The Beginning of An Era

[Silverblade5 he/him]

"Thank you," Siris said, accepting the dagger gratefully. "With this, I'll be able to work much more quickly."

 

Siris approached the shrine, about to get to work. However, when he tried to carve into the stone, it just bounced right off. Turning, he called out, "either you picked the wrong dagger, or the enchantment's run out of charges."

[Patar he/him]

As soon as the question left his mouth, Aranea tensed. Grihff readied his wards. Might have prodded a bit to far there.

 

But she didn't attack. "Those who are not careful seldom last long when they explore the powers of Daedra," she said calmly. 

 

He chuckled softly. Truer words have never been spoken. He drift off into thought as Siris asked Aranea for a dagger with a fire enchantment. I almost pushed her to far. Whatever she's been through, she clearly wants to forget about it, wants it to stay in the past. 

 

I know exactly how that feels.

 

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, as she began to grill the fish, and Siris left to work on the shrine. 

[Voidus]

Aranea ignored the apology as she continued to grill their food, but a moment later Siris called out.

"either you picked the wrong dagger, or the enchantment's run out of charges."

Her eyes narrowed as she muttered under her breath.

"Run out of charges? But I killed that deer a couple of... no wait, last Loredas?"

She stood up, holding the fish on a stick in one hand as she walked over to a small patch of shrub where she'd left her pack. She rummaged through it, pulling out a handful of soulgems, all dull and empty.

"Hmm... thought I'd remembered to fill one of these." She said, before reaching further into the bag.

She finally found a lesser gem that glowed slightly with the light of a captured soul.

"Only a lesser unless you'd care to go hunting." She said as she reached Siris, holding out the soulgem and, after a moments inspection, the grilled salmon fillet.

[Silverblade5 he/him]

"Thanks," Siris said, accepting the soul gem, and resetting the enchantment. He went back to the shrine, plunging the dagger into the stone. Unlike last time, when the dagger had merely glanced off the stone, this time, it cut through like butter. He didn't add or subtract anything, instead working on smoothing out the rough edges. He didn't need to, as Areana had already carved out the basic shape. After he finished smoothing out the edges, he would work on building off the foundation that she had already laid.

[Clockwork he/him]

     Raskeethus was hating his job. He was supposed to find a single tree in a forest. And the cold was making him even slower.

 

     When he found a clearing, he was wary- the Hist had told him to be wary of Hircine’s Followers, or the Hunt, and its cursed werewolves on this trip. This place looked just like where they would be. But when he entered, there was simply a tent. Unlikely the Hunt, they worked together. A traveler? He walked up, and knocked on the side of the tent next to the flap. Hopefully this one would be kinder, and perhaps have more information.

~||~

 

     Ma’tesh wondered why Hircine wanted a mask. He already had one, and the mask he wanted could just as easily be made. Unless it was enchanted by another god- that must be it. Otherwise he could just get someone to carve it.

 

     The Rift was nice, though. Fair temperature, trees (though not as thickly as he would want), and only a few wolves, who seemed not to care about him.

 

     Then he heard a roar to the south. And it couldn’t be more than a few miles away. A dragon that close could be a problem, but the lake ahead would provide a little protection. He started running.

[ChickenPlague he/him]

At the knock on the door, Arden stopped arranging the ingredients for Alchemy and moved to open the tent's flap. He cast Ironflesh and sheated the Firebolt spell that sprung to life in both of his palms.

As he opened the door he was greeted by a peculiar sight. A large lizard wearing the scales of a larger lizard. Or more precisely an Argonian wearing the scales of a dragon.

Dragon scales could mean one of three things- he had killed a drgaon, he had killed someone who had killed dragon, or someone had given him this suit of dragon armor.

And so, Arden asked: "What is your story my friend? Few people in Skyrim have a suit of dragon armor."

[Patar he/him]

With a full stomach and plenty of energy, Grihff gathered what few items he had and prepared to set off on the road. He had just finished his prayer to Azura along with Aranea and Siris. He was eager to leave, he didn't enjoy staying in one place for more than he needed to, lest he attract attention. 

 

He stopped by the fire that Aranea had been using, It still burned strong, despite the chill in the air. He set down a handful of coins next to the popping embers, along with a note. For the fish, it said. The coins probably weren't necessary, she likely hadn't expected anything in return. But she had been kind, all things considered. Most people wouldn't have cooked a meal for someone who had been sneaking up on them moments before. Many would consider it odd that an experienced thief would leave payment for something that required none, but it didn't bother Grihff. He had more gold then we thought he'd ever need. A thought then occurred to him.

 

It has been far too long since I have stolen something.

 

Grihff could only chuckle. One of the most skilled thieves in Skyrim, and I haven't stolen anything of value in weeks. He needed something to satiate his desire for thievery. ​A jewel in a manor, a gem in a pocket. Anything will do. Perhaps I could head back to the Guild, or even Nightingale Hall. Perhaps I could find a job somewhere.

 

He made his way back to the shrine, where Aranea and Siris still stood. "I'd like to thank you for the meal," he said. "I've left you something at the fire, a small token of my appreciation. I now must make my leave, it was a pleasure meeting both of you." Siris nodded to him, as he shook his hand. Aranea only looked at him suspiciously. She had been doing that a lot tonight. She'd likely be relieved when he was finally gone. "Goodbye," he continued, as he left the shrine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grihff had journeyed for miles, on his way towards Riften. He moved at a decent pace, eager to arrive at his destination before sunrise. If he hurried, he might be able to make it. He halted as he crested the top of a small hill. He admired the night sky, and the bright stars that inhabited it. Grihff had always been fascinated by the night sky, and the unsolvable mysteries it contained. His breath frosted as he gazed at the expanse of darkness, when a strike of lightning disturbed the quiet of the night. Grihff's ward went up immediately, shielding him from the bolt, and he turned quickly to find his attacker.     

[BreathTaker he/him]

In small but cozy cave south of what would eventually be called Winterhold slept Rogar, the Hunter. It was a fitful sleep, he couldn't remember the last time he'd closed his eyes and didn't see his family's burnt and sacrificed bodies. He shot up suddenly at the sound of sticks cracking outside.

 

Silently he stood, grabbing his seax in one hand and his axe in the other. A lone wolf ambled in, seemingly unaware of the presence of Rogar. The wolf was old, very old. His fur hung loosely from his obviously once proud and strong frame and he walked with a limp. That was when Rogar noticed that the wolf was missing one of his back legs. The Hunter lowered his weapons slowly, that was when the wolf finally noticed him, it looked him right in the face. Blue eyes met bright yellow in an instant of understanding.

 

The Hunter, that's what he had heard the cultists whispering about the creature who was killing their followers, knelt down and reached into his pack fishing out a large piece of venison and tossing it to the grizzled, ancient wolf. The beast limped over to it and sniffed it before grabbing it in his teeth and moving to the opposite wall of the cave. Rogar didn't even consider killing the old one for a moment, instead he gathered some sticks from the pile at the back of the cave and started a small fire using a small bit of magicka.

 

After the wolf finished his meal he stood and examined the fire, he didn't seem scared of it like a normal wolf would be. Instead, he walked over to it and laid down near it for the warmth. Rogar sat on the other side of the fire and and pulled out his short stemmed pipe, packing it with tobacco and lighting it with his flames spell as well.

 

About ten minutes into his pipe Rogar started to drift off. The mixture of heat and the relaxing effect of the tobacco easing his tense muscles. Suddenly, he heard a deep voice, "I hear you are being called "the Hunter" by those foolish cultists, Rogar Wolfsbane." Suddenly Rogar was wide awake and looking across the fire. Instead of the wizened old wolf sat a very tall man with strange colored skin. He was wearing a wolf's fur like Rogar's and the skull of a stag on his head like a helmet, across his lap lay a very long spear. "Hircine," The first word Rogar had spoken in days and it was the name of the real Hunter, wonderful.

 

"That title is taken, boy, I am the Hunter!" The Daedric prince's form seemed to shimmer as though he was not wholly on the physical plane. "Forgive me lord, I did not choose the name. It was given to me." The prince chuckled and waved his hand. "I know that hunter," the lower case was obvious in his tone. "You are a great hunter, I have been watching you, the title has been earned. I am not here to punish you." Rogar breathed a short sigh of relief before remembering that Daedric princes did not appear to mortals just to compliment them, "Why are you here... lord?" again the prince chuckled, suddenly he was standing. "I have come to bestow upon you a gift. Something to make you an even BETTER hunter." Rogar groaned, he thought he knew what Hircine's "gift" was. He was, after all, the father of manbeasts.

 

"You go by the name of Wolfsbane and wear the furs of a mighty wolf. I think it would only be fair to give you your own pelt."  the Daedra titled his helmed head in a wry manner and before Rogar could deny it, Hircine rammed his spear into the Nord's chest and vanished with a laugh. "May you hunt well "Hunter", with my gifts you will have no trouble killing everyone in your path!"

 

The next morning Rogar woke up with a start, he felt at his chest and found he did indeed have a small scar over his heart and on his pillow laid a small silver ring with a wolf's head engraved on it. The Hunter bowed his head a wept for now he could never enter Soverngard and reunite with his family.

[Voidus]

Aranea juggled the coins left by Verioc. A more thoughtful gesture than she would have expected from him, but perhaps she'd simply been too quick to judge. She'd lived that life not too long ago, but even while she was sneaking around, carrying out assassinations for one house or another, she'd never thought of herself as a bad person. The people who employed her were bad, she was simply using what skills she possessed in their service. Perhaps Verioc was the same.

She glanced into the fire, still burning in the night air. She and Siris were both seated around it now. They'd made far better progress on the statue today than she would have by herself, and he'd taught her quite a bit about sculpting. She was quite thankful that her fellow Dunmer had found her shrine, she didn't enjoy the constant crowds of city life but living like a hermit had led her to miss certain aspects of companionship. A shared meal. Relaxing together around a fire. A conversation.

"I must thank you again for your assistance, Siris." She said. "I had almost given up on finishing before the next invocation date."

[Patar he/him]

Grihff's eyes darted around, attempting to find whoever had ambushed him. Whoever it was must have been following him for some time, waiting for the opportune moment to attack. A second bolt struck out against the darkness, but Grihff was ready with his ward. Birds nesting in the trees scattered in flocks, the flapping of their wings echoed alongside crack of lightning. A figure emerged from the shadows of the trees. Grihff took a few steps back out of pure shock.

 

A Dragon Cultist.

 

"It was unwise to reveal yourself, fool. You cannot stand against the might of the dragons. You will pay for the crimes you've committed." Sparks appeared in his hands as he prepared to attack.

 

There's no use talking your way out of this one. He's here for my head.

 

So be it.

 

"You label me fool, but I am not the one who challenges someone who killed one of their kings." All those who hunted him made a grave error in underestimating Grihff. Never before had they been Dragon Cultists, but some had been strong. Grihff could cause complete and utter chaos when he desired, and he would create as much havoc as he needed to in order to get away from this fight. 

 

The Cultist responded with something unintelligible, and Grihff almost assumed the man was mad. Then, he was suddenly thrown backwards, crashing against the trunk of a tree. Before Grihff could stand, the Priest was already there with a bound sword in his hand. He slashed at Grihff, and he barely had enough time to role out of the way. He lept to his feet before the Cultist could strike again, and he launched a fireball in an attempt to buy some time and let his fuzzy vision clear. Perhaps I underestimate my enemies too. I should've figured he'd have access to some Dragon Shouts.

 

The man easily dodged the ball of fire, countering with another bolt of lightning. But Grihff had regained composure, and he absorbed it with his ward. I can't keep wasting energy on wards. I need to hit back. Grihff cast Ebonyflesh, and charged the man while conjuring a bound sword. For awhile Grihff and the Priest went back and forth with the swords, but it was clear who the better swordsman was. Grihff was being pushed back farther and farther after each blow he blocked. This isn't working, he thought desperately. He dispelled his sword and weaved around one of the Dragon Cultist's swings, running past the man, into the forest. He stopped after a short distance, now that he was in the forest and not an open space, perhaps he stood a chance. 

 

The Cultist chuckled as he caught up to Grihff. "How you managed to kill one of the lords, I do not understand." He shot bolt after bolt at Grihff, slowly walking towards him.

 

"Get back!" Grihff yelled. He let go of his ward, which allowed a bolt to graze his arm. It stung, but Ebonyflesh negated most of the damage. Grihff brought up both of his hands, and dual-cast Incinerate. The blast left at an incredibly high velocity, knocking the man back. Some of the flames burned blue.

 

He laughed menacingly. "You want to know how I killed one of your precious lords?" He growled madly, as he threw back his hood. He looked at the Cultist with piercing white eyes. "I'll show you." He pointed his hand at the burnt ground at his side, and summoned a Dremora Lord. 

 

"Another who seeks death!" It yelled. The being drew its greatsword, and charged the Cultist. If he could have looked shocked behind that mask, Grihff was willing to bet that he was.

 

Grihff could have probably made his escape as the Dremora Lord and the Cultist fought. But he was in a state of fury, he wanted this man to pay for his arrogance. He stumbled, summoning the Dremora had taken a great deal of energy. He quickly took out a potion from his pocket, replenishing it. He stormed the Cultist, charging a bolt of lightning in one hand. As the man guarded himself from the Dremora, Grihff stuck his hand on his chest, and released the bolt. He flew backwards, rolling on the hard, frozen ground. He quickly rose, and yelled that strange word again. Even with his ward, Grihff was pushed back. His feet dragged along the ground, leaving a skid mark where he had been pushed. The Dremora flew back as well, but rose and prepared to fight again.

 

It's time to end this. Grihff spotted an old tree with a hollow at the base of it's trunk. The hollow looked large enough for a man to fit inside.

 

He knew what he had to do. He summoned a whirlwind of fire that cloaked him, and ran at the cultist. The Dremora charged as well, and together they pushed the cultist back, towards the hollow of the tree. The Dragon Cultist strained against their blows, he was on the defensive now. Grihff attacked like a madman, with a cloak of fire, throwing blast after blast of heat. What an intimidating figure he must have been, a flurry of dancing flames.

 

Before he realized it, the cultist was backed up in the hollow of the dying tree. Grihff laughed a lunatic's laugh. "That's you grave," he proclaimed. Before the priest could act, Grihff covered the entrance to the tree with ash, sealing the Dragon Cult member inside.

 

He dispelled the Dremora. "There could be no other end," it muttered as it disappeared. He then conjured a flame atronach as a replacement. Together, the two of them coated the dead tree in fire, burning the cultist alive. The flame atronach vanished. Grihff knelt down in exhaustion, breathing heavily, taking in the scene of fire eating the dying tree alive. Even through the ash shell, Grihff could hear the cultist's screams.

 

Grihff had to get away. He was low on energy, and he didn't know if the cultist had brought friends. Even if he was alone, this fire could probably be seen for miles. Grihff muffled his footsteps, turned invisible, and ran as fast as his tired body could manage.

 

 

 

 

Grihff hadn't even made it a mile when thunder shook the night sky. Rain followed soon after. He cursed under his breath, and looked back towards the fire. Even this far away, and it still burned bright. But the rain would soon extinguish it. He couldn't possibly have survived, could he? Grihff wasn't completely sure, but he couldn't afford to risk going back to check. He mustered the little strength he had left, and continued on to Riften.              

Edited March 29, 2016 by Patar

[Silverblade5 he/him]

Ausar stumbled from the tree, barely alive. It had taken all of his magica, but constantly casting guardian circle had allowed him to survive. Now that he knew what he was dealing with, he had a better idea of how one of his lords had fallen. Knowing that he'd need help, he decided he'd travel to Solsthiem and try to recruit Azidhal to his cause.

[Clockwork he/him]

    “Hello! I assume you are a traveler. I will tell you my story in exchange for a little information. You see, I am a priest of the Hist, and have been looking for one that was lost, and unable to communicate. It would be a tree, probably in a pool of water, and its sap would have strange magical properties, including hallucinations. Would you happen to know where it is?” He walked over to the fire and sat on a log nearby. “I hate this blazing cold! Or… hmmm… I guess that is the wrong exclamatory… well, never mind.” He looked up at Arden, waiting.

~| |~

     Ma’tesh waited by the lake, wondering if the dragon had left. Seemingly it had, so he got up and walked back into the woods.

     “Champion.” The deep voice startled him, though it shouldn’t. He’d been visited for too often for it to.

     “Master.” He turned and knelt before Hircine, Lord of the Hunt.

     “I am glad you have not disobeyed me. I have recently made a new werewolf, and given him the ring that you have wanted from me. Perhaps if you could cure him, he would give it to you. I am certain he will help you with your task; but the wooden mask is mine. Remember that. Now go! If you need him, follow him, but otherwise, go to him when your task is done.” He shimmered, and disappeared.

     Ma’tesh wondered a second more what enchantments were on the mask to make it so valuable, but started walking after a second. Hircine’s will must be done. He did not need the ring yet; he would take it as a reward later.

[ChickenPlague he/him]

"A traveler? I guess you could call me that, although I travel to no place. I travel to people- the travelers I meet in villages and the wild.

As for the Hist, I do indeed remember such a tree near Whiterun. If you want, I can show you the way. Although I do not quite understand what you will do with the tree, once you find it."

[Silverblade5 he/him]

Kel arrived at Nightingle Hall, smiling. He had had a very succesful time in Windhelm. However, he was very nearly over encumbered, and needed to unload. Besides, he was putting a plan together, one that would require all the nightingales.

[Patar he/him]

Grihff made his way into Nightingale Hall, trying to escape the rain. He had recovered from his encounter with the Dragon Cultist, although he needed some rest. Grihff had used a large amount of energy in the battle, what he needed was some-

 

Grihff stopped in his tracks. He had heard a noise further down. It was entirely possible that is was another Nightingale, who just happened to be here at the same time as Grihff. But is was also possible it was another Dragon Cultist, who somehow followed him. He was fairly certain that nobody was capable of tracking him, especially in conditions like this, but it never hurt to be cautious. Steps muffled, Grihff went to investigate. 

 

He saw someone unloading goods. So it is a Nightingale, Grihff thought, relieved. Kelsier, by the looks of it. He hadn't known the man long, Grihff was still relatively new to the Nightingales. But Grihff liked him, he had a penchant for putting together elaborate heists. Grihff unmuffled his steps, and approached Kelsier. "Well Kel, judging by that grin on your face, I'd wager that you've got something dangerous planned for us."

 

Kelsier turned and faced him with a smile. "Grihff my friend, you've got no idea."  

Edited April 26, 2016 by Patar

[Silverblade5 he/him]

"I currently have many plans. One of them is storing away the goods I received from the good people of Windhelm. Other plans that will require a full house before they can be explained. In the mean time, why don't you catch me up on what's happened since the last time we met?"

[Patar he/him]

"I've been a tad preoccupied recently," Grihff responded. "I'm assuming you've heard the rumors of The White Shade of the Pale?"

 

Kelsier nodded his head. "The shadow that nobody can hunt down? The demon who mercilessly slaughters dragons? Quite a name you've made for yourself."

 

"Yeah, and I don't want it. Every damned Dragon in Skyrim wants my head." Grihff threw down his hood. "I have to keep that thing up constantly, lest someone with half a brain realize the one with white hair and white eyes is also The White Shade of the Pale." 

 

Kelsier moved a bit closer as he finished unloading what he had taken. "So how was it, killing a dragon?"

 

Grihff sighed. "Tough. I almost died, the beast clawed my chest right open. I didn't think all the healing in the world could save me. I passed out, and when I woke, nothing was left but scars that I will bear till the day I die." 

 

"Well, you certainly have been busy." He slammed his hands on the table in excitement. "Want to hear how I got all this? I want all three of the Nightingales to be here before we start planning, so might as well pass the time."

 

What could you possibly be planning that would require all three of us? Grihff thought. "Go ahead."

 

"Well, it's not as exciting as being the most wanted man in Skyrim, but it's still a good story. So I had a crew up in Windhelm, and there was some nobleman who had reportedly made a large sum of money. Venture, I think his name was. Anyways, the crew had some girl who was skilled at impersonating nobles, and she managed to sneak herself into a party that was being thrown. She found a way to let myself and the rest of the crew in, and we stole all this from right under their noses!" By the way Kelsier laughed as he told the story, Grihff could tell he was proud of himself. He had always loved stealing from nobles.

 

"Anyways," Kelsier continued. "I'm glad you're here. We need someone with your skills with magic, as well as your knowledge of fighting dragons. You see..." Kelsier said dramatically, "We're going to steal something from them."

 

Oh boy, Grihff thought. 

Edited April 27, 2016 by Patar

[Silverblade5 he/him]

"Anyways," Kelsier continued. "I'm glad you're here. We need someone with your skills with magic, as well as your knowledge of fighting dragons. You see..." Kelsier said dramatically, "We're going to steal something from them. To be specific, we're going to steal their pride and dignity. We are going to steal their masks and artifacts, and return the ones we don't find useful to the rivals of their owners. The last thing we will take, is an elder scroll that I heard they have."

Edited May 3, 2016 by Silverblade5

[Patar he/him]

Lirian Winter-Child walked quietly throughout the snowy paths of The Pale. A light frost fell from the night sky, a nice change from the snowstorms that had coated The Pale in an icy cage for the past week. She had heard loud noises from a few miles away, it had almost sounded as though a battle was being waged. She had seen lightning, fire, and ice shot in blasts when she got a look at the battle from farther away, but she couldn't tell who it was that was fighting. Lirian had assumed that it was bandits who happened to pick some mages for a target, but the battle had been going on for far to long to only be a robbery.

 

Lirian hastened her pace, her green and gold robe brushing against the frozen, hard ground. Lirian didn't know who she'd find when she reached the battle, but she hoped she could heal those who survived. If there was one thing she had learned from The College of Winterhold, it was how gifted of a healer she was. A perfect skill for a worshiper of Kynareth to possess.

 

Lirian had left The College of Winterhold nearly a decade ago. She had learned everything she could about the art of Restoration from a decade spent training there, but she abandoned the life of a scholar in favor of the life of a traveler. She had heard the legends of an ancient artifact Kynareth had once gifted to mortals, The Lord's Mail. It had been hidden, Kynareth had deemed the last holder unworthy. Lirian traveled to the Black Marsh, healing those who needed it and teaching those who had been willing to learn. Lirian's teachers would be disappointed in her, she would've been such a great teacher had she stayed at the College. She also searched all over for any information regarding The Lord's Mail, but nothing had come up. Thus, she made the decision to return to Skyrim, and search in her homeland instead. She had only been searching here for a few months, and hadn't discovered anything, but she remained optimistic.

 

She reached a clearing, and her heart stopped. Instead of bandits, there instead lay two figures. One was much larger than the other, a tremendous dragon with silver skin. The other was a young man, whose face had been covered in a thin layer of snow. All that noise, all that destruction, was caused by these two alone? What's more, it seemed as though the young man had died fighting that dragon, and perhaps even succeeded before succumbing to his wounds. And how grievous those wounds were. His chest was clawed open, bleeding all over the ground. The blood seemed fresh, the battle must have ended as Lirian had drifted away into thought. Lirian had no love for the dragons, it was true. They destroyed, killed, ravaged the lands. Everything Kynareth stood for, they seemed to ruin. She didn't have the courage to stand up and fight them, but she respected those who did. She felt the need to pay her respects to this young man.

 

She quickly affirmed that the dragon was indeed deceased before approaching the young man. Upon reaching him, she was suprised to learn that it wasn't snow or frost that covered his hair. His hair was a pure white. Not white as an elder would have, but a soft, silky white. She knelt beside the man who had slain a dragon, and held his head and her lap. She took his cold hand in hers, and began a prayer. That prayer was interrupted by something very unexpected.

 

A pulse.

 

Lirian had to double check to make sure she didn't imagine it. But no, this young man was alive! Lirian thought frantically on what to do. She had brought people back from the brink of death before, but never had she treated a wound this serious. All of the healing potions and nirnroot in Skyrim couldn't save this one. Perhaps death would be a savior for him. If he lives, he'll be hunted for the rest of his days. 

 

No. I have to do something. She threw back her hood, brown hair fluttering in the cool breeze. Snow continued to fall softly on her skin. She casted Grand Healing, and focused as hard as she could. Slowly, the wounds started to close. But Lirian couldn't keep up a spell that strong for so long. Her energy drained, she stopped casting. The wounds had started the seal, but he still felt cold. He was still dying. She took out her Scroll of Grand Healing. She had been saving it, but she could think of no better time to use it than now. When she had finished casting, she knelt back down beside him and held his head. He felt warmer, at least a little. She took out a spare cloak she had and wrapped him in it, hopefully it would keep him warm. His wounds had faded to scars, but little could be done about those. She had done what she could. If nothing else, she had at least made his final moments more comfortable. She continued to pray for him, and after some time, his breathing returned to normal.

 

He would live.

 

Upon hearing a dragon's roar, Lirian rose. She shouldn't be seen with him. He'd wake soon, and hopefully he'd have enough strength to leave this place. She put on her hood, and left hurriedly. She had made it a few dozen meters in the woods, and took one last look at the one she saved. He was standing now, but looked unsteady. He looked around wildly, he probably wasn't expecting to wake up. He looked to the slain dragon, and up the the mountains as another dragon roared. No matter how strong he was, he couldn't handle another fight without rest.

 

He vanished into thin air.

 

Lirian couldn't afford the time to wonder how he had done that. She knew such magic existed, she had seen it daily at the College. But with so little strength...

 

As Lirian hustled to put some distance between herself and the dragons, a voice, a female one, whispered in her ear. Windhelm, it said. Lirian knew her next destination.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grihff whistled at that. "Hell Kelsier, that's quite a mission. Masks, weapons, and an actual Elder Scroll?" He chuckled softly. "I'm in." 

 

Kelsier smiled.    

Edited May 14, 2016 by Patar