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    Free Form Role Playing Guide for Beginners
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    It has been nearly a century since the Dragon Crisis. The prophesied Dragonborn, Dovahkin, slew Alduin and saved Nirn, before disappearing in the wilds. Some say they spent their last days in the wilds, with the remaining Dovah. Some say they died of their wounds. Some say they retired to High Hrothgar, with the fabled greybeards.

    The brutal civil war that occurred at the same time, came to an end not with one side definitely victorious over the other, but rather in a bloody stalemate, that saw the holds of Haafingar, The Reach, and Falkreath held by the empire, while Eastmarch, The Pale, and The Rift, declared Ulfric the High King, and Hjaalmarch, Winterhold and Whiterun hold remained neutral meeting grounds for both sides.

    While tensions remain forty years later, peace reigns. Even with thalmor agents roaming imperial territories, hunting Talos worshipers, 'True Sons' of Skyrim or imperial hardliners trying to reignite the war, Skyrim is at peace.

    Yet...peace breeds ignorance. And ignorance is an ideal cover for foul things, things that were believed to haunt nightmares and legends, to breed. Rumours of a nameless horror in the Reach, preying on lone travelers and merchants. In the swamps of Hjaalmarch, it is said that the dead do not rest easy. Strange malady has struck the Rift, one that ravages the body as horrible as any plague seen before. Throughout all the holds, strange priests have been seen, proclaiming the coming of the Tenth Divine is nigh. Where they walk, madness follows.

    However, not all is yet lost. Those who know the dangers of ignorance have kept watch on the lands of Skyrim. To put a stop to this madness before it spreads throughout the lands, a call has gone out for adventurers,sellswords, and would-be heroes, to embark on an expedition to investigate these rumours, and if they can, put an end to them.


    Characters

    Cassius Andorum- Imperial Male

    Jerek Firemane- Nord Male

    Balgur Nar Shadat- Orc Male

    Asarvi- Khajiit Female

    Sevion Orestis- Dunmer Male

    Zasor Tungere- Argonian Male

    Zeon Shadowborn- Khajiit Male

    Brielle Mantidius- Bosmer Female

    Roux Redfall- Reachfolk Female

     
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    Chapter One
    Rumours of the Dark

    23rd of Last Seed, 4E 298
    Whiterun, Whiterun hold
    The rain sheeted down from a slate-coloured sky, drenching any foolish or desperate enough to be outside. Though Skyrim was never warm, the rain brought with it a new, bitter chill, heralding the turning of seasons from summer to autumn. It howled lowly, pressing against ears and faces, sending icy rain into eyes.

    Cassius Andorum, paladin of Arkay, fell solely into the latter category of aforementioned individuals. His usual dour expression was further darkened not just by the weather, but by recent news. Travelers vanishing on the road. Isolated farmsteads mysteriously abandoned. Bloody bodies found in the wilds, untouched by scavenging beasts.

    Something was out there. And it was Cassius' task to stop it. Or rather, the task of any who would see evil driven from the lands. He knew...he hoped he was not alone in his endeavour. Several of the wiser powers in the Empire and further afield had noticed the...oddities in Skyrim. To investigate the rumours, couriers had been hired throughout Tamriel, with the express goal of gathering brave, righteous, or plain greedy adventurers to seek out the truth.

    Cassius placed himself solely in the second category. Again. "So," the rugged man murmured as rain lashed at his clean-shaven, hooded face, "I'm a righteous fool. Either destined for a grim death or lonely road." He found some dark humour in that, but the corner of his mouth barely twitched. The closest he came to smiling, these days.

    Ahead, the Bannered Mare, an old but sturdy in at the heart of Whiterun, beckoned to him with a lit lantern that swung gently in the persistent wind and rain. He increased his pace, and shoved the door open a burst of rain following him. For a moment, he stood in the doorway, his hand resting on the hilt of his longsword, surveilling the crowd.

    Most seemed to be locals, and none spared him a second glance. Apparently, strangers in Whiterun were not all that strange. A serving girl bustled over to him and took his order of horker stew and an ale once he had chosen a table at the far end of the common room, giving himself a good view of the door, and making himself obvious to newcomers at the same time. Then, he waited.
     

    Seeker of Truth

    New Member
    "Cursed rain..."
    The young khajiit said to no one in particular while rummaging through his backpack, storing a wolf hide, his only gain in today's hunt, thanks to the rain hindering his sense of smell and encouraging wild life to scatter and seek shelter.

    "And how come this store isn't open yet?"
    He was sitting in a bench by the front of a general store in Whiterun where he usually traded his loot for a mostly fair price. While waiting, he reflected about the rain being by far the least odd occurence hindering his life style lately.

    There were animals and people behaving strangely out there, and also untouched corpses in the wild that he dared not approach, heeding nature's signals. He found his hunting attempts being frustrated with a higher frequency due to these unnatural mishaps, for the first time since he started living alone, Zeon had to spend money on food instead of just hunting his own. And his coin was running low, at most, he had enough to eat meals for the next 3 days. Up to 7 if he managed his food properly.

    His attention was suddenly turned to a letter just beside the wolf hide in his backpack. Some courier gave it to him at the road a few days ago. A mass recruitment for mercenaries to investigate some nasty matters, that he didn't pay much attention to at the time. His eyes lit up, he was in need of money, and this might be the biggest opportunity for the young khajiit to actively seek his destiny like he pledged to do a couple years ago.

    Resolving himself, Zeon put his backpack back on, the shoulder strap crossing his torso diagonally in a way that the bag does not get in the way of the crossbow neatly placed on the other side of his back, and looked up to the stormy sky that didn't show signs of settling down anytime soon, shrugging.

    "Might as well."
    He then walked the short distance between Belethor's and the bannered mare, as good place as any to start inquiring about the rumours of the letter. Upon opening the door, he noticed it was quite crowded, having next to none social skills was not going to stop him and so he decided to start asking the inn keeper and then look for the people who look like they've been on the road, like the ones drenched. He started to make way to the counter.
     
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    Before the rain began, Roux Redfall had been just outside of Whiterun. Judging by the color of the sky, she knew it would begin storming soon, but that was not enough to urge her into the indoors. There was something about the smell of incoming lightning and the damp in the air that excited her, making her blood tingle with excitement. Plus, the horses were so cute.

    "Tsk, tsk, tsk!" The young girl reached her hand out to beckon a steed closer as she leaned on the fence. A fresh green apple rested in her palm, which a bay mare was staring at with large, wistful eyes. "Come here, girl. Yes, that's it!" Her heart soared as the horse began to trot towards her. "You're so-"

    Then the rain started. The sudden cold water hitting her flank sent the horse whinnying into the shelter of the stables, leaving poor Roux drenched and alone outside the pasture. For a moment she blinked dumbly. Then she groaned, stuffing the apple back into a pocket in her cloak. She had been this close to petting that beautiful horse! Darn rain! As if Skyrim wasn't cold enough!

    Huddling her red cape close to her body and pulling the hood over her head, Roux ran as fast as she could for the city. She skidded and slipped on the smooth stone path, almost tripping a few times, before finally making it to the Bannered Mare. She might enjoy the thrill of expecting an upcoming storm, but actually standing in the midst of it? Even she wasn't that foolish!

    Having been a courier for only a month, Roux had only been in this inn once. Upon opening the door, she was startled to see how many people were inside. She pulled down her soggy hood, revealing a head full of pale blonde hair as she blinked at the crowded building. Why was she surprised? This was the only inn within the city. Of course people would be here.

    A chill ran through her body, causing Redfall to shiver. Shy or no, it would be better to warm herself up instead of standing right in front of the door like a dumb rabbit. As she neared the fire, she glanced around at the people in the pub. Roux spied a Khajiit near the bar and admired the ebony-colored fur that adorned his form. Oh, now there's a good idea. I should have been born a Khajiit. Then I would never be cold with all that fur! Lucky fellow!

    There was hardly any room to sit in the inn, but Roux spotted a table right in the corner. She began to step forward before stopping as she noticed a well-built muscular Imperial was already there. Oh, he seems to be in a bad mood, she thought, accidentally staring at him for a bit longer than would be considered polite. The desire to sit and rest was greater than the desire to avoid awkward small talk however, so the young woman shyly shuffled forward to sit at the table.

    The first thing Roux Redfall noticed about him was not the long scar upon his face, but the dark eyes that were beneath his brow. They reminded her of sapphires. She noticed the Amulet of Arkay around his neck and found herself staring again- ugh, she had to break that darn habit. After declining food from a barmaid due to not having enough gold, Roux pulled the apple out of her cloak pocket before taking a bite. Her nose crinkled. Ugh. Sour.

    Finally having the courage to speak, Roux tilted her head at the Imperial next to her and asked, "Why do you look sad? Is it the rain? Don't worry, it'll go away soon." She patted his shoulder oddly in a weird, socially awkward attempt to comfort him. She couldn't think of why else someone would be sad. Roux, after all, was young, inexperienced, and. . . Yes, a little foolish. While hearing rumours of bad things happening in other parts of Skyrim, she never exactly took the time to listen to them. Something about dead things? Yeah, probably.
     

    FelidaePrime

    Active Member
    Asarvi was lucky to avoid the rain. The big khajiit was already sat at the bar of the Bannered Mare, her greatsword propped against the wooden stool she perched upon, a tankard of ale in her right hand, the open letter in her other. She wasn't sure exactly what the job entailed, but usually mysterious organizations tended to pay well.

    She had lived in Skyrim all her life, raised by a pair of khajiiti mercenaries who'd taken a liking to the frigid climate. Asarvi had adopted the nordic ways and been accepted by the nords in turn. The door slammed open, and a trio of nords stomped in, grumbling about the imminent weather.

    Their leader, a balding, scarred man in leathers, an old iron axe at his hip, stopped in the door, his eyes fixing on Asarvi. The khajiit woman sighed. She'd seen that look before. Almost everyone was accepting of her.

    The man stomped towards her, saying over his shoulder to his comrades, "this is just what I was telling you," he growled, "these outsiders come here and act like they own the place." He looked back at her, "ain't that right, cat?"

    "Khajiit is just sitting here, enjoying an ale," Asarvi protested, "She doesn't feel like she owns anything."

    "Aye?" The man glared, "you didn't fight in the war, did ya? You just came in the aftermath like scavengers feeding on a corpse. You make me sick."

    "Asarvi is sorry you are so entitled," she purred, "come have a drink. Perhaps your perspective will shift, yes?"

    "Maybe I will have a drink. After I've thrown your flea-bitten arse out of here." He got up in her face, jabbing a finger into her breastplate.

    "Flea-bitten?" Asarvi stood, and at her full height, was more than a head taller than the man. She thought about reaching for her sword, but bloodshed would draw the guards. The balding nord took a step back and glanced back at his friends, who nodded encouragingly.

    With the two backing him, he turned back to her. "This won't take long" he promised her.

    "For once," the khajiit woman growled, "we agree." Her right fist moved before the nord had finished bringing his own fists up. She caught him high in the head, and he staggered, unbalanced, directly into the path of her left fist, which caught him square in the nose.

    The man fell over, blood and spittle leaking from his pummelled face. Eyes of the regulars glanced from her, to the downed man, to his friends, and back to their drinks and conversations. His friends stood frozen, not sure what to do. "Leave" she hissed, "and take your loudmouthed friend with you."

    The pair scrambled to grab their unconscious leader, and began to drag him across the floor. "Take him out the back!" The barkeep shouted, "I don't want him scaring off my customers."

    No longer had the duo pulled their friend away, had a scowling imperial, wet from the storm, entered the front, dark eyes scanning the occupants of the room, before taking a table at the back. Asarvi remembered the letter next to her ale. The man didn't seem local, and he certainly wasn't some random mercenary.

    Shortly after, a young woman, barely more than a child, entered after him, and tentatively took a seat next to the man. Asarvi's brows shot up. They didn't seem to know each other, but the girl didn't seem like the adventuring type. She decided not to approach, instead biding her time to see who else would enter.
     

    Aspen

    Member
    Brielle stood before the gates of Whiterun, her arms crossed as she glared at the pair of guardsmen in her way. "State your business in Whiterun, elf" the man on the right demanded. The rain poured down around them, pinging off the metal helms of the guardsmen and softly pattering against the hood of Brielle's cloak.

    The bosmer huffed with irritation. This was not the first time she'd had problems with the guards. Which was probably her fault. She wasn't exactly one for openness and certainly not with strangers. Even if those strangers happened to be guards. But it was cold and raining and the guards had their nice warm braziers to stand by. She had nothing.

    Grumbling under her breath, the wood elf went through her pouches and pockets until she found the letter. She shoved the parchment into the hand of the nearest guard, who retreated under the overhanging wall to read it. Which he did with agonizing slowness, she was sure, just for the satisfaction of seeing Brielle stand in the rain a little longer.

    Finally, the man handed the letter back and she stuffed it back into a pocket. "Satisfied?" She growled

    The guard signalled his companions and the gates began to open. "You mind yourself while you're here, elf."

    Brielle didn't deign to answer, sweeping past the man and hurrying through the nearly abandoned streets of Whiterun. The inn was not hard to find and she was quick to make her way inside, rain water running off her cloak and face in tiny rivulets.

    She glanced over the occupants, most seeming like locals seeking shelter from the rain, but a few were obviously here for the same reason she was. A young woman in red drew her attention first, but the dour imperial and the pair of khajiit, one dark and one pale furred, were almost certainly not from around. She moved to an unnoccupied table to see who else might be coming in from the rain.
     

    Drachlir

    Dragon Rising
    Zaros tapped his foot impatiently. The trio of nords several metres away watched him, weapons drawn but making no move to attack. Finally, the argonian said "are we going to fight, or what?" The goad worked, the youngest of the trio, dark haired nord, howled and closed the distance, greatsword clutched in both hands.

    Zaros smirked as he saw the other male of the three, his face and hair beginning to show his age, curse and run after his comrade, axe and shield up,flanking left. The third and only female of the group, blonde haired, unlike her male companions, flanked right. It was a good tactic...if the first man hadn't taken the lead so abruptly.

    He was still several paces away from the argonian when Zaros swung his greatmace, the arcing blow forcing the younger human to skid to a stop, killing his momentum. Before his fellows could rush to his rescue, Zaros moved forwards, driving the butt of his weapon into the man's gut and slamming his elbow down on his upper back, driving him to the floor.

    The axe and shield wielder took the argonians first blow on his shield, and ducked under the second. Then he cursed as Zoras spun, slapping his tail against the back of the human's knees and sweeping his feet out from under him. The final attacker leapt over the tail sweep and brought both of her shortswords down to attack.

    Zaros blocked the first sequence of attacks one-two-three, and lashed out, going for the same trick that had worked on her comrade. But she was faster and more cunning leaping back to avoid the mace, then charging back in before her opponent could bring the momentum back around. She was almost on top of him when he fell back planting his booted foot high on her torso.

    She grunted, the force of her leap knocking the wind out of her as she impacted. Quickly, Zaros changed footing and shouldered her to the ground. Around them, the watching Companions booed or cheered, depending on what outcome they'd been hoping for. For his part, the victorious argonian helped his opponents to their feet, dusting them off and congratulating them on a well-fought match.

    The next morning
    Zaros awoke to a warm, supple body pressed up against him. His gold-yellow eyes cracked open, and he grinned at the woman who'd been his opponent the night before. They'd agreed to a 'rematch' in her room, though it was safe to say that had ended in mutual 'victory'. "Freja" he murmured her name, and she woke as well, slipping an arm over his broad chest.

    "Mmm...you should definitely visit more often..." she mumbled, grinning.
    "I wish I could, but we both know this isn't just a friendly visit." He said, gesturing to the note on the chair next to his discarded gear. "

    Freja nodded, "I heard of adventuring types coming into the city. I hoped you'd be one of them."

    "I'd better get to the inn, see what this is all about," he told her and she nodded, propping herself up on an elbow, letting the sheet fall away from her chest.

    "Do you think you have time for a rematch of last night?" She smiled suggestively.

    "Oh, most definitely" he chuckled.

    Later
    Zoras took the steps of Jorvasskr two at a time, heedless of the pouring rain. His mood, and his day, considerably brighter than, he was willing to wager, the sodden guardsmen and grumpy townsfolk. With his great mace slung over one shoulder, he began making his way towards the inn, humming to himself.
     

    Morbidbread

    Fight for the lost
    The corpse was not long dead. It had once been a young male, nord, with the beginnings of a beard and a face still transitioning into adulthood. It was a tragic waste of life, but that wasn't what had the dunmer ranger on edge, as he kneeled next to the body, his slender fingers never far from the hilt of his longsword.

    In nearly a century of life, he had seen plenty of death. Dealt plenty of death too, either by the blade or the bow. No, death did not phase him. But it was the state of the body, undisturbed, save for the savageness of the wounds that had killed him.

    No crows or landbound scavengers had been drawn to the body, and Sevion knew better than to attribute that anomaly to the weather. The elf stood, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, and his ears strained to pick up the slightest sound, even as raindrops pattered against the hood of his weatherproofed cloak.

    Despite spending decades in the wilds, he felt suddenly as if every tree trunk or boulder might conceal an enemy. He readied his longbow with practiced motions and set an arrow to the string. He did so in complete, practised silence, his crimson eyes taking in his surroundings, alert for the slightest hint of danger.

    No birds sang from sheltered nests, no small creatures scurried through the underbrush. His heart beat like a drum, his breathing sounded like warhorns. The elf slowly began to retreat towards the road. He would alert the guard to the location of the dead man, and from there, it would be their problem. He turned towards the city, visible through the deluge, then paused. Someone was coming.
     
    Shortly after Cassius had taken his seat, his gaze was drawn to a khajiit woman, unusually large, keeping a keen lookout on the door, perhaps for the same reason he was. Another khajiit, dark furred, was by the bar, speaking with the innkeeper. The paladin's attention was diverted from them as the door opened again, allowing a red-cloaked young woman inside.

    To Cassius' surprise, she made a beeline for his table and sat herself down next to him. "Why do you look sad? Is it the rain? Don't worry, it'll go away soon." A moment later, she patted his shoulder, an awkward, tentative movement. Bemused, he glanced over at her, "No. It isn't the rain." He said bluntly, wondering if she was in Whiterun for the same reason he was. "What brings you here, girl?"
     
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    Rell

    Champion of Malacath!
    Balgur walked down the mucky road, his tattered cloak doing an average job of keeping him dry. Maybe average was too generous of a word. Water soaked under his armour, into his boots, and turned every footstep into an unpleasant 'squelching' noise. He grumbled under his breath, but he could see the city of Whiterun nearby. There was no point settling in for the night now anyway.

    He was approaching a bend in the road, when he saw a cloaked and hooded figure emerging from the woods. The old orc warrior tightened his grip on the spear he carried. His shield was still strapped over his back, but he didn't think he'd need it.

    The cloaked figure had paused, as if it had heard something. Though, Balgur noted, it wouldn't be much of a surprise if they had heard him. Heavy armour wasn't made for stealth. He weighed his options.

    On the one hand, he could call out to the man, and hope he was friendly. Or, he could rush in and hope to get the drop on him. Which seemed extremely unlikely.

    The old soldier heaved a sigh, and opted for option one. He squelched through the mud towards the cloaked individual "hello there!" He called, "you out here all by yourself?"
     
    "Oh." Roux blinked, looking surprised. "It's not?" She glanced casually towards the door at the sound of it opening once again. This time it was a Bosmer lady who entered, not much taller than Roux and not appearing much older either.

    Shrugging, Roux turned to the man at her side. The confusion on her face matched the expression upon his as she replied, "Um. The rain? Oh! You mean in general. I'm a courier." She beamed at him with a large, welcoming grin. "Are you an adventurer? Have you seen a troll before? How about a dragon?" The woman released a dreamy sigh and rested her chin on her palm. "It must be so nice to fly like they do. Don't you agree?" Her gray-blue gaze flicked over to the Imperial, a friendly glint in her eyes.
     

    Seeker of Truth

    New Member
    "I see, thanks anyway..."

    Said Zeon to the apologetic inn keeper, for she did not know much about the letter or rumors, besides there being quite the influx of travelers wandering about the city recently.

    With that being the case, Zeon could only seek answers from fellow adventurers in the Bannered Mare. He scanned around the main hall, seeing many people but not many that actually caught his eyes. As he was settling for starting the survey with the female Khajiit seated a couple stools away on his left, his ears perked up upon hearing a youthful sounding voice mentioning the word "courier".

    Zeon retracted his gaze from the grey Khajiit woman and followed the voice that still talked in an excited tone. It was the stern looking man with a scar and the young woman that got inside soon after Zeon.

    Coming ti a decision, Zeon got up and walked towards their table with decisive steps and posture, not making the effort of remaining unnoticed by the experienced looking man. Nodding to the pair as he approached while the girl finished speaking, he took a seat and opened his signature smile, looking directly in the youthful woman's eyes.

    "Well now, I couldn't help but overhear what was just said about you being a courier."

    Stopping suddenly, Zeon censored himself for messing up the order of affairs. Quickly recovering from the embarassment, he continued in a polite manner, addressing them both this time.

    "Ah, this one is Called Zeon Shadowborn, how should I address these friends?"

    The smile faded but he kept a mostly harmless expression, relaxing his shoulders, worried that he could give the wrong idea to these strangers otherwise.
     

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