Jump to content

It Puts the Stories on the Forum


23rd
 Share

Recommended Posts

Treason

Part 1: Road to Riften

Chapter 2: A tense encounter

 

Willion had been walking for several hours already, and the cleanliness of Skyrim's air compared to to the areas where the Outer Party was made to live made him both dizzy and invigorated. It was a strange combination of feelings, like eating a healthy meal after having ingested nothing but tar for one's entire life. As though that wasn't bad enough, traveling on his own gave him time to reflect on how truly dire his situation had become. Here he was in unfamiliar land with no funds and no experience fending for himself. Angfire had filled his head with promises of a place called Windhelm where the Thalmor couldn't reach them, where the Nords of this land rebelled against the Dominion's corruption and fought for the freedom of an independent Skyrim. It seemed impossible that such a place could exist, but Willion had followed her past the snow covered borders. And now.. now he was headed towards what was supposed to be one of Skyrim's major cities. It felt suicidal, the Thalmor had to be there waiting for him. Alas, it was the only place left to go under the circumstances.

 

"Watch where you're going!" Lost in his thought, Willion hadn't realized he bumped into someone. Sheepishly, he took a step back and looked up from the ground to apologize. The second he saw who he was talking to, however, his voice caught in his throat and his blood ran cold. The long, black robes; the golden trim that seemed to shine in the rays of the sun, making the man look that much more reverential and intimidating.

 

A Thalmor Justiciar.

 

Willion stumbled back as the Justiciar spoke again. "Well? Do you have nothing to say for yourself?" Amazingly, he hadn't been recognized. The runaway mage realized that there were others with the Justiciar as well. Two of the Thalmor's footsoldiers, dressed fully in light golden armor, on either side of a man dressed in poorly spun clothes with his hands bound. A Nord prisoner, no doubt being escorted somewhere to be brought with a host of other prisoners back to the Summurset Isles and publicly executed for one reason or another. There was a certain fiery defiance in the way the prisoner stood. Beaten, filthy, but still more alive and impassioned than his captors or Willion. It was nothing if not astonishing to the mage who'd lost his hope so long ago. In fact, it was inspiring enough for him to want to keep going. He may not have been able to save this poor Nord, but he could save himself. Without a second thought, Willion shoved the Justiciar from his way and took of running, ignoring the shouts of protest behind him. In moments he could hear protests turn into screams, the snarls of a massive wolf fading as he ran. Willion had learned not to trust his ears, he didn't dare to look back.

 

-

 

By the time he'd crossed the riverbank he began to feel safe, the sounds of screaming Altmer having died down moments ago. He had a moment to slow down, catch his breath, search for food. There was a large fort nearby, slightly dilapidated. He may as well see if there was anything inside. Traveling the dirt path towards the entrance, Willion quickly realized that thin steel bars blocked his way in. "Hey, you, you're the backup? I've never seen a mercenary like you before, where's the rest?"

 

Willion turned to see a Nord man with several bodyguards by his side set up in a small camp a ways next to the fort. Before he had a chance to respond, the Nord began talking again. "Well, look, if you think you're good enough I'll give you the original pay for the group, plus whatever you find inside. Just get past the bandits and open the gate from inside. Let me know when it's done. The name's Stalleo, by the way." Bandits? Men and women completely disconnected from civilization, only having what they could get in raids.. it sounded simple, at least. He stepped down from the barred entryway, making his way towards Stalleo's camp. "So how do I get inside?" One of the bodyguards motioned towards a cave entrance built underneath the watch, and without hesitation Willion stepped inside. He could already hear the savages from the entrance, sharpening their axes and blades on grindstones further ahead.

 

He really needed that money.

Edited by 23rd
  • Like 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Treason

Part 1: Road to Riften

Chapter 3: Shockingly adept

 

It was an understatement to say that Willion was anxious about his objective. Second guessing his actions had become the norm lately, and he began to wonder if he was even close to powerful enough to handle a fort full of bandits. Already there were three of them, clad in armor made of rough leather and furs, marching towards him with bloodlust in their eyes. In a moment of impulse, Willion did the first thing that came to mind and cast a lightning spell.

 

As it turned out, he could absolutely handle a fort full of bandits.

 

In the blink of an eye the frontmost bandit, charging towards him with a hefty steel warhammer, had been vaporized into dust. Another leapt through the cloud of electricity and soot, attempting to bury his war axe into Willion's shoulder. With one swift movement, he was able to easily dodge it and slap his palm against his attacker's face, burning it off and killing the outlaw within moments. The third readied her bow, attempting to fire a shot into the mage as she retreated. With relative ease, the Outer Royal mage cast forth a burst of ice, freezing the archer's hands to her bow and her feet to the floor, rendering her incapable of moving or attacking. Dropping the second bandit to the floor, Willion looted the corpse to find a sharpened elven dagger. It was the perfect tool for finishing off his final attacker with a stab through the forehead before entering the fort proper.

 

He stepped into a long stone hallway, several different side room entrances along the walls. Feet could be heard shuffling on stone as bandits abandoned whatever they had been doing to investigate the recent commotion, practically pouring into the narrow area and rushing to attack Willion when they saw him. Without thinking, he pushed his wrists together, palms facing outwards into the hall. Flames began pouring into the space before him, growing in intensity and filling the hallway as screams echoed throughout the small area, more and more bandits running forth into their deaths. Their lack of self-preservation was actually quite astounding. By the time Willion's destruction spell finally died down, the entire fort was quiet.

 

He ran through the empty fort, finding gold and other valuable loot in each room. Gemstones, potions, alchemical ingredients; anything that Willion could fit into his pockets, he did. If Riften truly was the safe haven he expected he'd be able to make quite a bit of gold through selling these things. In fact, even if Riften did turn out to be a trap, he was beginning to feel confident that he could at least keep himself from being contained. Whatever the case, he had gotten more than his effort's forth from the inside of the fort, it was time to get outside and open the gate.

 

The front door opened into a small shack in the middle of the fort's large entrance, a lever elevated on a stone platform next to him. Willion's golden fingers grazed the rusty brass lever, forcing it back with a loud screech. With a delayed stutter, the iron bars that had blocked the entryway slid away. The mage stepped out from the tiny wooden shack into the center courtyard, taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of the sun's rays on his skin. Now to just let the Breton know the way was clear..

 

The sound of heavy footsteps pulled Willion's attention away from the entryway. Turning to look behind him, Willion saw two men descending from the elevated stone ring of the fort. One was a middle-aged Nord clad in Steel Plate armor, obviously the leader of the bandits that had been in the fort. The other, a young Redguard in simple fur armor, followed behind timidly. They Nord stopped, causing the Redguard to stop as well, and spoke in a gravely voice. "My friend here informs me you killed all my men inside.." The Nord pulled a small war axe from a holster on his hip, burying it into the Redguard's chest without breaking eye contact with Willion. A weak cry escaped the bandit, stumbling back and collapsing against the ground as the bandit leader ripped the axe from his chest. "..at the expense of killing you himself. It seems I have to do all the hard work around here." Willion's heart skipped a beat as he forced his legs to move, dodging the bandit leader's axe as the man leaped for him. The Outer Royal had seen enough senseless atrocities performed by mer back in Summurset, seeing a man perform another hardly surprised him. If he could just backtrack towards the fort entryway..

 

Willion skipped backwards, tossing fireballs and spikes of ice towards the advancing Nord as he did. Of course, he hadn't expected the man to know how to use a damn ward. By the time his fifth blast of energy bounced harmlessly off the bandit leader's raised ward, the mage decided to simply turn around and run. He got all of three steps past the fort when he felt the sharpened steel of an axe bury into his back.

 

-

 

"Hey! You have to get up and tell us how you're feeling, otherwise we won't know if it's working!" Willion blinked several times, cradling his forehead in his palm. He was laying on his side in the fort courtyard, his entire body aching. What.. what had just happened? "At least give me a hand signal or something, so I know you're still alive." It was Stalleo. Looking up, Willion saw the Breton producing a bright white light from his palms, causing Willion's aches and pains to dissipate. A healing spell. Willion got up onto one knee, waiting a moment before standing up. "I.. think I'm okay. Thank you." Stalleo beamed, lowering his hands as the glowing white light in his palms disappeared. "No problem. Saw you running out here, figured to run up and help you. You don't need to worry about that pesky bandit leader.." Out of the corner of his eye, Willion saw the corpse of the steel-clad Nord who had struck him down moments ago. "..he must have forgotten we were waiting outside. Which reminds me, my guards say you've cleared out the entire inside of the fort. You're no normal mercenary, I think you've earned these." Before Willion could process what was going on, a book and a hefty coinpurse were dropped into his hands. He immediately recognized the book as a spell tome meant to teach the reader how to detect the presence of life around them, something he had never had the chance to learn before. Willion was about to leave when he saw something else. It was another corpse, a new one, just beyond the fort entrance. But this one looked familiar..

 

"Is that a Thalmor soldier?" Willion couldn't hide the worry in his face, and Stalleo noticed. The Nord man placed his hands on his hips, turning his gaze to the golden-clad corpse. "Came up to us all bloody and beat up, rambling about a werewolf kidnapping their prisoner or some such. Funny thing, that bandit leader who attacked you was the one who killed her. Only good thing he ever did." Stalleo kicked the side of the corpse's head, grinning to himself as it tumbled down the incline into the riverbed. "Bastards deserve a slow death. Damn Thalmor." Willion looked over towards Stalleo, stunned, before walking down towards the soldier's corpse, watching the stream rush around it. After a moment of silence, he brought his foot back and kicked it in the side, hard. The Thalmor soldier's corpse dislodged from the side of the riverbank, being carried off by the water. Willion couldn't help but grin for the first time since he'd come to Skyrim.

 

-

 

Willion was beginning to feel much better about his trip to Riften. So much had happened in the past six hours alone to show him just how little a foothold the Dominion really had in Skyrim. He daydreamed as he walked, losing focus on the road in front of him. That made it hard to hear the galloping of hooves, at least until he looked back to notice a horse was coming right at him.

 

The collision launched him off his feet, and he could hear the horse itself losing balance as its side smashed into the cobblestone and its body slid forward. "You stupid horse! That's the second time today!" Willion heard a rough voice, the voice of an Orc, as he got to his feet and wiped off his robes. The stench of sweat and cave soot filled his nose, and when he finally got to his feet the mage noticed a tall Orc walking towards him. The first thing that stood out to him were the eyes, black as midnight. The second was the armor, sturdy and green. He'd heard the Orcs were excellent blacksmiths, but he'd never seen their work with his own two eyes before. "Are you okay, friend?" Willion blinked, taking a moment to process that the Orc had been talking to him. "I.. yeah. I'm okay." The Orc extended his arm, handing Willion a rolled up scroll. Patting his pockets, the mage realized the collision had made him lose his map. He took it back with a timid smile. "I'm sorry about that. I swear this horse doesn't know its head from its own ass." With a wave and a jot, the Orc was helping his horse to its feet, climbing back on and galloping down the path set before them.

 

Willion rubbed his side, wincing slightly at how sore it still felt. What a strange encounter.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Treason

Part 1: Road to Riften

Chapter 4: Enter, oppressor

 

It had only been a single day, but the road had felt like it went on forever. By the time Willion got to Riften he was extremely exhausted, yet somehow managed to find the burst of energy needed to sprint ahead when the city walls came into view. Finally, he was here! He'd find the local inn, figure out just how tight the Thalmor's grasp of this place was, and get a hot meal. His mouth was already salivating at the thought of more of that mead Wilhelm had given him way back in Ivarstead.

 

"So you're telling me he came up to you, high on Skooma, an-" It looked like Willion had walked into the middle of a conversation two town guards were having. He decided it would've been rude to interrupt. He stepped off the main road and sat in the grass near the front gate as the second guard raised a hand to stop his companion, shaking his head. Neither of them had noticed the Altmer mage was there yet. "No, not Skooma. One of his own Wood Elf drugs, apparently." Despite the face masks, Willion could swear the first guard was rolling his eyes. "It hardly matters. You're saying he just came up to you and said a hagraven predicted we'd be attacked?" The second guard was clearly becoming irate, as he snapped back his Nordic accent thickened. It was actually quite funny to hear. "Not just us, you braindead moron! The whole town! And he was right about that Orc showing up, wasn't he? I bet you're still sore from where he hit you!" The first guard tensed, shouting back with the same angry tone. "You shut up about that! He just caught me off guard is all! Besides, you make it sound like myths and legends. That's all they are, myths and legends." The two went silent for a moment, before the second guard responded in a hushed tone. "That's what you said about the Dragonborn."

 

Willion had finally gotten tired of listening. He wanted somewhere warm and safe to sit, and even with the guards right in front of him he didn't want to be caught by some wild animal just outside Riften's wall. He cleared his throat, getting both guards to stop and turn towards him. "You need something, elf?" The Outer Royal got to his feet, dusting off the knees of his robes as he did. "Yes. Is there somewhere I can get a warm bed and a bite to eat here?" The first guard just scoffed, but the second turned out to be far more affable. "The Bee and Barb will take care of you if you have the coin. Just inside the gate and over the bridge, you can't miss it." With a subdued smile, Willion thanked the guard and headed through the main gate.

 

Just as the guard said, the Bee and Barb stood tall in front of him. Heading up to the inn and pushing open the door, the warm glow of the lighting inside and the good humor of the dining area immediately putting him at ease. It all just seemed so.. relaxed. Finding a small table against the wall, Willion pulled out a wooden chair and grabbed a seat. It didn't take long for him to get noticed, and within moments someone was moving towards him. Looking up, the Outer Royal was shocked by what he saw. In the Dominion, there had been whispered rumors of those who walked as men yet looked like beasts. Felines, called Khajiit; reptilians, called Argonians; molluscs, called Sload, and countless others. Beastfolk, as they were called. And here was one, an Argonian, standing before him. It took a moment for Willion to realize he had been staring, and he quickly averted his gaze to the wooden tabletop in front of him. Fortunately, the waiter hadn't seemed to notice. As Willion looked meekly at the spot in front of him, he heard the Argonian speak in a rough voice. "Welcome to the Bee and Barb, m'lord. Can I interest you in one of our specialty drinks?"

 

The mage broke his staring contest with the table, turning to look up towards the Argonian. He forced a nervous smile, trying to remember what Wilhelm had given him to drink back in Ivarstead. "Do you have any.. Black-Briar Mead? Perhaps some baked potatoes?" It was near impossible for Willion to read the waiter's facial expression, but he could've sworn he saw a small smile. "Of course. I'll be right back with your meal." Willion strummed his fingers against the wooden surface in front of him, becoming lost in thought once more. It had just begun to dawn on him that he would need somewhere to sleep. The inn was fine for tonight, but it wouldn't be a permanent solution. He had lived within civilization, if you could call the Outer Royal's abodes' that, all his life. Living in the wild was obviously not an option. He'd need to find out more about the area, maybe there was somewhere that would take him in. He recalled seeing a large bunkhouse between the gate and the inn..

 

"Your food. Don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything else." A wooden plate was placed in front of the mage, the tantalizing smell of a baked potato snapping him back into the moment. As the waiter placed a bottle of Black-Briar mead next to the plate, Willion turned to look up at him. "Actually, if you have a moment, I'd like to know a little more about the area." The Argonian turned to look behind, presumably towards the owner of the inn, before settling into the chair in front of Willion. He learned the waiter's name was Talen-Jei, and that he had come to Skyrim from a city called Gideon in his homeland of Black Marsh. Talen-Jei turned out to be very friendly and informative, and the two must have talked for at least half an hour before they found themselves talking about current events like two friends discussing their day.

 

"..and after he tossed the guard to the ground, that Orc stormed towards Mistveil Keep! I could hear the commotion from here, I imagine the whole town is talking about it." Talen-Jei let out what sounded like a chuckle. "You don't think that's cause for consher.. concern?" Willion had only had two bottles of Black-Briar mead, but already his speech was slurring terribly. Nord mead was much stronger than the watered down wine they had back on the Summurset Isles. The Argonian must have found his low tolerance for alocohol hilarious, as the chuckles escalated into several seconds of laughter. "No, land-friend. That's just the way Riften is, I'm afraid. You have to be loud and boisterous to get anything done.. unless you're with the Thieves' Guild, I suppose." An uncomfortable silence followed, and Willion simply had to ask. "What is the Thieves' Guild?" The answer was, unexpectedly, quite exuberant.

 

"The Thieves' Guild is a collection of vermin that lives under the city! The Black-Briar family, whose mead you now drink, is a family of corruption that operates right under the Jarl's nose, using this guild of.. of petty criminals to make the earnest workers of Riften live in misery and squalor!" Talen-Jei rested his head in his hands, taking a moment to collect him before speaking again. "I am sorry. I've gotten too comfortable around you and said things I shouldn't have." Willion was surprised by the outburst, but he certainly wasn't offended. He suddenly felt sober, seeing his acquaintance in such a dire mood. "It's fine, Talen." The Argonian let out a heavy sigh, lifting his head from his palms. "I saw one of both in here a while ago, in fact. A member of the Thieves' Guild, and Maven Black-Briar's granddaughter. They were speaking in hushed tones, and abruptly stopped when I came to take their order. I don't trust them, and if it weren't for Keerava I would have left this skeeverhole long ago." Talen-Jei frowned, reclining in his seat. "I should really get back to work."

 

The moment the word work left the Argonian's lips the inn began to quake, a loud crash deafening the ears of the Bee and Barb's patrons. Wooden splinters rained onto the floor, and Willion could barely hear his own thoughts over the screams and the sound of feet stomping across the floor, everyone wildly trying to escape into the night. The bottle Willion had been holding moments ago shattered against the floor, the mage trying desperately to keep his balance as the side of the inn began to cave inwards and break. "What's happening?" In his haste, the Outer Royal bumped into his Argonian friend, the two of them rushing for the door leading into the town center where they could get away from the chaos. "I have no idea! Move quickly, land-strider!" Once they had gotten outside, Willion turned to see the source of the commotion, and for a moment he felt his heart stop.

 

He was looking directly at a dragon.

 

It was covered from head to tail in sharp orange scales, and must have been nearly the size of the inn itself. It was half-submerged in the side of the now severely damaged inn, and as it struggled the inn quaked and shook. As it roared, Willion shook with fear, and he could swear the warm air became colder around him. In the chaos, one thought emerged above all others in the Outer Royal's mind. Only one being could be so massive and intensely terrifying by its presence alone.

 

This had to be Greatfather.

 

---

 

I hope the extended wait has been worth the extra content.

Edited by 23rd
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Treason

Part 2: Timid Heroism

Chapter 5: Wish granted

 

The fear kept Willion from moving, his feet feeling as though they were frozen to the ground below him. The dragon stopped thrashing when it noticed the mage among the others who ran by him, paralyzed by terror. Slowly, the scaly beast he thought to be Greatfather steadied its rear legs, tensing itself and ripping the trapped wing from the side of the inn with one swift motion. Splinters rained over the railings around the town center, the wood shavings disappearing into the murky canal below them. In that moment, Willion was sure of his death. Greatfather surely wouldn't settle for anything less. To his immense surprise, the massive dragon's maw parted to speak, spade-tipped tail swishing idly behind it before ensnaring around a nearby railing.

 
"Yuvon fahliil, hear my voice and despair! Reveal the location of the bahlaan ogiim, and I may yet allow you to live."
 
For a moment Willion considered this. A being as powerful as Greatfather allowing him to live? But he already knew life under the rule of Greatfather was the most oppressive existense he'd ever experienced, and he dearly wished to keep from being sent back to Summurset. It had never even crossed his mind that he didn't know what a bahlaan ogiim was. Neither noticed that everyone but the guards had fled Riften, silence encapsulating the city as members of the town guard lined the walkways, waiting for the dragon to make a move before filling it with arrows. "Hey! Dumbass! What's the matter with you?!" A voice rang out from the entrance, and both the dragon and Willion craned to look towards it. Racing in their direction was what looked to be a young Bosmer, though it was hard to tell with all the gear he wore. An dark leather outfit covered the mer from neck to toe, riddled with pouches and buckles. From the neck up, a rough leather hood kept Willion from being able to make out the mer's features, and he quickly realized that was the point. This stranger had to be a member of the Thieves' Guild Talen-Jei had mentioned. In a flash, the Bosmer was leaping atop the orange dragon's back, sliding down its neck and driving the heel of his boot into its snout. The scaled beast let out a furious roar, but before it could react the Bosmer had already grabbed Willion and sprinted for a door just beyond the smithing forge.
 
Before Willion had a chance to even process what was happening a door slammed behind him, the smell of salt filling his nose. His back felt hot and he came to realize that he had just narrowly avoided being roasted alive by Greatfather. He was relieved to still be alive, but the panic washed over him. Breathing became intensely difficult all of a sudden, and the mage had to clutch at his chest as the Bosmer tried to drag him further. "Shut up! I'm so tired of hearing your grating voice! Don't you see I'm trying?!" Willion collapsed on a wooden walkway underneath of him, the world a blur. Looking up towards his temporary companion, he found the thief was arguing with seemingly no one. "Wha.." Just like that the odd mer spun around and hoisted his arms underneath the Outer Royal. Finally, Willion got a good look at his surroundings. He was on what looked to be Riften's docks, a series of walkways and several buildings extending into a huge lake stretching east. The Bosmer continued to pull Willion south, towards the porch of a small homestead. The mer spoke up again. "You can call me Sivgoth, if you get your voice back. You're pretty terrible under pressure." Willion could only let out a groan, slumping his head and trying to regain control of his legs.
 
The two mer burst through the backdoor of what Willion assumed to be Sivgoth's house. The mage finally got his bearing together, ripping his arm away from the thief as they stepped into what looked to be a spacious bedroom. This wasn't right, none of it was right. "I'm grateful you saved my life and all, but just what is going on here? Who are you? Why were you yelling at me to shut up?" Willion had come to realize over the past day that everything he thought to be true was just cleverly fabricated lies designed to keep him obedient to the Dominion, and he would be damned if he was going to stumble around in the dark any more. Sivgoth tried once more to grab Willion's arm, only to realize the Outer Royal was serious despite the severity of the situation they found themselves in.
 
"Look, I don't know what to tell you. I wasn't yelling at you, I was yelling at.." The thief seemed to struggle with a thought, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes in thought. "..the voice in my head." Sivgoth let out a tempered sigh, before suddenly looking up towards Willion as though a brilliant idea had formed in his head. "Okay, wait, here's what you should know." The ever eccentric Bosmer paused for a brief moment, mouthing out a short sentence silently to himself and looking towards the ceiling. "Greatfather.. isn't real. The dragon's called Gaafkahdez and has nothing to do with the.. Thalmor? Damn, you must have quite a price on your head, friend. Anyways, check your map, help us kill Gaafkahdez. I gotta run." The Wood Elf ran for the basement stairs on the otherside of the bedroom, looking over his shoulder towards Willion as he descended. "One more thing. Angfire says she forgives you."
 
Willion's breath caught in his throat at the mention of Angfire. This stranger already knowing about Greatfather was shocking enough, but it could be easily chalked up to the legend of Greatfather reaching out across Tamriel, despite the Dominion's apparently limited presence. But Angfire.. the fact that this person knew who Angfire was.. it was all completely unexplainable. The mage hastily pulled out his map of The Rift, unraveling it on a nearby endtable. What unraveled before him was not the map he had been traveling with since Ivarstead, but was instead filled with arcane symbols scrawled from one end of the parchment to the other. In the upper left of the scroll, Willion recognized the symbol for the destruction school of magic. What did this scroll do? How had it gotten into his possession? There were so many questions running through the mage's mind, but no answers.
 
Outside, he could hear Gaafkahdez scream in fury, shaking the house. Rolling the scroll up once more and stuffing it in one of his robe's pockets, Willion made his way for the front door of the small house. Every fiber of his being screamed to run, but he knew wherever he went he'd just be running for the rest of his life. Sivgoth, eccentric as he was, had saved Willion from certain torment, and the mage doubted the Bosmer would ask him to help fight the dragon only to let him die now. He had to stand his ground.
 
It was the only way to redeem himself for killing Angfire.
Edited by 23rd
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Treason

Part 2: Timid Heroism

Chapter 6: Relentless Destruction

 

The smell of smoke filled Willion's nostrils as he stepped back into Riften. Rushing out into the alley at the entrance of the empty city, he could see the bodies of the dead guards who had dared to stay and fight against the dragon that had attacked them, their charred and torn corpses barely recognizable in the moonlight. In the short time he'd been in that house, many had already died to this deity-like monster. The mage ignored the dread that made it so hard to move, boots slapping against the bloody cobblestones as he ran for the town center. 

 
As Willion ran past the wreckage that used to be the Bee & Barb, Gaafkahdez came into view. Surprisingly, the dragon was busy with something else, something the Outer Royal couldn't see from where he was. As far as he was concerned, this was perfect. Unraveling the scroll, Willion felt his magical energies draining from his body as the scroll began to glow a dark blue. His breaths became more laborious as dark clouds began to fill the sky, the air around him growing colder..
 
"Stop! You don't know what you're doing!"
 
The sound of a gruff voice distracted Willion, the sky clearing as the blue tint left the symbols of the scroll. Looking up, he saw Gaafkahdez crane to look towards him before a large green figure leapt over the dragon's scaly neck, burying a blood-stained mace into the small of Gaafkahdez's back. Bursts of crimson blood exploded from the tough flesh, causing the beast to thrash and roar as the wooden rails and tradering posts around it broke to pieces. Working off the brief opportunity, the armored stranger slid underneath the thrashing dragon, raising to his feet just in front of Willion. The mage immediately recognized him as the Orc from the road. "Wh-"
 
"No time for talking, hold steady." The Orc raised his shield as an enormous ball of flame burst from Gaafkahdez's maw, smashing against the rough green metal. Licks of fire split from the ball, flying be their sides and radiating a heat intense enough to make Willion sweat. "Now run." The Orc bolted left, and Willion followed in quick pursuit. A gate blocked their way, but the force of the Orc's shoulder easily broke the lock, rusty metal flying backwards as the two wanderers made their way to the path behind the many mansions of the town, in a space too narrow for Gaafkahdez to chase them.
 
"Who.. are you?" Willion took a moment to catch his breath, resting his side against a nearby support beam. "Moglash. Chieftan of a long dead stronghold. But that's not important. That dragon, that tyrant, is important. So is that scroll you're holding." The mage looked down at the weathered scroll he'd been kept from using, thumb running over the arcane symbols he hardly recognized. "I'd been hoping to use it myself, but you having it might be even better. That being said, you need to cast it from cover, or you're dead." Willion cast his gaze towards the rusty gate once more, one of Gaafkahdez's massive claws coming into view. He knew exactly where he needed to go. "The Bee and Barb."
 
Moglash looked surprised to hear the answer, following Willion's gaze. "That's quite daring. Even if you make it, that wreckage is a death trap." The mage rolled the scroll closed, clutching it tight in his left hand. "You said he's a tyrant, right? ..tyrants need to be stopped." The Orc grinned. "A good response. Very well then, I'll cause a distraction." With that, Moglash took off running in the opposite direction, towards the large castle on the other side of the town. Moments later, Willion could hear the sound of thunderous stomping off in the other direction. After a brief hesitation, he ran for the wreckage of the Bee and Barb. Gaafkahdez may not be Greatfather, but by now he was just as bad.
Edited by 23rd
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Treason

Part 2: Timid Heroism

Chapter 7: End of terror

 

By the time Willion had gotten to the Bee and Barb, he began to realize how little Moglash had exaggerated. It still stood tall, but with every quaking stomp Gaafkahdez took, the breaking building swayed back and forth. Overhead, the clouds began to darken. He had to move fast, while the tyrant dragon was still distracted. Drops of rain fell from the sky as the mage's golden fingers tightened around the scroll he held, the parchment growing hotter in his grasp. Taking a shaky breath, Willion stepped through the shattered front door.

 

The inside was a mess, and the stairs were collapsed. Moving quickly, the Outer Royal rushed towards a creaking support beam, willing his magicka to connect his fingertips to the wood. Bits of wood and metal fell from the rafters as he climbed along the western wall, feeling the wood push inwards at the touch of his fingertips. He'd never realized he had the ability to do such a thing before, but with the adrenaline of fighting against something as powerful as a dragon he felt he could do anything. Willion's fingers curled around a floorboard, using the grip to hoist himself onto the second floor. Climbing from his knees to his feet, the mage unrolled the magical scroll he'd held onto, looking out from the massive hole in the side of the inn to where Gaafkahdez and Moglash were trading blows.

 

Magical energy shifted from the tips of Willion's fingers to the heels of his feet, cementing his balance as the building shook around him. As the scroll in his hands glowed, the rainfall outside grew harsher. Arcane figures written on the parchment lit up, a draining energy surging through the mage's body as he raised his right hand to cast. Fingers curled inward, then shot forward as a blast of blue and purple light shot into the heavens, the sound of thunderclaps filling the sky. For the first time in his life, Willion felt truly powerful.

 

-

 

From the roof of the orphanage on the north side of town, Sivgoth raised a bone-carved bow. In the blink of an eye, the Bosmer thief fired off a forked Daedric arrow towards the center of town, where Gaafkahdez thrashed and roared. The wind parted around the sharpened tips, as though afraid of the power behind them. His contract was finally coming towards an end, once the dragon was dead he would be completely free to live his own life again.

 

From the second floor of the Bee and Barb on the south side of town, Willion watched as vicious strikes of thunder exploded from the clouds. The third strike hit the Daedric arrow as it soared towards Gaafkahdez, infusing it with the power of lightning. The Altmer mage could feel his heartbeat quicken in excitement. If he could get through something like this, what hope did the Thalmor have of detaining him? He'd been brought up in a society where fear ruled all, but he felt fearless.

 

In the center of town, a beaten and bloodied Moglash dropped his mace, grabbing a steel warhammer from a fallen guard before Gaafkahdez could react. Muscles tightened and flexed as the Orc warrior swung, the front of the massive hammer hitting the Daedric arrow as it hit its mark between the dragon's eyes. The winged beast roared in pain as the forked arrow buried itself into its skull, electrical surges bursting through flesh and scales. After several seconds Gaafkahdez collapsed, body unmoving. Moglash felt himself rapidly aging, a satisfied smile playing over his face knowing his mission was finally over.

 

-

 

Willion felt himself grow exhausted as the effects of the scroll began to wear off, the rain stopping as the sun began to rise over the parting stormclouds. Stumbling forward, a snug feeling ensnared him as he seemed to float down towards the town center, the heel of his left foot resting against one of Gaafkahdez's wings. Moglash immediately took notice of him, nudging the mage on his way towards the gate leading out of town. "Come on elf. We need some ale to celebrate what happened here today." Following in a sleepy daze, Willion couldn't have agreed more.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Treason

Epilogue: A morning drink with friends

 

Willion, Moglash and Talen-Jei sat outside of Riften stables, each nursing their ale and watching the other residents of the town shuffle by, trying to figure out what to do in lieu of the destroyed city. Talen-Jei was the first to speak up. "You two don't need to worry, it's a lot easier to rebuild a town than most people realize. Especially when people are as invested as we are in Riften." The Argonian's scaly fingers tapped along the glass bottle he held, letting out a relaxed sigh as he reclined against the side of the stables.

 

"So, what's in the future of Riften's two big heroes?" Moglash let out a hearty laugh at this question, looking out towards the woods beyond the city. "On my way here, I met someone. They should still be in the area, I'll need to head out soon if I want to meet them again." The Orc and Argonian both looked towards Willion, waiting to hear what he had to say.

 

The mage looked up from his ale, taking a moment to consider the question. "I.. suppose I hadn't thought of it. All I've been trying to do lately was get here because I thought something would happen.. which certainly did.. but now I have to find somewhere else to go." As he said this a memory shot through his mind. In the memory he and Angfire had made it into Cyrodiil, already talking about the opportunities in Skyrim. Talking about a place known as the City of Kings, where the Thalmor were openly opposed and anyone who was willing to work hard would be welcomed.

 

"Windhelm. I'll go to Windhelm, and start up my own resistance against the Thalmor." Willion couldn't help but smile at the idea, fingers tightening their grip on his glass bottle. "Back where I came from, there was talk about a resistance, but think they were just made for Thalmor propaganda.. I'm going to make them real." One look at Moglash's face showed Willion how amused the warrior was by this, but Talen-Jei's expression was a complete mystery. The Argonian's face was difficult to read. They spoke in unison, egging the mage on. "What're they called?" The Outer Royal laid back in the grass, setting his ale down beside him.

 

"Yellowhand."

 

---

 

Yaaay, I can finally get back to writing Don't Starve stuff!

Edited by 23rd
Link to comment
Share on other sites

I still love it, even if I have no idea what's going on since I've only played like a hour of skyrim

You don't really need to play that much of Skyrim to known what is going on. Crash course:

 

Skyrim is on the continent of Tamriel, in the world Nirn. The other provinces of Tamriel are Black Marsh, Cirodill, Eleswyer, and the Alkir Desert. In skrim the major cities are Whiterun, Winterhold, Riften, Solitude, Falkreath, Windhelm, and Markarth. Skrim isset during the return of dragons, and the Thalmor recently won the Great War against the Empire, outlawing the worship of Talos. The stormcloacks are rebelling against the Empire. 

  • Like 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Part One

Part Two

 

Dreaming of Electric Bunnies, Pt. 3

Chapter 1 of 3: UNSATISFACTORY

 

WX-78 kicked the corpse of a mutilated Bunnyman out of his way. It recognized the corpse, merely an hour ago it had crammed the beast full of mechanics and sent it down to search out Wilson. It looked as though the monster had found the scientist, only to be killed moments later. At least the automaton knew it was on the right path. Somewhere, out in the darkness, Wilson was waiting.

 

Reaching into the dead Bunnyman's gaping chest wound, WX-78 ripped out a the purple gem that functioned as its heart, a handful of entangled wiring coming with it. Ice cold blood coated the automaton's metal fingers, dripping down its arm in branched streams. A faint purple glow began to radiate from the gem, the ends of the damaged wires sparking with electricity from an unknown source.

 

There, across the ruined village. A bearded figure squinted at the sudden burst of light, walking towards WX-78. It was Wilson, delirious and confused. Finally, finally it could kill him! That familiar hate, the hate only it was capable of, surged through its circuitry as it bounded for the scientist turned madman. The sound of metal against stone echoed throughout the underground expanse as the automaton ran, dropping the purple gem as it closed the distance.

 

Suddenly, it jerked to a halt, throwing its left arm out and balling blood-soaked fingers into a tight metal fist. 2,000 pounds of pressure hammered into Wilson's chest, tearing it asunder. In the seconds before WX-78's fist collided, the scientist managed to utter a name. A name the automaton hadn't heard in what felt like eons.

 

"Wil.. fred?"

 

Tingles ran through its carapace as it watched Wilson's lifeless body slide from its arm to the cold stone floor. Something within its carapace clicked into place as images flashed clearly before its eyes. It could see the village where it was raised, and smell the scent of freshly baked bread that would waft through the small community every morning. It saw the experiments it used to help Wilson with, saw a clean-shaven scientist who gushed about how his work could benefit his fellow man. As quickly as they had arisen, the images faded, making way for the darkness of the Ruins once again. What had it just experienced? Was this what a memory felt like?

 

It could feel the blood that dripped off its metal arm, and for the first time in its existence it felt something other than an all-consuming hate. It felt shame, and it felt fear. It used to be a young man, with ideals and dreams. Now it had become a soulless monster. The flood of these foreign emotions was too much for it to handle. It had to get out, it had to think.

 

After a moment, WX-78 turned and ran back the way it came.

Edited by 23rd
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Dreaming of Electric Bunnies, Pt. 3

Chapter 2 of 3: HOSTILE LIFEFORMS

 

Bloody metal fingers grabbed onto the edges of a large crater, a filthy copper machine pulling itself into the cave system just below the surface. WX-78 didn't know what it was going to do, but it knew it had to get to the surface. It would be able to gather its bearings, make sense of this new and troubling situation. The automaton quickly made a torch scattered materials it had left on its way down, the cackling fire allowing the automaton to see a few feet in front of it. Fortunately, it had memorized the way back, and took off in that direction without hesitation.

 

"Monster.."

 

WX-78 froze in his tracks, casting torchlight in every direction. The acoustics of the cave made it completely impossible to tell what direction the voice had come from. This only exacerbated the automaton's fear, its walk quickening into a jog.

 

"Your crimes can't be forgiven.."

 

The sound of soft-padded footsteps echoed throughout the cave, and soon the sound of more feet followed. The automaton broke into a panicked run, the sound of a stampeding crowd echoing around it. More voices rose from the darkness, their furious screams surrounding the fearful machine.

 

"Killer!" "Murderer!" "We'll dismantle you!" "You'll never escape!" "HE WAS OUR BROTHER!"

 

WX-78 could only keep running, constantly fearful of whatever was chasing it through the dim caverns. It didn't dare to look back.

Edited by 23rd
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Dreaming of Electric Bunnies, Pt. 3

Chapter 3 of 3: INVALID PATHWAY

 

The path in front of WX-78 became clearer as light poured in from the surface. Just up ahead, it could see that glorious coil of rope waiting for it. Safety was only a jump and a climb away. Copper metal fingers curled around the rope as it leaped into the air, quickly putting one hand in front of the other. It could feel the suns rays on its metal, and its climbing quickened in excitement. Its left fingers wrapped themselves around the final knot of the rope.. and slipped, the cold blood covering its metallic hand causing it to lose its grip. Its right hand held firmly to the rope, barely keeping the automaton from falling back into the abyss.

 

Looking down, it finally saw the creatures that had been chasing it as they emerged into the light below. Bunnymen. A horde of Bunnymen, all crowding into the space just underneath the rope. WX-78 watched helplessly as one of them grabbed onto the rope, and with one quick yank the fraying cable came apart at the top. The automaton's metal shell crashed against the ground, several Bunnymen grabbing it and holding it against the stone. As the copper machine's fate became clear, it could see the short white hairs of the horde turning black and greasy, their forms becoming hunched and monstrous.

 

In its final moments, WX-78 could swear it saw one with a gaping chest wound.

Edited by 23rd
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Testing out a new character idea. Feedback appreciated.

 

Wudoi, Thulecian Huntress

 

Under the heat of a brutal sun, Wilson ran for his life. When the dark creature had appeared in Spring, he was well-fitted and armed, able to comfortably fend for himself in the cool rains. Those luxuries had burned away when the seasons changed, and the rising heat left him too disoriented to act reasonably when it first started appearing in the corners of his sight. His mind couldn't accept what his body already knew; there was no way to escape, he was going to die.

 

As Wilson collapsed against the scratchy savanna, he felt the many legs of the crawling monster climb atop him, pinning him down. It was slimy and cold, offering a brief reprieve from the sun before his end came. There were so many things he'd wanted to study. The awe-inspiring giants he'd seen, the vastly accelerated growth rate of the island's trees, and those abandoned ruins far below the surface world.. he'd wanted to study those most of all. The scientist curled into himself as he felt sharp teeth scrape against his neck, slippery black ooze dripping onto his neck.. then he felt the horror atop him pull back.

 

A loud shriek erupted from the translucent terror as it rolled off of Wilson. A dart composed of wildly colorful hues was stuck in the monster's furry backside, a thin pink liquid dripping from the tip. After several agonizing seconds, the shadowy beast collapsed onto the ground. After another few seconds of slack-jawed staring, Wilson looked up to see where the dart had come from. He could hardly believe his eyes. Walking towards him was another actual human being. He had thought he was the only person alive in this hellhole!

 

She was tall, but muscular, her skin a mixture of pale gray and darker grays where the sun beat down upon them. Patchy white hair fell in uneven strands to her shoulders. The pelts of many of the area's harsher beasts were combined together in a sleeved tunic, and around her neck was an orange and gold necklace, rigid angular patterns running across it. He recognized the pattern immediately; thulecite. Energy came from nowhere as Wilson crawled onto his knees, towards the stranger. "You.. you're.."

 

These simple words winded him, and Wilson found himself collapsing forward once again. In between labored breaths he watched as she grabbed the dead nightmare, tearing at it. The horrible carcass lost its mass, forming into shapeless blobs of Nightmare Fuel. Before his very eyes he witnessed her clutch one of the shapeless blobs in her clawed hand, the fuel splitting out into tendrils and coiling around her fingers, absorbing itself into her very being. Before he had the chance to object she grabbed another, pushing the slippery black ooze against his forehead. A sense of dread filled Wilson, but it soon passed as the sensation of cool water touched upon the nerves of his skin. He could feel his lost stamina returning to him, giving him the strength to rise to his feet before the strange huntress.

 

"That was incredible." With his returned stamina came Wilson's natural need to know, and he couldn't help but let the questions spill forth. "You're from the ruins beneath the caves, aren't you? You have to tell me who you are, about your people, about how you can use the fuel like that! We've got so much to discuss! Please, you have to come back to my ca-" Before he finished speaking, Wilson felt a stinging pain in his chest. Looking down, he saw she had pierced him using a black dart with a stinger on the end. As a daze began to sweep over the curious scientist, she spoke, her thick accent distorted and echoey. "You are not ready for the answers, Sky-dweller. Sleep."

 

The last sensation Wilson felt before passing out was his back hitting the ground.

Edited by 23rd
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Wolfgang and his stupid fists are out there, punching monsters

 

I have spent what felt like years on this throne, building and perfecting the Deerclops. I made sure nothing could kill it, not even bullets! Have you ever been shot by a bullet? I have, it's terrible. That guy was a total jerk, ruined my whole show. It turns out nobody tips you when you get shot in the middle of a performance when you're a magician. Maybe it's a good thing I wound up being kidnapped by otherwordly forces and put into an existence of torturous servitude, because at least They don't have a long history of stigma against magicians.

 

Ah, damn it. Where was I? ..Deerclops, right. I'd built that thing to be near invincible, it was supposed to take care of people who survived long enough that I got bored of them! But no, of course the stupidest one has to end up being the strongest. He sees that spears and darts don't work, so what does he do? He punches it. He just balls up his big meaty fist and punches it right in the cornea. And it @#$%ing worked! So now I'm sitting here, trying to figure out why someone who I saw try to eat a rock earlier is proving to be the most difficult challenge since I made this hellhole. I think it's time for a hound wave, I just want to see him dead.

 

Let's see.. I guess I'll send as many as I can. Must be at least fifteen of them running towards him. This'll be fun to watch! Look at him, just standing there while they rush towards him. That hairy simpleton is probably quivering in his shoes right n- they're licking him. He's feeding them jerky and they're licking him.. this is worse than the time they started eating mushrooms. Useless mutts.

 

I hate you, Wolfgang.

  • Like 2
Link to comment
Share on other sites

I stick to my earlier statement. You are, undoubtedly, a writing god. What do I have to sacrifice to be granted your blessing?

A cheesesteak, one copy of Supertroopers and a virgin horse!

Link to comment
Share on other sites

I gotta say fellas, I'm glad to see you're all okay. There's this virus spreading around, it's real rough stuff. It makes the infected go onto Klei forums and post fanfiction about Valve games, like some sorta idiot or somethin'. Just be sure to keep your eyes out for CARRIERS! OH GOD! KEEP IT AWAY FROM ME! NO! N-

 

The Making of a Mercenary

Chapter 1: Helen

 

Sometimes I remember how things used to be, back before these Gravel Wars started. I feel kinda silly even callin' them wars, to be honest. I've always known that they'd just be useless stalemates where she would sit and watch us maniacs tear each other apart, never gaining any sort of real advantage. Honestly, she isn't as bad as most people make her out to be. She seems shady and distant, but I trust her.

 

So, you've always asked me about how I joined the mercenaries.

 

I first met Helen in 1967, one year before I met you and the rest of the team. I was at a.. dark point in my life. Recent financial downfalls had forced me to turn to crime for basic living, and it was a lifestyle I couldn't hope to sustain. I was holed up in a run-down apartment, trying to live my life from one microwave meal to the next; it's something I wouldn't wish on my BLU counterpart. I had two friends back then, rough guys. Chris and Eddie.. they died that day, wasn't any respawn back then. It was supposed to be a simple job, beyond simple. We were going to run into a pizza joint and force the owner to open the safe. Of course, we never expected the owner to be an off-his-meds conspiracy theorist. A short guy with messy hair and a closet full of filthy t-shirts, always covered the Eye of Providence with his thumb when he took cash.. honestly, we should have known sooner. When he saw us park I guess he sensed something malicious, and the ******* went and threw gasoline all around the store. We were already in the door when he dropped the match, screaming about an immortal Abe Lincoln come to rob him of his lifeforce.

 

It would have been kind of funny if it wasn't so tragic.

 

You ever see someone burn to death? Well, of course you have, you see that happen damn near everyday you're on the clock, but we both know BLU ain't really dyin'. Not permanently. It's a lot more traumatic when you know they're not coming back again. It was an act of God that got me out of that burning building that night, and I'm sure the Devil had a hand in me managing to evade the police responders. It's funny how smoke smells different depending on what's burning. Common things will overpower you, making you cough and wheeze, hickory smells a bit like cooking meat, and marijuana has a sweet smell that lounges in the air. But there is one smell that I can't forget, it was waiting for me in the halls of my crummy apartment complex in the wee hours of that terrible night.

 

Nicotine.

 

It was her. Not Pauling, not some impotent lackey without a clue of what they were actually involved in, her. I still remember seeing her in that dark purple coat in the middle of the hallway, waiting for me. It seems like a silly thing to be afraid of now considering who it turned out she was, but I was absolutely petrified at the idea that she was one of the local detectives. Then she spoke. It's truly amazing how she always knows the first thing to say in order to get the ball rolling, and it only took seven words to make me abandon everything and come work for her.

 

"I can make it all work again."

 

Well that was all it took for me to pack up my things and get the hell out of that place. She told me everything I needed to know on the way to New Mexico. A beat cop had seen me escape the pizzeria, figured I was the one who started the fire and escaped just as it did its dirty work. I was one of Texas' most-wanted. Triple-Homicide, Arson, apparently I'd even committed jaywalking during my escape. Did you know jaywalking is a death sentence in Texas? Then again, so is littering. I couldn't go back to Texas, but it didn't matter, because she had a job for me. The pay made robbing even a bank look like nothin' more than peanuts. All I had to do was work for her for a single year, touring America to find this fancy metal.

 

I wish I'd known then how dangerous Australium could be.

Edited by 23rd
  • Like 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
 Share

×
  • Create New...