling her fingers gently into her palm, back to rest against her chest as she closed her mouth and moved out of his way without a word. His apron was stained and dingy, much like the dress she was wearing now, and there was a sharp butcher's blade resting against his hip. She figured it would be best to let the man go despite her wondering if he would shelter her in this unfamiliar place. He has his own problems, she reassured herself as he turned to leave the area.

    She brought her hands together before her and lowered her head which caused her locks to fall over her shoulder and against her bosom. It hadn't been long before she heard his heavy footsteps falter and then his voice carried out across the clearing. He asked when she had eaten last and her eyes lit up at the thought of warm food. Despite how excited she was to be invited to dinner, it was not but a minute ago that this man had been offering excuse after excuse to get away. Perhaps he has prior engagements? she thought to herself while curling an eyebrow at her thoughts. She warned herself to be careful and she nodded to the man who smiled in return and hiked his thumb over his shoulder towards the direction he had been going earlier. He said his name was Cooky, and she smiled to herself as he turned to lead the way.

    She reached into a pocket in her apron and pulled out a small book and a piece of small sharpened charcoal. She wrote a note to herself documenting her movements of the day in this unfamiliar place and she wrote down a little bit about Cooky himself. She commented on his jaunty manner, and his name which she thought was odd, but he had said it was just a nickname that had stuck and she couldn't blame him for having eccentric friends or family. After writing that little bit down, she put the book back in the pocket and followed a few steps behind the man named Cooky.

    It didn't take long to get to where the destination seemed to be. It was an Inn called Candlehearth Hall. There were many hide tents set up, and the wind whistled against the top of the walls. She folded her arms around herself in a protective manner as she maneuvered her way behind Cooky. They didn't talk on the way to their destination, and soon he left her to herself as he went to greet a woman that resided here. He emptied his sack, which was full of items, and others added to the pile of ingredients that had gathered on the bricks. Cooky soon started a fire and made quick of work of cooking some hot soup for everyone. It was easy to see where he got his name from in these rough times.

    Le'zha didn't know anyone, of course, and she rubbed against her arm absently in nervousness as dirty faced children ran through the small encampment. She distanced herself from the majority of the people here and allowed herself to listen to everything around her. Cooky, who apparently knew all of the people here, explained about someone named Taylor and why he was not in attendance. She heard the majority of the gossip around her and most of it had to with some place called 'The Alley.' She took out her book and made another note to herself writing down what she heard about the strange place. The gruesome things ranged from just general debauchery to other more grisly things.

    Cooky came up to her eventually and offered the remains of his soup. She almost began to refuse it when her stomach grumbled lowly to her. She ate the warm soup slowly as he began to talk to her. He thought she was new around the parts and offered her a place to sleep inside his home. As on the fence as the gossip of 'The Alley' had made her, she almost rejected this too, but he seemed a nice enough man. He cooked a whole meal for all the people here. Why on Nirn would a man like those that frequented 'The Alley' spend his time cooking for the young, old, and crippled? She noticed that he was still waiting on her answer, and his face looked concerned but she accepted his generosity and he seemed relieved that she had. Perhaps it was the fact that she was a woman, but she digressed and contented herself to finish to left over soup he had given her.

    She set the bowl down next her, the wood making a hollow sound as it came into contact with the ground, and picked at her pale dress that was covered with her black apron. She didn't know exactly what to think about Cooky, but she thought that he was an odd man. After receiving her answer he seemed to return back to the deep thought he had been in when she had first examined him back at the stall. She paid no mind to his mental musings and continued to listen to the gossiping around her. Here and there she would hear snatches of conversations and make careful notes in her small notebook.

    She wondered when she would be able to lay her head down among the warm straw he spoke of, but she thought it would be best not to rush him since he was the one that had offered. Nevertheless, she was itching with curiosity to see this 'Alley' everyone spoke so furtively about. She smiled to herself as she kept hearing the word rebellion. It echoed like a well worded mantra around the walls of her ever busy mind. It gave her thoughts of hope, but drowsiness stifled those images she longed to bring to life. Eventually...she thought to herself as she cast her gaze around the clearing again.
     

    rizen

    A to the K homeboy
    As soup bowls emptied, a growing intensity clouded the air. The smaller and weaker people rose to their feet and pushed their way towards the comforting darkness and silence between buildings. Cooky dragged his hand down his face in realisation, “Awww no...no, no, no” he’d forgotten to warn the Nordic woman about the risk of this happening, but it was too late for that now.

    It was good to try and feed everyone when possible but it would never be enough. Sometimes the end of a meal might produce compliments to the chef. Sometimes volunteers would help with the cleaning up afterwards, it didn’t happen often but sometimes...like now...sometimes, a fight would break out over one person suspecting another of receiving a larger share...or perhaps a man might consider himself more deserving than another for whatever reason suited his hunger. Cooky had heard all of them - ‘I work twice as hard as you’ or ‘I’m twice the size as you therefore I need more food’, he’d even seen a fight break out over a man staring at another eating, like dogs fighting over a bone - a bone with the meat picked clean and the marrow sucked dry. It didn’t really matter what the reason may be, it all came down to the same scuffles. Somebody could die too, that happened, and the Dominion Guard would haul the carcass away, that is, if they troubled themselves to do so. Cooky often wondered why they never bothered to break up a fight before it could escalate.

    The brawl erupted and rippled through the group, contagious as...as gifs in a shoutbox.

    Pushing and shoving came from every direction. Cooky shouldered his way through tangles of thrashing limbs and made way to the safety of the sidelines. He scanned the crowd, searching for the Nordic woman but couldn’t seem to place her – There was simply too much movement...
     

    Kir the Silent

    Until Your Flesh Is Consumed
    “Well Commander…It’s not exactly here, I-“ Now that he was actually bringing up the issue to the two leaders of the rebellion he was a bit awkward about how to pursue it. He crossed his arms, took a deep breath to calm himself, and stood straight. “Commander. I’m going to be blunt. I was part of the Stormcloaks and a proud officer during the Civil War. When I heard rumors of a rebellion forming after the crushing defeat at Windhelm and Ulfric’s death, I was elated. My people were once again rising up! And I knew I had to be part of it.”

    “However…when I arrived here I could not hide my disappointment. Few men and many civilians, low food stores, and weary spirits.” Ignar held up his hands and frowned, he wanted to make sure Commander Stone-Hilt understood his respect for her. “I’m not criticizing, on the contrary; to keep these people together and start this rebellion took massive conviction. In fact, I doubt anyone else could have pulled it off. But you have to admit that things are dire.”

    “I have the utmost respect for you and the Captain, I’m grateful for everything and I know you’re doing everything in your power. But what if I told you I could help? That I knew a way to boost morale, while also giving you a military advantage?” Ignar smiled, ready to reveal his secret. “Commander, you were part Stormcloaks. Does the name Kir Dayash mean anything to you?”

    “It most likely doesn’t. It was a bit of a secret that Ulfric allowed a former Thalmor tactician to join the cause.” Ignar let that thought process and let them get over their initial reactions; whether shock or recognition. He started to pace, thinking about how to proceed with his line of thought. “Even I’m not aware of all the details. But I’ll start with what I do know.”

    “Kir Dayash is a bosmer that came to Skyrim to join us in the fight against the Imperial and Thalmor. He was very young, seventeen years maybe. But he had this…age in his eyes. He claimed, directly to Ulfric’s face, that he was a former Thalmor tactician. A prodigy trained by some of their best minds and that he wanted to aid in his fight.” Ignar chuckled slightly. “Can you imagine? A young mer, barely a man, telling Ulfric he was one of the best of the enemy side? It was amazing he didn’t cut him down right there, but I suppose Ulfric saw the truth in his words.”

    “Anyways, it eventually led to him becoming a Stormcloak and helping the war effort. While he was welcomed in, he wasn’t given a command.” Ignar sighed and leaned against the door frame, thinking back to those memories of the Civil War. “I often wonder how it all would have turned out if he had been more involved with battle plans and strategy…”

    “I owe that young man my life. I saw first-hand how talented and intelligent he was when on the battlefield. At the Battle of Windhelm, the saddest day of my life, the commander of our forces trying to break the lines and help Ulfric was killed leaving me in charge.” Ignar bowed his head in a small amount of shame. “I was inexperienced and overwhelmed…but suddenly there was this young wood elf slapping me and putting his hands on my shoulders. ‘Do what I tell you and we will get most, if not all, of your men out alive.’ That’s what he told me…and damn if he didn’t.”

    “His strategy was incredible and many people owe him their lives.” Ignar looked up and approached his leaders. “Commander, Captain. My thought is this. If we can find and recruit Kir, it would give us an edge in combat while also boosting morale. He knows the enemies’ strategy, he’s highly intelligent, and the men would be inspired by the fact that someone that the Thalmor trained had turned against their cruelty and oppression to fight with us. Unfortunately…there is a bit of a snag. Last I saw of him was ten years ago and the only clue to finding him was that he told me as he disappeared, ‘If your people ever have need or cause you will find me in the forest were the living and the dead live side by side.’ I’m not sure what that means; I wasn’t very educated back then. Also, even when he was part of the Stormcloaks he was hunted by Thalmor Execution Squads.”

    “I know this is a lot to throw at you Commander, but I thought it was at least worth mentioning. There’s a lot of risk to search for him. Though the benefits would outweigh them I believe. Sorry if you would have preferred info about food stores...” Ignar leaned heavily against the wall, his age showing for a few moments. “But this is all I can offer and I’m sorry it’s in the form of a riddle. I just-I want to do my part to take back my homeland. I’m not saying he could single handedly ignite the rebellion or take Skyrim back, but it would at least be a step towards that. I’m not as young as I used to be and this is something I know could help. At the very least it would give us a sense of direction and purpose.”
     

    Uther Pundragon

    The Harbinger of Awesome
    Staff member
    Aengoth stood silently as she vented her frustration with him as well as the current situation. He understood where she was coming from, but unlike her, he knew how to control his emotions. Of course he knew the sort of reputation he was getting for said behavior. A lot of people considered him detached from their plight. Without feeling or remorse. He didn't feel that was the case but he wasn't going to waste time making friends. There was a job to do and was going to see it done.

    "Ah... dinner has arrived."

    He remarked offhandedly to her, no doubt directed toward her cannibalism comment, when their conversation was interrupted by a Nord who apparently had something important to tell them. Yes. Important enough to cut into their conversation. He would have a word with this man later, but for now he stood there and listened patiently to the story that had to be told.

    "Hm... interesting indeed. Well, Commander, what do you think? Having another Bosmerian around that dislikes the Thalmor as much as us could prove useful. But he would have to prove his worth. We have enough mouths to feed without adding another into the mix. If we were to waste resources to find him, to bring him here, then that means one less mouth that will be able to eat. Remember, even the strongest arm can wield little more than a dry leaf when starved."

    A lengthy sigh escaped from his lips as he eyed first the Nord, then Hana, and lastly the deer upon the table. The flames of rebellion is swift and terrible but when there is no fire nor wind then it is little more than embers to have dirt kicked upon. He would make a silent prayer later than should this Kir be brought here, that he will be able to help the cause. If not, well, more graves would be dug for those who would go without.
     

    Znowcicle

    Chimera~
    Le'zha stood up quickly when the first blow was let loose against another. The shouts had started before then, and the shoving right after that, but it was all quickly escalating. Soon there were haggard bodies swinging their thin arms with fists clenched against other bony bodies. Blood was spewed from mouths, grunts and grimaced and growls echoed through the clearing now instead of the friendly but sinister gossip that had floated around earlier.

    Children ran while covering their heads. Some children even jumped into the fighting biting and clasping onto people's legs to hinder them in their futile, pointless struggle. Le'zha had gotten lost in the bustle of bodies, the movements of anger, and now she had no idea where she was or where she had been pushed to. Cooky had been pushed away from her. The surging rioters a wave of discord and unhappiness. The clearing that had been somewhat filled with hope was now grey with despair, and Le'zha was alone in herself and her notes in her small book.

    Her eyes glanced quickly across the clearing, dirty bodies filling the vision still, and decided she would make her way towards any opening from this place. She didn't want to be apart of this fight. Soon her moss colored eyes saw a dark escape route. It wasn't inviting, and she couldn't see it clearly through the swarming bodies, but it was an escape nonetheless. She tried to make her way through the crowd. Her body was bumped into and a few missed punches tried to hit her as she struggled through but she dodged the best she could. A few kicks bruised her legs, and a dirty hand bloodied her lip before she was released from the cloy of figures.

    She threw herself from the throng of bodies and onto the grimy ground just outside. Her palms scraped against the brick but she didn't pay any attention to the sting of the slightly torn flesh. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, her hair sticking to her lips as she did, and then focused on the shadowy space before her as she ran towards the emptiness and away from the shouts.

    She stopped after a while, her breath catching in her throat from the excitement and the running, and realized that she had no idea where she was. Whispers flitted through the air and then silence returned to buzz in her lone ears. Her eyes were still seeing black as they adjusted to the dimness of the alleyway, but her ears were sharp in this lack of sense and they caught the rushed footsteps towards her. She began to turn around when a hand grabbed her face from behind and the other arm wrapped around her arms that hand begun to come up in defense. She was muffled and her arms were pressed against her chest. The smell of dirt and soot was heavy on the hand that covered her lips.

    "What did you see?" A heavy drunken voice curled around her bare ear while his fingernails bit into the skin on her cheek. The hand was large and callused and tasted bad when she breathed in. Her breath was sharp in surprise and fear and she tried to tell the man that she hadn't seen anything but he wouldn't move his hand.

    "Not talking, eh?" He asked in a tone that suggested he had an idea. His voice made her skin crawl but her arms were bound and she still couldn't see. He was taller than her, so she couldn't kick him effectively. She let out a small squeal when the hand that was attached to the arm that was restraining her own arms grasped her chest roughly. She went limp in attempt to catch the man off guard as he uttered a guttural growl of pleasure that turned into a gasp of surprise when her limp figure tumbled them both forward. She squirmed away from the arms as they fell. The man's restraint on her loosening as he tried to put his arms out in front of him to cushion the fall. She wiggled away desperately and stood up as quick as she could. The man's inebriation making his reaction time slow and that gave her enough time to kick him while he was down.

    She kicked him again, as hard as she could, and listened to the oof! he made with a survivalist's pleasure. She looked around her quickly, her hair getting in her vision as she whipped her head, and looked down at the man as he held his gut and moaned. Her vision was adapted to the darkness of the alley, and she took off in the direction she had been traveling when she had run from the rioters before she was restrained by the strange man. She hadn't even really started to run from the man when she stumbled and fell.

    Her hand met something wet when she fell, and when she looked it was dark but indistinguishable in the lack of light. She saw a foot and followed it up the length of the bare leg. The folds of a dress that had been pushed up were bunched together around the stomach of the woman. Dark splotches of what was seemingly black bloomed against the fabric and spread across the ground beneath her. The face was covered in shadow, but the body was limp and the position told her everything.

    Her face twisted in fear and shock as she stared at the woman and her shaking hand covered in her blood. That man must have...but the law...someone must have heard! The questions and reassurances ran through her head in a tumult of paralyzing fear. She silenced her thoughts and uttered a soft sob as she placed her blood covered palm against the cold stone of the ground to push herself back up. As she offered a last glance to the woman on the ground she felt her eyes prickle with tears, and she realized as she began to run again that no one was going to help her in this place. She was thrust into the new world without warning, and now she had to deal with it as best as she could.

    Soon she found a few crates lined up against a crumbling wall. She crawled among them to hide herself, and she brought her knees to her chest as she sniffled silently to herself. Maybe in the morning she would try and find the man known as Cooky. He had been kind enough, but as she sat there she realized another thing. She realized that this place must have been 'The Alley' that everyone had been gossiping about earlier...what a funny world, she thought with gruesome despair.
     

    Andante

    Roleplaying Moderator
    Hana took a deep breath and bit into her lip, her eyes piercing Aengoth as he casually threw out the last word. She clenched her fists tightly, cracking her knuckles one by one, as if counting backward to calm herself down, her nostrils flaring between each snap. It was difficult for her to resist falling back into the argument, even without her penchant for a high running temper, tensions had been unusually high lately. Everyone was on edge with worry, and sick with hunger - there was no shortage of harsh words, and violent outbursts. Still, she let out a ragged sigh and sank into a standing slump.

    "Come inside..." She said to Ignar, brushing past him and closing the rough hewn door sharply, so that the echo resounded sharply through the moldering stone halls. It would be a well placed warning to any prying ears that they would do well not to try and listen in. As she turned, she wrenched a large hunting knife free from her belt, her elbow casually knocking into Aengoth's forearm as she passed, positioning herself behind the table, and over the carcass of the deer that still lay sprawled on the tabletop.

    As she listened to Ignar speak, she set about dressing the deer in order to make the most out of whatever meat she could manage to scrape off its bones. She made a quick gash at the throat, and dangled the head over the edge of the table, letting the blood trickle into a bucket she'd kicked into place. Then, she made a shallow cut along the belly, and began pulling out bits of organ and innards with her bare hands, nodding as the old veteran continued to recant his tale.

    "Rebellion?" She said, as she stopped, not looking up from her task, but making a small, amused sounds in her throat. "Aye, we've been called that. But I guess at this point our mere existence is an act of rebellion, as those elves would see it." She paused, and reached for a length of weathered rope that lie coiled nearby. As she folded the deer's front legs up behind its neck, and fashioned a sort of noose, and began to hoist the deer up for curing, she continued with a strain in her voice.

    "It's true, I was a Stormcloak, like you said. I fought under Ulfric's banner for as long as I could, even when I knew things were hopeless. When we were forced to admit defeat I..." A tense pause. "All I wanted to do is save my people from the brink of death, but, seems we've become a beacon of hope for some."

    Hana was quiet for a long time, listening to everything Ignar had to say. Even after Aengoth had given his opinion on the matter, she didn't speak. She turned the knife in her hand over a few times, and cleaned the blade on the leg of her wool pants, and set back to working at the deer; carefully she peeled the flesh away from the meat, cautious not to tear it, the leather would be useful.

    "No..." She said finally, after mulling over it for a few painstakingly silent minutes. "...the name doesn't sound familiar to me. Then again I...was moved around quite a bit toward the end of the war, as my circumstances changed. I wasn't always made aware of what was going on back in Windhelm."

    She turned around, her eyes skirting around the floor as if looking for something to come to rest on that might help her in answering his request. It seemed almost too good to be true in a sense, but what would someone like this Kir he was talking about want to do with a mismatched and starving rabble of Nords and refugees? Besides, even if he were to come what would that do for the rest of them? He would be one more mouth to feed, one more back to watch, and one more strain on her trust that was already stretched painfully thin.

    "I don't know about that..." She said with a sigh. "It would be one thing to actually find this elf. The manpower, the resources...and, and completely another to convince him to help us. There isn't anything we can offer in return, why would someone like that want to help us? We could do with another level head around here..." Her eyes flashed at Aengoth. "...but where would we even begin? I don't even believe I can justify wasting that much manpower and resources on a single person."
     

    Kir the Silent

    Until Your Flesh Is Consumed
    "Commander...I understand your reservations, I do. But I believe it would be worth it." Ignar approached the table and placed his hands on it looking at the deer. It's small carcass a reminder of how bad things in his beloved homeland had become. He looked up and stared into the Commander's eyes. He saw a weariness there...but also a fierce fire that was just waiting for a spark. "I don't know what I can say for the food situation, but there's no doubt in my mind Kir would join in a heartbeat; you would not have to offer anything. Also..."

    "I figured it out." A smile lit upon his weathered face and he stood tall, brimming with pride."I said I wasn't very educated back then. I'm older and wiser now. The riddle? 'Where the living and the dead live side by side?' It's a reference to the forests of Falkreath and the massive graveyard beside the town. Kir was the furthest thing from a fool, he knows the forests are large. He would have left clues, a trail of some kind. I think at the graveyard."

    "Don't you see? He wants us to find him, he wants to help. But the rumors upon rumors didn't even tell me of this rebellion. I was lucky in finding out of your cause." Ignar was speaking rapidly and with feeling. He hadn't had something to drive him in years after feeling defeated for so long. He felt a cautious hope forming and he would do what it took to fan the flames of rebellion against oppression. "As for the manpower and resources, you need none. I volunteer. I'll not need any supplies other than what I own."

    Ignar stood proud and tall, but in the truth his forty-three years were weighing upon him. He wasn't as fast or strong as he used to be, nor his sword as sharp. He also had a nasty cough he had been supressing in the leader's presence. He knew he may not be the best candidate, but if his Commander had reservations about it he knew it was up to him. A fit of coughs finally worked their way out. He saw their looks, "Oi, none of that. I may not be a young man with a shiney sword, but I believe this will help us and it's worth doing. I'm willing to lay down my life for that. Besides Commander, this way I can try to find him and you don't need to use any supplies. Of course...he would probably want to talk to the Commander, so it would be wise to let her come...but of course that would mean a few days from here. So it's your choice, but I'm going."

    He coughed again and then stood tall. A fire in his eyes that hadn't been there since he had joined Stormcloaks so long ago. If the Commander didn't want to risk it, he would. He stood there waiting for their responses. A little ashamed at saying he was going reguardless of what the Commander said, but stood by his words.
     

    A.Auditore

    maybe...
    As she continued to wander around the small camp, placed outside near the ruins of Helgen, she started to feel dizzy, from lack of food, she had forgotten to eat something on the way here to distracted by recent events, for the thought of food at the time to her made her stomach turn. Now she wished she had taken a bite of bread the old man had offered her on the way here, sighing as she kicked at the dirt.

    Looking up she found a little opening into the ruins, looking around before she stepped through the hole in the wall, feeling a sense she was some what alone she traveled along, her foot made contact with something furry, she shuddered her thought was that of a dog, but the tail of the animal told her otherwise “Maybe this wasn’t a bright idea… I don’t even know where I am fully at to begin with” she whispered to herself, she reached a spot she was comfortable with and pressed her back against the wall and slowly sunk down towards the ground, she crossed her legs bringing them up to her chest, resting her head back she closed her eyes and began to drift off.

    “I told you it was this way!” “No you didn’t you liar you said it was the other way” she looked into his light brown hazel eyes, smiling at him “Maybe I did, Maybe I didn’t. The fact that you listened to me, is just as much as your fault as mine” he shook his head at her “I swear woman if I didn’t love you, Id ring your neck right now” he looked up at her smiling and pulled her in close “Well since we are “lost” lets turn this into a game..” pushing back from him “You know I don’t like your “games” I always lose…” he kissed her lightly on the forehead “Yeah, I like winning and I always seem to get the best prize” smiling at her pulling her back in towards him “But you are far better than any prize that I want”

    Her sleep was disturbed by the cry of a child, she blinked a couple times and rubbed her eyes, slowly getting to her feet, using the wall for support, she followed the crying sound. Reaching the end she peeked around the corner to see a little girl holding the hands of what appeared to be her dead parents, at that moment Eru’s heart broke, she slowly walked around and towards the little girl, bending down next her, she placed her hand on her shoulder, the little girl turned and wrapped her arms around Eru, a complete stranger, and wept into her chest, shocked she didn’t know what to do, but eventually put her arms around the little girl to comfort her “They didn’t wake up from their nap” she cried.

    She sat there with the little girl, holding onto her and comforting her the best she could, a cool breeze started to blow “Come lets go and get warm by the fire” she said, standing up, holding onto the little ones hand, they walked back towards the campsite, and towards the fire where many seemed to have started to conjugate near.

    They approached the fire and took seats next to an elderly woman and a man around Eru’s age, she smiled at him and turned away, directing her attention to the child who now laid across her lap, sleeping, she stroked her hair and looked deep into the flame
     

    rizen

    A to the K homeboy
    Known to some as ‘Cooky the Cook’;
    Known to some as the ‘hand of the ladle’ of soup lines;
    Known to his supplier as a deadbeat vendor of Pent Edge Marketplace, unable to balance with ongoing expenses and soon to be known as an example lest he pay up. A trivial debt for two bars of soap, but a debt none the less...one way or another, he’d pay;
    Known to ‘Thirdling’ orphans as a meal ticket that would bend your ear with elaborate tales, however, a small sum indeed for any prospect of filling one’s belly. The lessons Cooky preached had proved fruitful at times, but the added annoyance to the children was to remain audience to the watchful and judgmental stare of grouchy old man Taylor standing sentry next to the food stall...
    Taylor’s ranting,
    Taylor’s bellowing,
    ...The Taylor.

    - Cooky the Cook skirted the unruly mob just shy of harm’s reach, peering into gaps of the crowd before closing up once again to be filled with another angry grimy face madman, waving a dirty spoon and spittle flying from his mouth. He pushed through the ‘opportunists’ that had taken to wagering bets on the results of the riot as he passed them by, selectively deaf to their snide remarks to his back.
    Cooky surveyed and searched for the Nordic woman...but to no avail.
    The newly met woman had become enveloped by the hungry masses in attendance...Cooky had extended to her an invitation to the meal with good intentions, but unfortunately, this had ended in a riot...Cooky felt guilty for leading her into this downward turn of events...and what’s more, he didn’t even know her name. She simply hadn’t said and Cooky, thinking himself as polite, hadn’t pressed. She was unprepared for this happening. She was new to the culture of Windhelm and the threat of a hungry mob.

    The crowd thinned, as beaten victims fled to attend to their newly acquired wounds. This made Cooky’s search easier. He scanned a cluster of enraged Nords for her presence. They were still in the throws of a heated brawl but stopped abruptly in mid-punch and turned to the blood-curdling scream of a woman – as did Cooky, as did everyone...it was an all too familiar sound.

    Within the centre of the masses, perhaps the eye of the storm, or better suited that Talos had dropped a stone into the pond of the matters of mankind – ripples of people moved outward from the corpse laid to rest on the cobblestones. An elderly woman knelt at the corpse’s side, her sobbing face held in her hands, Cooky assumed she was the source of the scream, blessed that her voice was able to stop the fighting but at an unjustly cost, although, repetition tends to train the mind both how to cope and to accept matters as ‘normal’. However, what struck Cooky as anything far from ‘normal’ was that the corpse appeared to have his wrists tied behind his back, a knife plunged hilt deep into his neck and perhaps the strangest of all, was that the Dominion Guard appeared to have (from Cooky’s standing could determine) four in attendance, in the middle of a riot no less!?

    The elderly woman grasped at the handle of the knife midway through sobs and hitched breathing and pulled it free from the corpse. She gave it a cursory glance before tossing it aside in disgust as if the blade were a parasite. The knife clattered to the cobblestones, spattering droplets of crimson along its path before falling at the feet of a guard. His face was stern, ironclad and completely unsurprised whilst the surrounding onlookers gave gasps and looks of shock and awe.
    “I know who owns this knife” the guard remarked with the sublime calmness of rehearsal.
    Cooky knew damn well too...his hand drifted down to his belt and grasped at air where his butcher’s knife should be – at the same time...a hand gripped upon his shoulder... as a whisper uttered to his ear “YOU are responsible for the death of the Taylor”...
     

    Uther Pundragon

    The Harbinger of Awesome
    Staff member
    "Do you see my hand, soldier? This one here?" Aenogth asked the man as he lifted his right hand up and waved it to him. "I have half a mind to walk over there and slap it across your face. Maybe twice, once for telling a superior what you will do, and a second time to make sure you don't repeat it." The Bosmerian nodded toward the commander as he took a few quick strides over to where the ex-Stormcloak stood.

    "We are responsible for the welfare of everyone within these walls and even outside of them. The ones who are not strong enough, who lack food, or become sick and can not receive medicine... their deaths are on our hands. They sought us out to better their lives. We won't be able to succeed. Not with all of them. Maybe none of them if things continue as they are. I can not speak for the commander, but, I will not allow someone to run off and do as they please even if it is with good intentions."

    Aengoth placed his right hand upon the shoulder of the man and gave him a quick pat.

    "We need able bodies here to defend those who can not tend to themselves. We need able bodies here to collect resources. We need able bodies here to ensure that those who seek us out for help will at least feel protected from the horrors they left behind. We need able bodies like you soldier, here where you can do the most good. The commander and myself will speak more about this and decide what the best possible course could be. If we feel that this Bosmer you know could really help us, then we will go about working on a plan to bring him here. Should we require extra hands to bring such a task to fruition, you will be notified. Do you understand?"
     

    Znowcicle

    Chimera~
    Le'zha sniffled as she shivered while still sitting in the crate haven she had found for herself. Her hair was messy and the braids had fallen out through her struggle with the drunken man. The blood she had fell in was drying to her clothes and to her hand. Nevertheless, she buried her eyes into her palms as she sniffled trying to calm herself. She hiccuped quietly after she started hyperventilating. Her chest making her breaths sound ragged and harsh.

    She rocked herself holding her arms against her belly as she took deep breaths. She had squeezed her eyes shut trying to cleanse her mind in the tranquility that was the darkness behind her eyes. The cold was beginning to numb her soft nose since the sun had fallen behind the hills. The shadows stretched into figures Le'zha's mind twisted when her eyes were open; only in those few times she was brave enough to look around her. Only when she was brave enough to check to see if the man had followed her. Only when she was able to bare the look of the dark, dirty, deserted alleyway.

    Then she had courage, after she had soothed her nerves with a good few long breaths. Her eyes were open now, wide with suspicion and paranoia, and she surveyed the area around her crates. Timidly, and shakily, she stood up on her legs and stumbled with panic. Her hand caught the side of the crate and clapped loudly making her shudder and look around her quickly. There were scuffles down the alley way down past where she had stopped to hide in the crates. She walked towards the noise after seeing that there were some torch glow bobbing and shining that way. She reached out a hand and let her fingers trail the wall as she walked. It curved inward as she grew closer, it was then that she realized that this alley way curved around to the clearing she had been at with the man named Cooky. There must have been other alleyways branching off...she wondered to herself in a weird sort of empty reflection on the recent past events. Her heart bumped loudly in her chest as she watched the torch light grow larger, the sounds of voices wafting ever closer, and the warm sight of human bodies that she could mingle with in safety.

    "I know who owns this knife." She heard as she grew within steps of the group of people. Her small smile that she had permitted herself instantly faded into a heavy droop of despair. Her brows furrowed as she saw the scene before her through the loops of limps surrounding a central point. There lay a body with the knife that Le'zha had seen on the hip of the man named Cooky earlier. She put a hand to her mouth, the blood crusted one at that, as she saw the guard move towards Cooky when she found his familiar face through the cloy of by-standers. And he invited me to his house! The thought that I might h-

    Her thoughts tumbled over themselves in a crash of clarity. Her eyes snapped to his face when he happened to move his face towards her vision. What she saw was confusion, sorrow, and anger. Her mind fluttered angrily as her thoughts argued over whether he was a murderer or not. The roar as they argued if he was planning to kill her or not.

    She shook her head. One of the by-standers had turned to look at her when she had gasped and their eyes locked onto the blood that had dried on Le'zha's clothes and skin. One woman gaped trying to grasp the words as she pointed frightfully with one hand and shook others with the other to get their attention. The woman that had pulled out the blade paid no mind to the woman's frantic mumblings, but others turned to see what she was so adamantly trying to point out. The guard that was about to arrest Cooky looked over to Le'zha and narrowed his eyes as he noticed her lost Nordic face.

    "And she, an accomplice!" He announced to the group smiling as the elderly present quaked in their meager clothing. Even the young and somewhat able exchanged looks of dismay and fear. One thing that was certain, either Le'zha and Cooky were about to rot in prison and be tortured to death as playthings for the elves, or they would have to pray to the gods that by some mystic chance a blundering, disgruntled miracle would come about an serve as distraction...
     

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