Private (18+) When Shadows Rise

[Drahkma]

The Dark Brotherhood is on the rise once more. A wealthy Breton noble has had the severe misfortune of becoming their next target. Through his extensive network of spies and informants, he has discovered that there is a price of sixty thousand septims on his head. Like any smart noble, he has sent out a call for mercenaries, and of course, assassins that oppose the brotherhood. A price of ten thousand septims is offered for the head of each brotherhood assassin....but hunting the hunters may not be as easy as it sounds.

Rules

1: NO Godmodding: Ridiculously overpowered characters, weapons, armour. Example: Max drew his super greatsword of destruction, and cut down all the enemies in one move. His armour of you-can't touch me deflected all of their attacks.

2: You must have adequate grammar, spelling, or else you won't be accepted.

3: Be mature, this is, after all, an 18+ RP

4: Be creative. One line posts, and non descriptive CC's will be rejected.

5: Inactivity for more than a week without reason will get your character removed.

6: Enjoy yourself.

Warning: This IS an 18+ RP. If you're not mature enough to handle sexual situations and gore, DO NOT JOIN. There are limited openings, and I will be choosing all applicants.

 

[Drahkma]

The man hung by his arms, his head drooped, and his heels barely touched the cold stone floor. The man was fair of complexion, though his arms and torso were bruised. The irises of his eyes, though narrowed in pain and a cold, calculating anger, were black, bringing into question his humanity. He had thin lips, currently pressed together, a wisp of thin black hair, of a goatee on his chin, and a mustache. His hair was short, and the same pitch black as his facial hairs. His arms, chest and stomach were all well muscled, evidence of a very active life. "Bloodcrow!" Roared an irritated voice, and the imprisoned assassin looked up as a cadre of knights rounded the corner. Demos felt a smirk make its' way onto his lips as the knight sergeant, a surly man by the name of Roland Delancet, pulled a set of keys from his belt and unlocked the cell door.

"Come to ask for some tips, Delancet? Or are you just here to teach me a lesson? Five on one is hardly fair...or is it that you're afraid?" One of the knights, a younger man by the look of him, snarled a shoved forwards, only to be knocked back by the knight-sergeant. "Ware the assassins' words young knight" growled the older man. Demos smiled innocently. "Demos Bloodcrow. You are being offered a formal pardon for your crimes, if, you accept duke Lafontaines' assignment" Demos paused a moment, considering his options. Then he nodded. "Let's hear this assignment" he drawled, maintaining his air of light amusement. The knight nodded and opened a ornamented scroll. 'Typical nobility. Even there letters need to speak of their status' "You, and several others will work to protect the dukes life and the lives of his family. In return, you will receive ten thousand septims per assassin killed. And, a full pardon"
Demos nodded once. "My gear?" Another of the knights stepped forward, earing the leather armour, with iron plates protecting his chest and back. The knight wordlessly held out his thin, steel longsword, as well as the swordbelt. Within minutes, Demos Bloodcrow was gone from the prison and riding towards the northern reaches of High Rock, and the dukes fortress.

 

[Osiris]

The air was shrouded in a heavy mist when Ynsvarr arrived at the border of High Rock one eerily quiet night. Giving a farewell salute, the young and eager Crusader paid the Carriage Driver his sum of septims and began his long journey to the Grand home of Duke Lafontaine, in the Northern Mountain ranges of the Breton homeland. It took many restless days and nights, full of perils that would make any lesser man succumb, but the Nord braved the foreign land, through heavy rain, blistering High Rock winds, and an unforgiving sun. Upon the fourth day of traveling, Ynsvarr stumbled upon a small village that hid in the great shadow of the Wrothgarian Mountains.

"Morstone.." Ynsvarr said to himself as he read the old weathered sign that stood in front of the small community. The exhausted Nord entered a shabby looking Inn, the Silent Orc, as they called it, and felt the warmth of a fire as soon as he opened the door. Plopping down at a table, The Crusader began to strip his Iron Armor off his body, revealing a snug fishnet tank top hugging against his muscled torso. Letting out a heavy sigh of relief, Ynsvarr closed his eyes, not even noticing the Breton Barmaiden standing by his table, ready to take his order. "Good Evening weary Traveller, what'll be your poison tonight?" she asked, blushing a bit as she stared at the warrior's chiseled biceps. "Oh, Good Evening Miss, I umm..well, could I just get some Honningbrew Mead?" he asked gently, closing his eyes and putting a hand behind his head, flashing a white smile. "Right away Mr..uhh," "Ynsvarr, Ynsvarr Holy-Blood," the Crusader finished her question, giving an inviting smile. The Maid smiled back and went behind the counter to retrieve the man his beverage, returning with a few Ice cold drinks. "Much Thanks," Ynsvarr said with much appreciation as he downed the meads one after another, as if he had just trekked through the Alik'r Desert. "Thirsty huh?" she giggled, suddenly leaning in a bit closer to him. "Lets just hope you'll want dessert later.." she murmured with a wink and seductive smile, flaunting her curvy rear as she walked away. Ynsvarr blushed abit at the remark and continued to down his alcohol, twiddling with his amulet of Akatosh as he did so. The Nord pulled out a worn out letter from his small satchel, and scanned over it's contents.

"To all able bodied Mercenaries, Warriors, and the sort,

I, Duke Lafontaine of Northern High Rock, humbly request the protection of a select few brave souls from uncanny evil forces. The reward will be great, with Ten-thousand septims to the man who can bring me the head of any Assassin in service to the Dark Brotherhood. Should you be chosen for this task, you will reside with me in my abode, or where ever I might need to be. The duration of this assignment is unknown, and the dangers will be apparent from the start. You may find me residing in my Fortress, nestled in the Wrothgarian Mountains. Beware Adventurer! getting to my home will be no easy task, the Mountains are home to savage Orcish Barbarians. Think of it as a way to prove that you are good enough to trust my life with."

Sincerely, ​

Lord Lafontaine, Duke of Northern High Rock​

 

[Valin Oakthorn]

"Borovir Vulwulf" A man called out as he approached the strong nord, sitting upon is elegant black and white wood throne. "The self proclaimed White Wolf" The man added, a slight appearance of alcohol in his system. "So you know mine, but I haven't had the displeasure of learning your name." The man said in his calm, lordly voice. Borovir's long white hair draped his neck and reflected the sunlight that came in from a large window to his right. "I am the people!" The man called out. "And we are most displeased!" He added, reaching to within his cloak. Borovir felt his wolf, frostbite, tense and ready. The man pulled out a flask, and the wolf relaxed along with the guard. "Surely not my people!" Borovir said with a smile and a slight laugh. "Not once have I received a complaint from my people" The white wolf said, looking around and seeing a nod from a maid. "No... NO!" The man mumbled and then shouted. "This is the voice of the people of morality! We know of your terrible plans! We know that wolf of yours is part pahmar!" He accused, taking another sip from his flask. "If you accuse me of creating crossbreeds between wolf and khajiit, then I do not deny. Though, I add, it has never once been without the consent of both the wolf and the khajiit." Borovir said, nodding to the large jaguar man, who both led the royal guard, and spoke to th multiple ser, and others.


A courier came running into the hall with a letter, and Borovir stood to meet him. Taking the letter, he moved his two fingers back and forth to show a guard to give him compensation. The jaguar man gave the money as Borovir read the letter.

"To all able bodied Mercenaries, Warriors, and the sort,

I, Duke Lafontaine of Northern High Rock, humbly request the protection of a select few brave souls from uncanny evil forces. The reward will be great, with Ten-thousand septims to the man who can bring me the head of any Assassin in service to the Dark Brotherhood. Should you be chosen for this task, you will reside with me in my abode, or where ever I might need to be. The duration of this assignment is unknown, and the dangers will be apparent from the start. You may find me residing in my Fortress, nestled in the Wrothgarian Mountains. Beware Adventurer! getting to my home will be no easy task, the Mountains are home to savage Orcish Barbarians. Think of it as a way to prove that you are good enough to trust my life with."

Borovir stood up and announced his leaving to the court. "I will be going to High Rock, on a Journey. My brother will be in charge while I am gone. I trust he will do well." Borovir nodded to his brother as he finished his announcement. Borovir approached and said his goodbyes to his wife and four year old child. His brother sat down on the throne as Borovir left the castle, Frostbite ever on his tail.

---------------

It was not long before Borovir found himself at an inn in the mountains. 'The Silent Orc' Borovir read and laughed as he entered. The white hair of the nord and the oversize wolf shined against the fire. Borovir pulled up his hood and sat at a small table in the corner, with Frostbite laying at his feet. He examined the guests after ordering a mead. There were a few bretons, but the one who showed interest was a nord in a fishnet top. Borovir made note of him as he settled in to the corner, the heavier parts of his armor now on the table.