Open An Evil Rises

[Crusith The Mighty]

Molag Bal is taking over with his powerful mace. Only the best heroes can possibly defeat him and his draugr army and dragons. The world is not safe.

RULES:
1.death is allowed
2.no god or invincibility
3.any race, or extra form(vampire, werewolf, etc.)Allowed.
4.the mace of molag bal is the only weapon not allowed.
5.have fun and be creative!

 

[Crusith The Mighty]

A hero walks in ebony sword in hand. Slautering every draugr in his path working his way to molag bal. arrows covering his chest he falls hoping to find a preist or Mage of some sort. Casting destruction spells at near by enemies. He pulls out his vampiric drain spell and restores his health with the blood of all others feeding on the very little ramaining blood the draugr have.

 

[Wolfie]

OOC: ​

[Um ... okay then.]​

​

Character Name: Labrys Endowen
Race: Breton, and the shortness comes with it - she's about 5'4.
Class: Nightblade(Archery, Conjuration, Enchanting, Speech, and a bit of Lockpicking).
Gender: Female
Looks: Labrys has vibrant tan hair, almost like a sharp apple-caramel color(if you're hungry and that's the only way you can remember it by lol). Her face is a bit pale, and black warpaint is based around her eyes in a likeness of a decorative double-headed war axe's twin blades. Her eyes are an enigmatic grey, her lips pale pink, and she always appears to be indifferent although that is hardly ever the case. Her forearms, shoulders, upper chest and lower hips are well-based like an archer's, although she carries no bow and quiver with her to the common eye. She's lithe, with high cheekbones and wary, large but slightly narrow eyes.
Personality: Labrys is a challenging woman, always silently daring for someone to openly oppose her thoughts or actions. She loves to fight - not necessarily people, but along the likes of bandits and trolls and the such - but is impatient to learn new things in a slow manner; take for instance the fact that she'd rather learn swordplay directly rather than her swordmaster spewing enigmatic riddles - oddly like Labrys herself does - and giving her books to read. She's just not a patient person, always eager for adventure. She isn't touchy-touchy, but she does have a bit heart.
Combat Prefs: Labrys carries twin ebony blades with her, a trophy from a battle with several thieves that she encountered when she was younger, but she hardly uses them. She's being taught by a Master Rheon about the arts of swordplay, but her heart lies in archery; although she harries not a bow nor arrow with her, she conjures a bow instead. Being practically a master conjurer, she always tends to conjure a "friend" - Familiar - to help her out in tight situations.
Misc: Labrys hates to be marked as a "selfish Nord-type" by non-Nords. She tends to ask a lot of questions, interested in other's lives but reluctant to share her own life story. She was born in Shor's Stone, yet the only memory that marks that place for her was the last time she saw her father before he ran off to help with the Imperials. Ever since he left, she left home for adventure, ending up in Whiterun Hold, helping the guards fend off bandits and doing petty mercenary work. She has a hard time not doing something if someone tells her not to do it, too, although who doesn't?
IC:
The shadow stood crouched low in the shade of an outcropping of rocks. A dark scar of a burn ran across the right side of her jaw. Both of her palms were glowing with a light blue hue. She gripped her fists tight over the little spheres of magic, her grey eyes dusty and dark. Labrys shifted, and then made a holding motion with her left hand. The conjuration spell abided by her silent wish, feeding off of her magica and forming a weapon in her left hand that resembled an ancient Nordic bow swathed in ghostly white flames. A quiver of bound arrows appeared silently upon her back. She drew one of the arrows and lifted her head, moving so that she could peer above the rock.
A dragon stood looking infuriated yards in front of her. Her target, and a dangerous enemy even for her. Frost dragons are not fun to play with. She added a quick drop of burning poison onto the bow(I recently discovered that doing so is possible, much to my happiness) and fixed an arrow into place, aiming at the dragon and praying that it did not notice her soon. She took a deep breath and then let the arrow fly. Shor save me, she thought, the short Breton's mouth straightening into a tight, intense expression.