rise of the dovahkiin (o+a)

[demolition lovers]

In Skyrim, the northernmost province of Tamriel, there are elders who still tell tall tales of the last Dragonborn. With the body of a mortal, and the soul of a dragon, the Dovahkiin were protectors of Skyrim and her people. When the last Dragonborn breathed their last, the prophecies were filled. Alduin, the World Eater had been defeated, the Imperials had won the Civil War. Paarthurnax taught the Dov the way of the Voice, and peace fell over the land.

A shadow grows in Skyrim, a darkness corrupting and eroding the peace. Across Skyrim, Dovahkiin have been born again, unaware of their powers and the threat growing. The Voice echoes across the land, Paarthurnax calling to the Dragonborns to awake, and step into their power. The Greybeards once again ready High Hrothgar for the young Dragonborns to learn the way of the Voice.

discussion thread

please keep discussions and forms in the discussion thread!

[demolition lovers]

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-around a paragraph each reply per character,
writer's block is understandable
-grammar and spelling should be mostly correct
-forms and discussion belong in here
-realistic face claims only please
-lgbtq+ friendly
-base knowledge of The Elder Scrolls IV: Skyrim
-please include race, (Nord, Breton, Khajiit, Orc etc)
and combat specialty (one handed, archer, mage, or combination of any styles) in your form
- please keep discussions and forms in in the discussion board

[demolition lovers]

xxx

open and accepting!

[demolition lovers]

As the first rays of sunlight illuminated the small town of Ivarstead, so stirred a magic older than time. The oldest dragon himself had called out across Tamriel for the Dovahkiin to join him, and claim their destiny. Though all had heard his call, only a few had felt the pull and the Voice echo in their body. The Vilemyr Inn held many secrets that night, and now its occupants woke up to the dawning of a new age.

«Frea Julen|22|Archer/mage + one handed combat|Ivarstead|tags: open

Frea woke with the sun, she always had. She didn't want to waste a moment of time when she could be living. The Inn was surprisingly cozy, the fireplace crackled steadily all night, the dull orange light flickering under the crack in her door. Shockingly enough, Ivarstead wasn't a huge spot for drinking, just the townsfolk catching up after their days. She put her armor on, opting for a black leather tight fitting piece, fortified with spells. It was her go to, comfortable and worn after years of work. She braided her hair down sideways, pulling up her hood. Frea swung her satchel over her shoulder, before heading into the tavern. She opted for a fast breakfast, an egg with some undistinguishable (yet still delicious) meat, and a cup of tea. "May I take this outside?" She asked the barkeep, who gave a grunt of approval.

Outside, the air held a chill, the sun illuminating small snowflakes drifting off the mountain. She held her cut between her hands, staring up at the Throat of the World. Everyone knew that mountain, the stories of legend, of the defeat of Alduin, and the tomb of the last Dragonborn, who saved all of Tamriel. She really wasn't looking forward to the 7,000 steps up to High Hrothgar. No one was really sure if the Greybeards still existed. The way of the Voice had died out long ago, and no one knew of any apprentices taken on. For all she knew, the halls would be filled with ghosts and echoes of the past. Her father had given his blessing for her to go and find out what all of this meant, what pulled her to the mountain, and why a fire in her soul refused to be put out. The closer she got, the greater the feeling. Whatever awaited her at the top of the mountain, it would be her destiny, be it glory or doom.

[LoadedPhilly]

Kjald Long-Tooth
Werewolf Nord-Imperial
locations; Vilemyr Inn, Ivarstead tags; Frea

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Thankful for having rented the room for only one night, Kjald finally decided to get moving for the day after hours of fitful slumber. Trying to rest in the confined space, especially with the unfamiliar smells and sounds of the inn around him, left the man more tired than when he initially had gone to bed. At least it was just a temporary thing — he’d be back amid his packmates soon. This whole trip to Ivarstead, and more than likely up the Throat of the World, was just to slake his curiosity and get rid of that nagging feeling in his gut.

Gathering his few belongings and donning a set of thick furs, the Nord-Imperial left his room without looking back. Out in the central room of the building, Kjald felt the warmth of the fire reach him from its dais. And with it brought the smell of cooking foods. Stomach rumbling with hunger — or perhaps that was his own ravenous growl — the dark-haired man made a beeline for the barkeep to purchase breakfast. The gruff man forfeited a plate of venison in exchange for some of the small coinage Kjald had brought along. Worth it. Wasting no time in settling in a chair to eat, the lycanthrope wolfed his food down. It filled him with a warmth that helped ease the aches of a restless evening prior.

Belly filled and no reason to return to his room, the axeman exited the inn to be greeted with the chilly morning air. It was refreshing and held the promise of a dawning day. As well as, well, the smell of eggs. Turning his head, he spied a woman indulging in her own meal, adventuring garb on and a satchel at her side. He wondered if she was merely passing through or if the cause of her visit also lay at the top of the mountain nearby. Unsure, but not deterred from making some conversation, Kjald tried at small talk. ”Looks like a good day to travel,” the man prodded. His voice held a light Falkreath accent. ”Heading out anywhere?”

[Wormgod]

Ashirah Llaervu | Dunmer | Vilemyr Inn, Ivarstead |

Ashirah was not having a good time in Skyrim.

This place was even worse than Solstheim; constantly cold, snowing more often than not and if not it was raining. The sky was constantly blotted out by gray clouds and on the rare days the sun was shining it was somehow even colder. The Dunmer bought a winter cloak the day she got off the boat at Windhelm, a thick, heavy thing made of bearskin with the fur still attached. It helped stave off the cold but it weighted her down. She doubted she would be able to work wearing such an ungainly thing.

But she didn't need to work in Skyrim, did she? Ashirah could afford to be heavy and noticeable here. Besides, the Morag Tong were outlawed outside of Morrowind. Shrugging the massive hood over her head, Ashirah stepped outside of the little Ivarstead inn. She gulped down the truly awful coffee she bought this morning. There were already a couple travelers outside. From what the carriage driver told her it was common for Nords to go on a semireligious pilgrimage up the mountain. Apparently there were small shrines following the path up to the Monastery. Ever since the Last Dragonborn defeated Alduin, more and more travelers made the pilgrimage up the steps to gain some insight on the words. Admirable, if ignorant. All Dunmer know the Aedra are powerless in the face of the Daedra.

Ashirah sighed and downed the rest of the coffee. Ugh. She made a mental note to never order coffee again here. Clearly it couldn't handle the long ship from Elsewyr. She walked up to the pair studying the mountain, "What does a girl need to do to get some warm weather?" She mused.

[demolition lovers]

«Frea Julen|22|Archer/mage + one handed combat|Ivarstead|tags: open

Frea looked up at the mountain, surrounding by clouds and snow, shivering slightly. She was never one for the colder parts of Skyrim (which was unfortunate since that was pretty much the norm.) She enjoyed her visits to Solsthiem, with the warmth and the...consatnt ash. She'd take the snow over that. Whatever. Frea took another sip of tea, feeling the warmth spread down her throat into her stomach. She heard the door open, and footsteps approach. Reflexively, she cupped her magic in her palm, turning. "Could be much colder and windier."She murmured. "Still don't fancy having a trip up. You look prepared for a trip as well." Frea said. Under the circumstances, it was a safe bet he'd been called too. A guy like him didn't take the pilgrimage for no reason. A Dunmer woman approached, and she smiled. "Travel to a different province of Tamriel."