From Beyond Oblivion and Back: Skyrim [Uriel Seraphim x Marxist Panda]

[Uriel Seraphim]

Skyrim is once again in peril.

50 years after the death of the Dragonborn, a rift has opened through which a Dwemer and his vast armies have come. Nchylam Stunguard, driven insane by his years exposed to the dark magic’s of Oblivion has returned to claim the nation of Skyrim, and later the world, as his own. The rift was opened in Winterhold and Nchylam’s armies captured it quickly. Within only a few months, both Dawnstar and Winterhelm also fell to his ruling. It has been six months now, and not a single word has come out of those Strongholds, and no one who has dared to enter is said to have survive the journey. Those who stayed behind have become tainted, worshiping Nchylam as a Demi-God while succumbing to the darkness leaking through the rift Nchylam is keeping open.

Though things seem dark, there is rumor of an artifact left behind deep within Alftand, a large Dwemer ruin southwest of Winterhold. The Bards sing tales of an artifact with the ability to close rifts and mend the damage done by the dark magic of Oblivion and the other worldly planes, banishing the madness such travels may leave behind. Few, however, are brave enough (or stupid enough) to go in search of it deep within Nchylam’s territory. Warriors and Mages of every creed and patriotic citizens have flocked to Whiterun to build an army strong enough to at least stave off Nchylam’s armies from advancing any further into Skyrim. With every passing day, more people flock to the city. But Whiterun was not built to hold so many people leaving many living in shanty towns outside the safety Fortress’ walls.

For now, the Fortresses Solitude, Markarth, Falkreach and Riften have been deemed safe, though few people have decided to stay within the Fortress Solitude. Riften itself has become the home for most Brutes, Bards and Thieves, a place of moral decay amongst troubles times. It is here that our tale begins…

The Territory Map:
http://i1030.photobucket.com/albums/y363/haser101/SkyrimRPMap.jpg
Red = Nchylam Stunguard Territory
Blue = The Front Line - Warrior Territory
Green = The Safe Lands
Yellow = Abandoned/Unclaimed/Neutral Territory.



(Yes, the recolor failed. But you get the general idea.)

Yllaonna sat alone at the Bee and Barb nursing a bottle of Meade. Beside her, three seats remained empty despite the hordes of people jostling around and trying to find somewhere comfortable to relax during such turbulent events. She smiled to herself and leaned against the wall, her seat turned to the side so she could use its back and the table as arm rests, legs propped up on the chair across from her. Yllaonna wasn’t sure if it was her heavy armor, the two handed hammer strapped to her back or the grimace she gave to every passerby who looked at one of the free seats, but for some reason the Bee and Barbs patrons decided to leave her in peace.

Normally, she was not so unaccommodating. But tonight was not one reserved for the friendly banter she would normally otherwise enjoy. No, tonight was merely a night of rest before heading off to search for Alftand, a Dwemer ruin somewhere in the mountains towards the south east of Winterhold. It was a suicide mission, one she would surely pay for with her life. But if the Bards tales were true and the Artifact existed… her life in exchange for a world set right would be a bargain.

The elderly drunk Bard standing in the corner sang of such things now, of a perilous journey filled with bloodshed and nightmares, of a treasure few would dare seek with the ability to close all rifts and mend the broken souls of those whom had returned. Yllaonna longed for such an adventure, for something worthy of her attention and desires. She was not afraid, her father had taught her Nords were never afraid to bleed for their homeland. It is how she lived, how she intended to carry on his memory after being captured and turned mad by Nchylam and the dark influence he had carried in through the rift. Even if she could not banish the darkness from his mind, she would die content knowing it was in sacrifice to his lineage and her motherland.

She took another swig and sighed at the bitter sweet taste. Soon she say goodbye to such luxuries, to the beautiful secrets her Skyrim held. All in the search for lost treasures and to feel the weight of her Hammer as it broke open the bodies of those who dare stand in her way. If asked, Yllaonna would not admit her bloodlust. But it was something all Warrior’s shared, the desire to feel something fall to the wrath of your anger and strength, to have it splatter at the end of your weapon and bathe in their weakness.

She laughed, “Ah war, thou art a troublesome Mistress.”

[Marxist Panda]

"War and greed seem to be the only true loves for the beings of this realm." The voice came from her flank and a short cloaked figure sat in one of the chairs beside her. The being brushed back his hood to reveal himself, and his blood red eyes turned to regard the Nord female. He was a Bosmer of light skin and white hair that was closely cut on the sides but kept at finger's length in the middle. A crimson facial tattoo ran across his eyes and down his angular cheeks until coming to a point near his jaw.  The few people that knew the young wood-elf referred to him as the Sabercat for his sleek, predatory appearance.

Seeing a new patron the barmaid came to him and he ordered mead, as if there was really anything else to drink here in Skyrim. While he waited for his drink he shrugged back his cloak so that it hung on the chair he sat in, and pulled the quiver off his back and sat it in front of him on the table. His bow, which remained on his shoulder, was a masterfully crafted Ebony item. Such a weapon was something one would expect to see on the shoulder of a Bosmer, though the dagger on his hip appeared to be made of simple iron.

When the barmaid came with his flagon he paid her from one of the many pouches that arrayed his dark boiled leather armor. The young Argonian took his coin and went off to seek other patrons. The elf sat back in his chair and took a healthy drink of his mead. It was said that the Black-Brier Mead was the best in Skyrim, but he had yet to drink enough of it to really tell, and the Bosmer wondered how much of the popularity was forced. He'd only been in Riften for a few nights, but he was all too familiar with the signs of corruption. Regardless, Riften was his kind of city.

War and greed were the very reasons he came to Skyrim. He was the kind of being that made profit from war. Stealing, killing, the political intrigue that went on between the people of Skyrim even though they had a common enemy to fight against were all reasons a person like him could make coin. The beings of Nirn weren't all that much unlike the Daedric Lords they shunned so intensely.

[Uriel Seraphim]

She eyed the creature who sat down beside her skeptically, frowning somewhat at the discomfort of being disturbed. "War in our position to defend our land is at least an honorable stance to hold," she said. Greed, what a stupid thing to love. Why love something that would only serve one's own desires?  He was a selfish creature then, Yllaonna supposed. She stared at the man who had braved a seat beside her and took in his appearance. A Wood Elf no doubt, perhaps a Mercenary or Thief, either one would not be far stretch of the imagination. He was rough looking, as if frayed around the edges, worn away and built up by self importance. With merely a few glances, Yllaonna was sure she knew everything about him she needed to. Yllaonna took a sip of her mead and set it back in the table. She watched, curiously as he order his mead and sat without the desire to speak. 'Quite little creature this one, the quiet ones are always troublesome.' When the Bar Maid returned with his drink, and he did not leave as she assume he would, Yllaonna's more displeasing mannerisms peaked.

She leaned forward some in her chair and stuck him with a glare loathsome enough to frighten off most brutes, "You think you're of great enough importance to sit at my table, Elf?" she scoffed and flicked her hand in the air as if to dismiss whatever response he may present her, "Best be off with you and your small mindedness, least it rub off on me and my travels." She returned her attention to her Mead and listened closely to the Bards musing tales.

[Marxist Panda]

If there was anything he specifically enjoyed about Skyrim it was the women.  Nord women were hard and strong, and just as temperamental as the men, but oftentimes more intelligent. The Bosmer smiled slightly, showing a row set of sharp teeth. Few people actually knew about the Bosmer Green Pact, as most of the wood elves that moved to other provinces abandoned it. Did this Bosmer still consume his enemies?

"I now understand why all these seats are empty, yet there are beings standing or leaning against the wall." The elf paused to take another drink. "Funny that you call me small minded. Do you really think that the great Nord leaders that fight against the Dwemer invasion are only concerned about protecting Skyrim? I assure you that while they fight a common enemy they have knives aimed at each other's backs." He was testing the waters now. Maybe he wanted to see some of that famous Nord passion. In truth he found the Nords to be the most true and loyal of all the races. Xenophobic and racist, but they had their reasons, just as his own people had their own reasons. The truth of the matter, however, was that power corrupts. The Jarls of Skyrim play political games while their soldiers die in the name of their motherland.

He found her roughness attractive, really. Weak, subservient women made him ill. While he respected the woman before him, he was pushing her buttons for his own amusement.

[Uriel Seraphim]

 She smirked, so he did have a spine. Well, at least that was something admirable, unlike most she had come across after abandoning Whiterun for a more promising solution to their strife. His words had made him seem brash though, and quick to insult. It was an interesting trait, though she wondered if his motives were the same as her own; simply to test and probe to find the truth of the others temperament. She turned to face him more, her fresh water eyes peaking out behind flowing platinum blonde hair that fell gently about her face. The contrast between her gruff nature yet soft appearance too jarring for most to admire.

"I did not compare you to Nords, Wood Elf; I harbor no ill will towards your kind in and of itself as many my Kinsman do. I compared you to myself; believe me, they are much higher standards to uphold." Yllaonna sneered as she glanced at some of the Nords standing about the bar, "They are not true Nords if they do not value the happiness of Skyrim above their own skins or the coins in their pocket." She murmured, "I would rather gut them all myself for the shameful mark they have left here in the hour of Skyrim's need."

She drank from her bottle, draining the last of its contents and hailing the Bar Maid over to bring her another. She glanced at him and made it obvious she was examining his worth, "You may stay, at least you are not so cowardly as to break beneath a single testing word." She chuckled quietly to herself, "You'd be surprised how many men break beneath the blow of a simple insult." She sighed and retrieved a few coins for the Bar Maid as the Mead was sat down before her.

[Marxist Panda]

He was very pleased indeed by her following remark, though he was expecting a table to be thrown and the demand for unarmed combat. She only served to justify his thoughts on the intelligence of Nord women, however.

Pleased, he smiled and finished his mead, ordering another as she did. He paid the maid again and continued drinking. "I am harder to break than I appear. And you are more collected and reasonable than some of your kinfolk." Now that the waters have been tested, it was only fitting to return her compliment. He'd always excelled at understanding people of other races. It may have been learned or innate, but it was a valuable skill in his line of work.

He was silent for a moment, regarding the young Nord that sat beside him, mostly out of his peripheries, even though it was hard to see exactly where he was looking due to the depth of color of his eyes and the dim lighting. He assumed that she had followed in her father's warrior footsteps. Perhaps because the two got along, or because her mother had died when she was young. He figured that she looked a great deal like her mother, too, judging by the fact that she made no attempt to hide her natural beauty, and likely wore it proudly. This led him to believe that the woman before him was passionately vengeful in the pursuit of bringing honor to her parents who were likely both dead.

Slowly, he reached his slender hand out to her with his fingers curled slightly, showing her that he wished to grasp gauntlets in greeting, "My name is Thoron. And for what reason do you bring your hammer to bear, if not for greed?" His tone was not condescending, and part of him was truly curious, but another part just wanted to know how much of his deduction was accurate.

[Uriel Seraphim]

She smirked and grasped his gauntlet in greeting. "Thoron" She repeated, "I am Yllaonna." Again, he had surprised her, both knowing and offering the proper greeting to a Nord. Few these days seemed versed or cared for the greetings of other, it made her think perhaps he was accustomed to dealing with her kind, if not indeed many others beyond his own.

"I am merely here for the night," she told him, "Talen-Jei has offered me a bed for the night before I head off on my quest." She chuckled to herself, "I doubt he thinks I will return." She was not sure whether to be displeased with him for having such little faith in her abilities, or simply understanding of his weak hearted fears. Perhaps what annoyed her most was that Talen-Jei's father had known the Dragonborn, and though supposedly respected all that he had done, disliked the man personally. Any creature who could disrespect Skyrim's savior was of no worth to Yllaonna, though she would respect the friendship he seemed to have with her father.

It was aggravating, if nothing else, to see her fellow Nords swear their fealty to men and ships when their only loyalty should be to family, homeland and brotherhood. She felt as if her father's lessons were an alien concept to the rest of the world, staring at the men and woman who should be her blood brothers and feeling nothing but rage and disappointment in them. She watched, pensive as a Nord woman of marrying age swaggered through the crowds, using her body to lure in the men around her. Was that how men judge beauty these days: by the amount of flesh one was willing to display, and the ease at which they could be taken? Yllaonna watched and frowned as another Nord intoxicated with mead grabbed at her and devoured her mouth. She was grateful for heeding her father's warning. Never trust a man outside the battle field; it would only end in distraction and disappointment.

Yllaonna sneered at the Nord couple, "Despicable." She wondered, for the briefest of moments, what Wood Elves found attractive. But she brushed the thought aside, unwilling to focus on such things when more pressing matters were on her mind.

[Marxist Panda]

Thoron smiled slightly, "A pleasure to meet you."  He finished his drink as she spoke about the room and her quest, and was about to speak until he noticed her eyes following the young woman who was giving all the men attention it seemed. Now, he understood that Skyrim was a harsh place and there wasn't a lot of time for courting, but he thought that might have been a bit much. His attention turned back to the young woman beside him, however, when she voiced her disappointment at the display, and indeed how most of the people were behaving in the inn. Sometimes the Bosmer enjoyed seeing people in misery, but this wasn't one of those times.

Slowly Thor stood and gathered his belongings. Without a word he moved across the crowded Inn to the bar. The Argonian leaned in slightly to hear him speak then produced two bottles of mead. Thor placed the coins on the table carried the bottles between his fingers back over to Ylla. "This crowd puts me on edge, what do you say we get some fresh air?" he raised the hand that held the bottles in a gesture and made his way out of the inn.

If she followed she would find him leaning against the railing just outside, facing the entrance of the inn. When Thor saw her he would open one of the bottles of mead and set it on the railing beside him, as if saying, Well now you have to join me. The elf opened his bottle and took a drink.

The sky above them as clear and littered with stars and the moons were bright and full. The air had a nip, but was comfortable compared to the parts of Skyrim further to the north. The city seemed quiet, but Thoron knew better than to assume that all things were well. He doubted that anyone would bother them tonight, however.

"So what is your quest exactly, Yllaonna?" He said after a moment of taking in the city. In the dim light his eyes moved back to her.

[Uriel Seraphim]

She cocked her eyebrow as Thoron stood in silence, she watched as he edged his way to the bar through the drunk and sloppy patrons and retrieved two bottles of Meade. She pursed her lips as he walked away, contemplating whether or not she really wanted to give up her rather comfy and secluded corner of the bar. Yllaonna sighed and stood. She wadded her way through the crowed, hand on her coin purse to deter any pickpockets lingering about the place, and made her way outside. She found him leaning against the railing and took the bottle of mead he had opened for her. She felt more comfortable outdoors, and though she would have preferred to take a bed of skins out into the dark and sleep beneath the stars, she supposed a locked room within an inn would be a much missed luxury by the time she returned.

She turned her attention to Thoron when he spoke and turned her gaze to the stars, taking a deep gulp of her Mead before speaking. "I am sure you have heard the Bards songs of an artifact able to right the wrongs done by Oblivion's dark magic and Nchylam's insanity. While in Whiterun, I found parchment that pinpoints its location. I simply intend to find it and sneak my way into Winterhold, close the portal and liberate Nchylam of his insanity." Yllaonna had other plans for the artifact as well, but of course, none she yet intended to share with a perfect stranger. "My father lived in Winterhold when the rift was opened. I have not heard from him since." She told him, "Once I have found the artifact I will seek my father out first. I assume he has been infected along with all Winterhold's inhabitants by the rifts darker influences. I was born to Winterhold, but I left shortly after I came of age. My father knows how to navigate the city undetected far better than I."

She drank from her bottle and sighed at the warmth it spread through her body. "What of your travels, Thoron? What brings you to Riften now that it has fallen into the hands of thieves and seductresses? Or is that exactly the reason why you have come here?" Yllaonna laughed and returned her attention to the bright night sky, smiling softly (or at least, as softly as Yllaonna ever did smile) up at them. "At least Talos must be pleased with my decision to look for such a thing."

[Marxist Panda]

Thor nodded slightly and took another drink from his bottle. A small boat silently slipped through the canal under them. "Oh, me? I have no quest as honorable as yours, I can tell you that. I am an archer for hire. Not just any archer, mind you. Where I come from I'm called a Sa'matis, which means I am a supreme marksman.  I'm also a good infiltrator as well. I've made my share of coin 'liberating' certain items from the pompous overfed leaders of Skyrim. Say, I'm sure I would be of help to you on your quest." He turned to her, leaning against the railing with his hip and his elbow. He was shorter than her by a considerable amount, but he was actually tall for his race. He smiled a dangerously mischievous smile, "I wouldn't need paid. The quest you're on will surely take you through the dangerous ruins of the Dwemer, places that contain a myriad of treasures. You let me take any treasure I find, and I will stop you from walking into any traps. It's a winning situation for both of us." A smile crept to his lips again before he finished off his bottle of mead. It seemed that talk of adventure and Dwemer ruins had lit a spark in him. That, or it was the mead.

[Uriel Seraphim]

Yllaonna paused after hearing his offer and pursed her lips. It was true; archers had come in handy for her before, and there were always numerous traps within Dwemer ruins. Perhaps, maybe, his presence would carry some significance along her travels. She turned more so towards him, arms crossed, eyes cold and analytical. She made a slight show of examining his form, as if his physical appearance could hint at if not determine his overall worth. "I suppose there's no harm in bringing along a second target," she mumbled to herself beneath a chuckle. Yllaonna turned from him then, drained the last of her meade and tossed it into a small river boat below. "Alright Thoron, we have deal. Meet me at the stables by dawn and come dressed in simple clothing. Don't think I won't leave without you if you're late."

She left him there by the railing and went back inside the inn. It was strange, but Yllaonna had yet to deny the help of a companion, whether she truly needed their help or not. That said, she was not so arrogant as to think this quest would be without its difficulties. She may not have always been a fan of conversation, but the company was nice. Having another breathing body nearby that did not intend you immediate harm often brought her a small measure of comfort. In Skyrim, one does not deny comfort when such things are in short supply.

Yllaonna climbed the stairs and entered her room, locking the door firmly behind her. Slowly, she peeled the heavy steel armor from her body, setting it inside the wardrobe at the foot of her bed. Once she climbed beneath the covers she was bare for all but the daggers strapped to her wrists and the poisoned ebony sword beneath her pillow. Hopefully, she would not be disturbed. The last thing Yllaonna needed was a bounty in Riften for murdering an innocent civilian.