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 Unsung Tales

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Mesataki
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PostSubject: Unsung Tales   Sun Jan 29, 2012 3:45 am

If you happen to get particularly attached to your character and wrote a story on them - post it here so we can read it. The contents don't have to match up with canon.

Please - nothing explicit. If you must, leave a link, and that's it.

I'm looking forward to what you guys have in store. Smile


Last edited by Mesataki on Tue Jan 31, 2012 1:37 am; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Featuring Redaria:   Sun Jan 29, 2012 4:04 am



"May Stendarr have mercy on you, for the Vigil has none to spare."

There was no fear; just a calmness bourn from the necessity of her work. In a world where sin still lived, there would always be a need for sharp sword and a wielder to deliver justice. She would protect those who have drawn their last breath at blood-stained hands, those who live in fear of the dark, and those whose futures are uncertain under unholy savagery. As long as the order remained; as long as she walked the earth aglow with the sun, she would continue damning the dead back to their graves.

What else did she have?

Her breath formed small clouds in the dawn’s frost, face numbed by the lashing winds. The crunch of snow was met with every step as she walked steadily towards the farm, eyes downcast as she took in the red snow around her. She could smell the icy, iron scent, and were she not weathered by experience, she might have vomited in revulsion of the gore and offal strewn around. The sweet, rotted odor of flesh was not yet present. There was a high probability that the killer lurked nearby.

Sobbing reached her ears.

The quiet gasping of disbelief and grief were familiar to her. Devastation was common in her line of work, though despite all the times she had been made witness to destruction and death – the odd feeling of angered guilt would course through her. Punctuality was a virtue that meant life if had and death if lacking of it – and too often, would she arrive too late. Her jaw tightened as she clenched her teeth. Someone would pay for this.

She followed the façade of the vacant building closely, the brittle ice underneath her feet helping very little. With one hand, she drew her greatsword – the other hand found its way on the wall, carefully leading her to the source. Sweat beaded on her forehead, giving evidence to her anxiety, but she had not trembled as she had on the first hunt. She rounded the corner

A girl sat in the snow – face blue from the cold and eyes red from sorrow. A grimace hardened the line of her mouth, brows knitting together as she observed. The girl could not have been older than fifteen, but that did not spare her from the vigilant’s notice of her nakedness or the blood stains around her mouth and hands.

She approached, taking no precautions in disguising her presence. There was no point to it anyway.

The girl jolted from her mourning, looking up with alarm and fear. Wide eyes glanced anxiously at the heavy greatsword in the vigilant’s hand. “Who are you?” she asked timidly, quailing under the woman’s presence.

“Do not fear me,” she spoke. “I am here to save you.”

Tears flooded her eyes. “Save me? How can you – I killed my family,” she said. “You should leave – for your own safety, I beg of you.”

“Sh…” she shushed, taking slow steps forward. “Everything will be fine.”

“I killed and ate them - you shouldn’t touch me!” she warned again. “I-I could turn any moment now.”

“The sun is up,” the woman spoke plainly. “You will not turn. Let me help you.” The vigilant kneeled before the girl, offering open arms. She did not let go of her sword.

The girl faltered for a moment – trying to read expressionless green eyes for any sort of danger. Emotion clouded her judgment instead, and she gave in easily, her conscience begging for comfort. The woman held her as she cried, closing her own eyes as she mouthed a silent prayer to the dusty skies.

With frail arms wrapped tightly around her waist, the vigilant pressed the girl’s head to her own shoulders, allowing her a place to rest. For a moment, the two sat in the cold – the younger pressing against the reconciling warmth. Perhaps everything would be alright.

“What’s your name, child?” the vigilant asked quietly.

“I’m Kili,” she answered, stifling a sob. “But everyone called me ‘Li’ for short.”

“I see. I’ll remember that.”

Before the girl could react, her head was wrenched back onto cold silver. There was no time to feel the burn of the sacred metal – the woman had already maneuvered the blade into the girl’s neck and in one – clean movement a small head rolled the the ground, blood mingling with the already red-drenched snow.

There was a pregnant silence as she regarded the body, her face impassive as she collected her thoughts.

“I am,” she spoke softly to the severed head, the lifeless eyes tranquil, “the Red Vigilant of Stendarr. I am sorry that this had to happen, but there is no other way. Unlike the others who have fallen by my blade, you will receive a proper funeral.”

From one victim to another.
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PostSubject: Re: Unsung Tales   Tue Jan 31, 2012 12:29 am

Aventus cursed loudly as he came to a rolling stop at the bottom of the steep hill. He immediately began struggling to his feet, muttering curses as he tried to fight off the dizziness caused from rolling down the snowy slope. He was barely to his feet when movement from the periphery of his vision caught his attention.

His eyes darted in that direction, but the lack of light from the new moon and the shadows cast by the nearby trees stopped his field of vision at the tree line. The Imperial mumbled a few more words under his breath, but they were quickly lost to the growing wind. As he watched the tree line, a figure, illuminated by the light of a torch, broke through the darkness.

Aventus shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he waited for the figure, which looked to be woman, to reach him. As the figure moved closer, he was able to determine that it was, indeed, a woman, and quite a beautiful one at that. Well, from what he could tell via the torchlight flickering off her face.

“I suppose that you’re the cause of all that racket a minute ago?” The woman asked once she was close enough to be heard over the wind.

He glanced back at the long trench he had left in the hillside. “I suppose you could say that, but, personally, I blame the hill. It‘s a tricky bastard.”

She chuckled as she raised the torch slightly to cast more light on the hill behind him. “That hill always gave me a bad feeling, now I know why.” She paused and flashed a small smile before lowering the torch and continuing. “My name’s Alea Ice-Mane. If you don‘t mind me asking, what are you doing out on the roads after dark?”

“Ah, right. Strange man shows up on a dark and windy night equals the start of a lot of horror campfire stories. Well, the name’s Aventus Varro. I’m actually on my way to Falkreath for a business deal, but this is my first time to Skyrim so I believe I managed to get myself a little lost. You wouldn’t happen to know how to get there, would you?”

“Aye, but it’s another hour’s walk north from here. I wouldn’t recommend trying to get there tonight though. If the cold doesn’t kill you, then the creatures that lurk the night will.”

He shivered as a strong gust of wind plowed through the area. “I believe you.”

The woman frowned and studied him for a few seconds before motioning her head in the direction she had come from. “If you want, you can stay the night at my house. I just wouldn’t feel right sending you out into this mess.”

Aventus smirked. “A beautiful woman who lives out in the middle of the woods offering me lodging for the night? Sounds almost too good to be true. You’re not going to knock me out and turn me into a big tasty stew, are you?”

She chuckled and flashed another small smile. “I hadn’t planned on it, but, now that you mention it, that does sound like a good idea.”

He smiled and took a step forward. “You know, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be a stew, so I guess it’s a win-win either way.”

Alea laughed and shook her head as she turned around and started back towards her cottage. He took a few steps after her before stopping. “Oh, I forgot something.”

She glanced back at him. “What?”

“I don’t deal with Bal‘s bastard children.” He spat out. Alea didn’t have a chance to react before she was engulfed in a torrent of flames sent forth from Aventus’ hands. The Imperial lowered his hands after a few seconds and allowed the magical flames to die out. He sneered at the smoldering ashes of the vampire before making his way to the abomination’s house to escape the elements.

Mid afternoon the next day he set out for Falkreath to start his search for the Skyrim chapter of the Vigilant of Stendarr, leaving the burning visage of the deceased vampire’s house behind him.
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PostSubject: Re: Unsung Tales   Fri Feb 03, 2012 3:25 pm

Dar'savi: The First assassination
It was a warm summer's night a lone khajiit moves through the backallys of the upper class parts of of Solitude. She was dressed in little more than rags and a cloak, her clothes were dirty alluding to a life in the streets and two shivs where in her pockets. She stopped when she came upon a house, almost identical to the others around it but to the Khajiit this was a special place. She had spent mouths of staking out, stalking the home's occupants and planing to fulfill a particular motive, revenge.

Taking out a angled piece of wood she had taken from a craftsman's scrap pile, and jammed it under the door to prevent any escape. Climbing up a lamppost she then leaped up to the upper most window and into an attic. Moving silently in the attic she could hear her targets below, talking and laughing and having a good time. She sat up thier listening to them for a while before going down.

The sound of her footsteps made all noise from the table ceased and all eyes were all on the stranger coming down the stairs. "Who are you?" The head of the household shouted at her "What is the meaning of this?"

"You don't remember me? Pity,I've kept you all in my memory all my life" Dar'savi said with a chuckle as she reached the landing, a toothy grin showing from under the cloak.

The head of the house growled "If that's true then show yourself!" he damaned

"Very well" She said and ripped off the cloak earning wide eyes and gasps.

"The cat!" the judge gasped

"Yes, and you are all rat's in my trap" She said before taking her shivs out and stabbing the nearest person to her. What followed was the khajiit cutting up the familiy and the judge untill the youngest remained a firve year old boy crying and shaking with fear, like her all those years ago.

"Don't care litle one," she said carressing the lad's cheak smearing the family's blood on his face "All I was doing was what your family did to mine. Now go tell the guards if you wish" She told him before escaping out a window leaving it open for the boy.

It didn't take long for the massacre spread over Solitude than the rest of Skyrim, News soon reached the Dark Brotherhood and the rest is history.
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PostSubject: Re: Unsung Tales   Fri Feb 10, 2012 3:01 pm

The Last...


His tongue darted over his lips in anticipation. This was the last. The last of the group of bandits who had ripped his mother and sisters away from him. He had only been twenty-five, a fledgeling in every sense of the word. Sure he could handle himself if against two or three people, but not a group of seven seasoned bandits. No, but he held them off for as he could before telling them to run while he ran to the guards. If only he had been faster...

So here he was, six years later, exacting the last of his revenge at the tender age of thirty-one. He had been a creature of the night for the past thirteen years, long enough to learn how to hunt effectively. It had definitely helped in tracking down the murderous scum who had taken his remaining family. He had dealt with the pawns first, they were the easiest after all, but now... now he hunted the leader.

He had been harder to find than the others. Whether that was because he had more experience than his group, or because he had caught wind of his former members being slaughtered in their homes with their families, Alaric neither knew nor cared. All he wanted was for the Bandit King, Rolok, to pay for the pain he'd caused in his life, and if he caused a little pain to Rolok along the way... well that was just icing on the sweetroll...

He crouched on the roof of Rolok's cabin. He and all his family were inside, laughing, it made Alaric sick to his stomach that he had the gall to enjoy mirth and laughter and a family after all he had done! The unfurled scroll of mass paralysis flapped gently in the wind. He had planned this for several weeks, and searched for the scroll he needed even longer. He licked his lips again, already tasting the sweetness of their blood, the satisfaction of his family avenged, and the look of horror that was sure to be spread across Rolok's face... That would be the sweetest of all...

A green light pulsed as he finished the incantation, the entire cabin being engulfed in the freezing light. He heard thuds beneath him, telling him that he had done it correctly. He had about ten minutes, ten minutes in which to prepare for that which might possibly be the best night of his almost immortal life...

"Ahhh! Hello, Rolok, you disgusting dog, you festering sore on the face of Nirn! Do you remember me? Oh, come on! Surely you jest! It was about six years ago, you and yours raided a farm on the outskirts of Whiterun? You killed MY MOTHER AND MY SISTERS!!! Surely you haven't forgotten?" He tied the man to a chair as he talked, venom dripping off of every word, every word fueling Alaric's rage and passion for the act which he was about to do. An act which after the six previous victims was down to a science...

Once the 'bandit king' was secured, he bound his wife and children as well, placing them across from the man. Alaric drew the curtains and shutters while he waited, it wouldn't be long now, it wouldn't be long until screams of anguish filled the air...

A slight shuffling reached his ears, a sign that the magic had worn off, followed by a shudder of unbelief "No! It can't be... Please, don't do this! I was young, I - "

"As was I, you vile filth! How dare you ask for mercy!" He paused "But since I am merciful..."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!"

"I will grant you the same mercy that you gave to my family..."

"Please! No! I'll do anything! Just please! Don't hurt them!"

"Oh! So you do value them more than yourself! This makes things even sweeter than I imagined them." A dark chuckle permeated the last few words before he moved over to the bandit's family. "Sssso... which one of thessse do you love the mossst?" His now elongated fangs gleamed in the candlelight and caused his voice to come out in an eerie hiss. "Isss it your beloved wife?" He asked, stroking her now tear-stained cheek and lowering his head so close to her neck that he could feel her heartbeat across the gap. "No? Perhaps this one then?" The girl shrieked as Alaric lifted her into the air, and he laughed in triumph as Rolok strained against his bonds. "Ah! We have a winner! Your oldessst, no? I think I'll sssave this one for lassst... Perhapsss I'll even turn her and make her my bride. Yesss, I think that will be mossst gratifying..." His voice was laced with lust, an act of course, but it would serve him well in causing the maximum amount of pain to the bandit king...

He picked up the youngest, a boy and placed him on his father's lap. "Tell him it will be okay, Rolok. Tell him he will be okay... TELL HIM!" The man whispered the phrase. "LOUDER!" Alaric demanded him.

"Please don't do this... He'll be twelve this fall... Please don't-"

"TELL... HIM... NOW!"

"It'll be alright, Dolan... You'll be alright..."

"That'sss better, Rolok! Good blood-thirsssty bandit, you. Hmm... Now that I mention it, I am a little thirsssty. Yesss, all of thisss talk of revenge hass parched my throat. I think I Ssshall remedy that..." The boy's blood flowed freely down his throat and his parent's cried in anguish as they watched him. Sucking sounds filled the air as he finished the boy off. "Ahhh... that wasss refressshing!" he said contentedly as he discarded the body unceremoniously. "Now the 'little woman'! Dance with me, darling! You'll enjoy thisss, Rolok..." He grabbed a bottle of mead from the table and raised the blubbering wife and mother to her feet. He uncorked the bottle and took a slow draught before forcing her to drink as well.

He forced her to dance with him in front of her husband, every now and then making her drink the potent mead. Soon she was drunk to the point she didn't know what was going on. She began commenting on Alaric's looks, his beautiful cheekbones, his brilliant smile, his smell. The look in Rolok's eyes as his wife grabbed Alaric's rear made him laugh long and loud. This is what he lived for. The death, destruction, and crushed spirits of his enemies. He threw his cloak over Rolok, hiding him from the his drunken wife, "My dear, what would your husssband say about usss?"

"What husband? *hic* You mean Rolok? That unfaithful, dirty, smelly, pig who doesn't even try to make me happy? I don't care what he thinks... *hic* I only want you... I only ever want you, my lovely..."

That was what he was hoping for. It had only worked three times, but it was wonderful when it did. The cloak was ripped off so he could see Rolok's face. Hurt. Betrayal. Rage. All were present and Alaric drank it in deeply before bringing a hidden dagger across the woman's throat. "Ssso, Rolok, how do you feel about that? How doesss it feel to ssslowly lossse everything? You only have one thing left, but I'm about to take her too..."

He looked away from Rolok, to the girl in the corner right where he left her. She was quite lovely on the eyes... maybe he would keep her. His eyes flashed green as he exerted his vampiric powers over her. She had a weak spirit and would be easily controlled; she would make a fine matron for him once he had tamed her. He would not make the mistake his forbear made... "Come, my love... ssstand up." A small flame flew to the ropes that bound her and they fell away under the heat. The girl, who couldn't be more than seventeen rose from the floor and took her place at Alaric's side.

He looked down to her, "Ssshow him how you feel..." He smiled a horrible, torturous smile as Rolok's daughter began to kiss his neck and cheek while her father watched, muttering an occasional 'I love you' and 'I am yours, my love'. He leaned down only for her to place her lips on his, eliciting a roar of anger, agony, and anguish from her father. Alaric broke the kiss, smirking and looking directly a Rolok before plunging his ivory fangs into the girl's neck and letting them linger, the venom of vampirism now coursing through her blood stream.

"Not my Morla, not my little girl..." he sobbed. "CURSE YOU! CURSE YOU, YOU VILE UNDEAD MONSTER! I HOPE THE VIGILANTS FIND YOU, AND WHEN THEY DO, I HOPE THEY REND YOU IN HALF!"

"Oh, my Rolok, my dear... sssweet... Rolok. Do you not underssstand I have only evened the balanccce? In fact, it ssstill leansss your way, meaning I'm not yet finissshed. Yesss, your wife and ssson are dead, and your daughter ssshall be my eternal lover, but I am sssooo far from done with you..."

Alaric's hands waved over the bodies of Rolok's family while channeling the power of the Ritual Stone, yet another part of his elaborate plan of revenge. The boy stood first, his once indigo flesh as pale as snow, the blood which supplied color to him now having been drained. The children's mother rose a few seconds after, the sloppy gash in her now neck flowing anew. Both of them turned to Alaric and let loose a chorus of "Master..."

Alaric smiled at Rolok's pain, drinking it in once more. This truly made him feel good inside, causing him pain. It made him feel complete. He laughed deeply as he handed the thralls a dagger each. "Make him pay for letting you die! But do it slowly..." He pulled a chair over to watch the show, the young boy and his mother descending on a screaming Rolok. Alaric pulled Morla over to him and placed her at his feet and joy coursed through him as she laughed at the display.

Soon Rolok lay dead, still tied to the chair, and the thralls were cutting a mere corpse. He looked down at Morla and rose, he could see that she was not as weak as he thought, the shock was starting to fade along with his influence. "You have outlived your usefulness..." he muttered as he grabbed his cloak and made for the door. He knocked over the oil from a lamp on his way out and slammed the door behind him. He smirked once more, his mission of vengeance complete. He mounted his horse and surveyed the cabin, Morla's sad face staring out at him. "If you love me, cassst flamesss at the floor..." He watched in amusement as the young Dunmer unknowingly set she and the corpses of her family ablaze, the oil he spilled causing the whole cabin to erupt... "I do love a bonfire in the evening..."
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Twisting Beliefs

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PostSubject: Pessimism   Sun Feb 19, 2012 10:18 pm

Once upon a time, there was a strange race. They did not live long, but they did breed like rabbits. Some of the strange race, called Men, lived in a land (called the Starry Heart of Dawn's Beauty, henceforth referred to as Tamriel). Some became service of the true masters of the land. And a few lucky ones became part of the master race's bloodline. In time though, the master race lost their power. Partially, this was the cause of the master race deviating away from the correct form (some more than others- the modern-day Orismer, for starters), but mostly it was because Men had instead become rulers of Tamriel, and took command by force. The master race never truly recovered from the blow.
But, there is proof that Men will be doomed to vanish from history, thus allowing the master race to become dominant once again. Naturally, they are short-lived and have only survived due to breeding. If, one day, some sort of disease were spread only to Men that left them infertile, their extinction would be immediate. What of their monuments though? The human additions of the White-Gold Tower, the damned Redguards buildings, and Skyrim. SKYRIM! The land is a very mockery, and they caused a group of mer to go through a transformation that resulted in their souls lessening. A mer without a black soul- bah! IT'S FUC-

Faire crumbled up the parchment and threw it to the side of her desk. Her teacher stood up, looking at the rowdy pupil first, then the 2 other Elves wondering what Faire, did, and then the parchment. The teacher, watching the scenario play out, walked to the paper, knelt, and read the contents.

"Faire, why did you quit and crumble your work? If not for the anger and choice words, you would have had a wonderful paper."
"...I don’t want to go."
"Faire, the Bosmer are good for us, and your family leaving for them is best for the Dominion."
"Bah. Stupid Bosmer don't need the Dominion."
"Faire, you are a smart mer. You will learn much in your time there."
"Time with cannibals?"
"Hm…." the teacher then fished about in his pocket, and found a necklace. It wasn't worth much, but he did think the meta-meaning of it all would help with Faire. "Take this necklace," the teacher said. "With it, you will always remember this place, and know your roots. Remember that."
"What of my essay?"
"With what you had, it's an excellent essay." The teacher picked up the parchment, and wrote such on said parchment. He then proceeded to hang it on the wall. "Remember, Faire." A smile crept across the mer's face.
"I will, master. I will." If there was ever a heartwarming moment, it was this one.

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PostSubject: Re: Unsung Tales   Fri Mar 09, 2012 12:11 pm

An End of Life

Pain
Immense pain.
It had increased since escaping, the pain. Smoke smelled, yet it was freezing. Blood laid everywhere, more of it out than in. Faire looked upon her mess, trying not to freak out like she did in that… that… place. She never realized where it was, and any chance to have the Dominion to destroy them was gone All she saw was a black hand… wait… a black hand?
Faire took in some breath. She had heard of them; even in Valenwood. She had been taken into a Dark Brotherhood hideout. And had effectively pissed them off. If they found her, there would be a fate worse than death.
Faire rubbed her eyes, not crying, yet still worried.
The Sun came up. Normally, Faire would be glad for the morning, but… she felt weak. Absolutely, pitifully, weak. She looked at herself. Bits of some sort of table that was not thrown at her (possibly pieces of the one that the Altmer landed on) were poking out of her. Blood was all over them, and they would kill her sooner. She picked out each bloody piece, one by one. Her already tattered robe, cut by the Blizzard and fried from the sparksAltmer had thrown at her, sacrificed what was left of the sleeve up to her forearm, using cloth strips as a way to hold back the bleeding.
The urge to scream increased twofold; it did drop back down eventually to lower levels than before, much to Faire's relief. Looking at her now bare arm, she wondered at the injuries she didn't notice. It was trembling, likely from the Chain Lightning spell, and the arm color was slightly ruined from Fire Storm, but that would heal with time. It was where she was burnt that bothered her the most. That hot poker had completely made the skin brackish and foul like marsh-water, and there was some fabric that was attached like a ring around it. Her forearm was worse than her head's looks, and now she would be with it forever likely, as a reminder of what happened.
The night came, and Faire fell asleep, feeling about the same as she woke up when she came asleep. As she fell asleep, she became thirsty; for what she did not know, but she hadn't eaten anything other than a few nearby berries. Perhaps that had something to do with it.
Faire woke up, and the pain was worse, having gotten little rest. It was noon, and she felt weaker, despite her long sleep. The poison was getting worse, and she felt like swords were piercing her, rather than needles from earlier. Her body seemed to be in a worse state, with her two dagger wounds from her orcish daggers being major offenders. She still felt fried and freezing at the same time, likely from all the fire, frost, and lightning spells. Faire attempted to stand up, but couldn't. In the end, it was decided to stay, and heal, trying to clean herself up. The end of the day went by in painful monotony, feeling thirstier than before again.
The pain was truly a thousand hammers as Faire awoke. It was nighttime, yet she still felt thirstier than ever. Faire attempted to stand, but was too weak and injured. Her running out had ruined her leg muscles. She was stuck here, and the poison was getting worse and worse. With no escape, Faire tried to keep on fighting. She could live, she could live, she could live….
A scream sounded in the forests outside Falkreath; it was later described like a banshee's voice breaking glass and having said glass scratch marble. Faire screamed as the pain got worse and worse, her voice becoming louder and more terrifying, and… it ended.
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