The Neophyte's Ring [Open]

"I know. Skyrim has been my home for centuries."

"You certainly fooled me," Alistair muttered. The mage didn't seem like much of a village elder type if he was willing to use fireballs and daggers to kill someone whose only crime was attempted thievery. He followed the Dunmer with the body in his arms, carrying the man like he would a baby - albeit a heavy one. As convenience would have it, the two ended up at the Hall of the Dead. Alistair would have just thrown the body into the sewers of Riften, but he supposed this worked just as well - and maybe a bit more respectfully.

He rested the body gently on one of the concrete slabs, noting with disgust that his chest and right shoulder were covered with blood. Alistair moved his cloak and dropped the hood, wearing it sideways in order to cover up the bloodstains and most of his right side. It was a bit of an odd fashion, but bloodstains tended to be a bit more obvious and notable than wearing your cloak mostly over one shoulder. "Call me Alistair," he replied, "as such is my name. And what should I call you? 'Dunmer mage' isn't particularly descriptive."

As Lucas was travelling down the road on the way to Makarth, he stopped for a moment, a wolf was headed in his direction, and it was pissed off. Knowing he had to stop it, he took his bow from his back and pulled an arrow from his quiver, aiming down at the wolf. "Be welcoming to death's cold embrace." He fired the shot, landing just under the right eye of the vulpes. His arrow had smashed the skull of the animal, piercing the brain. He continued past it, putting his bow back onto his back.

Sicarius came across Dushnikh Yal, somewhere he hadn't been in quite some time. Perhaps Lash is still here. He entered the stronghold, and to his shock, she was nowhere to be seen. Lash had traveled to Orsinium, her native land. However, their relationship wasn't especially romantic, so he held no qualms.

Makarth was a short journey, and he made it with ease. "Now, what to do while I'm here?" He began walking up the stone steps to the gate, pushing the bronze beast to the side and entering the city limits.

Alistair gave the elf a "nice to meet you" kind of nod and a bit of a grunt. Modyn. Seemed like a typical Dunmer's name. He still didn't like the man all that much, yet, but that was just a side effect of a (well, mostly) reasonless killing and a reasonless fireball.

He followed Modyn rather curiously as the elf moved towards the keep, wondered why for a few moments until it hit him. Was Modyn really going to try to explain away stabbing a man to the Jarl?

Well, Alistair supposed a moment later, it seemed he was. "I killed the thief, because if I did not, I would be the corpse resting in the Hall of the Dead," announced Modyn to the Jarl.

The Breton had to fight to keep his laughter from filling the chamber; there wasn't much farther from the truth. The very idea of petty thievery was to take what someone else had without harming them, and the thief in the streets had done just that - with no harm to Modyn's person, just his purse. Not that Alistair would say so, of course. He could hardly be called truthful where similar matters were concerned; he'd lied his heart out to get out of a lengthy prison sentence more than once. And, like the Dunmer or no, Alistair didn't exactly see fit to sell out his fellow criminal. He'd done nothing to Alistair besides draw attention to him, and such was not worth sending him to the gallows.

"An excellent argument," he muttered to Modyn. Hardly one that Alistair would have used; he felt like some halfway lighthearted ribbing was in order "Why don't you complement his choice of attire while you're at it?"

He resolved to just leave town the next time something like this happened anyway. It wasn't worth the hassle, but for now he'd back up his... acquaintance--friend seemed just a bit off--for now. Until weapons were drawn, at least; there was little sense risking his life for someone he hardly knew.

Lucas had entered Makarth once more, a beautiful Dwemer city. Such artefacts were few and far between now, but experienced smiths could manufacture items that were almost exact to the old Dwarven pieces. He pulled down his cowl and looked around, the daytime of the city was a bustling metropolis. Upon seeing his reflection in a mirror, he stopped and thought to himself What must be shall be. He must help those who cannot help themselves, to defend the weak from the strong. Although it wasn't a glorious profession, being a rogue, it was a profession he enjoyed. After all, death is beauty.

He spent the next night in Makarth, before making his way to Solitude. Oh clickety clack, oh clickety clack; the wagon it complains. The repetitive noise slowly put him to rest, the first time he had slept without being exhausted.

[Alright, it's been around a month since anyone's posted here and like three weeks since Yersia's even logged in. Do we want to skip him or call the thread dead or something?]

Meanwhile, in a distant place.

Wolf clans had a tendency to fight each other. In fact, it was such a common thing they would even host tournaments specifically for blood shed.

One such clan were known as the Fyre Dwellers, mystic werewolves capable of breathing fire and withstanding extremely harsh conditions. While revered for their combat prowess, they were also somewhat hated. So much, that constant attacks and thievery would become a problem for them.

One such act of thievery, of a precious artefact, would lead to an all-out war possibly spanning across the entirety of the Wolf territories, leading through Skyrim, Cyrodiil and even Morrowind.

The artefact was taken by a young hunter by the name of Oetis, who, until recently, has trekked across multiple regions to reach his destination: an old gypsy werewolf who lived in Skyrim. That was, until he was killed by a mountain troll, and an unsuspecting Argonian took possession of the artefact...

~~

Thrives was left confused by his vision, but continued to tail the two people he saw in Riften. He knew the potential destinies of the two, and so he would stop at no means to help them, help him.

Taking Modyn out of this.