PLEASE LOCK

[Kveykva]

Nicholas Storm - Male - 31 - Breton - College of Winterhold - Tagged: Altavia--Take control of the situation
"You cannot kill him, Nicholas. He will only be banished to Oblivion, where you may summon it again until it submits to your will." Nicholas made a noise of distress. "That's even worse! There has to be some, a-any way to reason with him!" Before he or Durnehviir could debate further, Altavia took charge. "I'll do it," She stepped towards the restrained dremora. "I will challenge you in return for a Sigil Stone." The necromancer gave her a horrified look. "Altavia! You aren't seriously considering dueling him, are you?" He moved to stop her, but a stern look from Durnehviir halted him in his tracks. The unspoken respect both dragon and mage had for each other was almost unreal. "She is right, Mal Dinok. Sometimes actions must do what words cannot, as ill as it may seem." Nick looked crestfallen. "Your words always do enough..." A comforting rumble formed in the back of the dragon's throat, for he didn't have the heart to tell the ignorant mage of how far from the truth his statement was. "The words of dragons bear more power than those of Man, Mer, or beast." Durnehviir left it at that. Meanwhile, Altavia demanded that the dremora be released so the ritual could be over and done before the storm hit. "A-Are you sure you want to this?" The other Breton's glare answered his question, and reluctantly Nicholas motioned for the skeleton to step away. It oblidged, but stayed close a precaution. "Please don't hurt yourself..." He rested a shaky hand on one of Durnehviir's curled horns, though whether his hand quaked from the cold or fear was a mystery.

[Kveykva]

Akadar Strong-Blade - Male - 26 - Nord - Whiterun - Tagged: Celenr and Anya and Naomi
"You're right, it's going to take a stronger brew than honey..." The familiar voice of the Dragonborn interrupted Akadar's thoughts. "Agreed." He grunted in response, his broken hand clutched around his stomach to protect the burn on his other side, the guard's free hand holding his splintered shield and mace tucked on his waist. What he needed was something much stronger than Blackbriar mead or Honeybrew mead. "I see I wasn't the only one fighting with a handicap," The Nord nodded to the Breton's arm. Most of the other guards got away with minor injuries, save those that were slain in the battle. "You ought to have that looked at. Arcadia is a mighty fine alchemist, and she would be more than happy to fix you with whatever you need." The Whiterun guard had their own medic, and the barracks would be the first place he visited. However, a earth-shaking rumble from the sky stopped them all in their tracks. The Voice of the Greybeards overtook Skyrim, flooding down from High Hrothgar. Although Akadar wasn't sure what their words said, the meaning was clear: they were summoning the Dragonborn. Or, Dragonborns. Far north in Winterhold, the tense ritual came to a pause as the words echoed across the landscape. Durnehviir was the first to hear the call, the others following his lead as he raised his head to gaze towards the heart of Skyrim, which the mountain could be seen far in the distance. Nicholas had a hard time grasping the meaning of all the words, but one stood out to him. "Dragonborn...?"

Xaliphax - Whiterun Stables - Tagged: Hello darkness my old friend...
He slowed to a stop at the stables, bending his knees lightly so the Breton could disembark. Xaliphax met its rider's gaze with one massive eye, the black pool reflecting no light in return. It shook its head breifly, breathing a quiet snort into Celenr's hair. Despite how uneasy the white steed made both people and animals alike, it had nothing to give but respect and loyalty. His purpose was to serve. "Play nice, Xaliphax." He never lashed out or nipped at other horses, but their anxiety alone made the stable reluctant to board him. With a small whinny, it dipped its head and pawed the dirt, his version of farewell to Celenr.

[vega.]

(celenrs post coming soon, found it easier to do them separately while on mobile)

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seventeen - breton - location: Winterhold, College - tags: Nicholas

Altavia felt a bit more confident in herself hearing from the dragon that she was right as he tired to explain to the shocked mage. Her eyes showed her confidence as Nicholas asked her, backing away once he realized that she was serious. The dremora was released by the skeleton at the will of the mage, who then retreated to Durnehviir.
"Please don't hurt yourself..." He said quietly. Altavia couldn't promise she wouldn't. Taking on a fighters stance she braced herself, applying a quick iron flesh spell after noting that there was a good chance she may be bashed by the large opponent. Her sword was pulled back, gripped firmly in her left hand, and she looked into the dremora's hateful eyes as he lifted his mace.

Her stance faltered as all the sudden thunder shook the earth, coming from the throat of the world. She looked over her shoulder, startled, hearing much mutter "Dragonborn?".
Blthe dremora took advantage of the distraction as Altavia was caught off guard and charged at her across the their makeshift arena. "You'll meet your end, mortal." Came the throaty threat. Altavia looked back to face the dremora suddenly a few meters away and gasped in surprise. She raised her sword to meet him and dropped to a kneel, the smooth black blade slicing through the unprotected flesh under the dremoras arm. She wheeled on her kneese then, furiously slashing at weak points from behind in sets of eight as her brother taught her. The dremora growled and turned, awkward with all the momentum he carried. Meanwhile Altavia danced backwards, keeping her distance from each of the mace blows. Despite that he bled from her attacks it would take a while for him to tire, if he did at all.

Minutes went by, the Breton and the Dremora dueling closely. Not a single thing he spat was a complement, but he cups see the hesistance in his blows as he wondered if perhaps there actually was a match here. Altavia wasn't planning on giving up anytime soon, despite her heart pounding and her lungs aching from sucking in frozen air. Every time the dremora would lift his mace she would lunge at him, her blade eventually breaking through the armor where she found the right mark. The mace came down her, but where she would typically evade to the side the ice worked against her and she fell short, the mace making contact with her shoulder. The armor protected her, along with the spell she continuously refreshed, but the blunt force still sent her to the ground. She groaned as she struggled to lift herself, seeing spots in her vision, the dremora laughing at the sight. It doesn't take much to fell a mortal being. He began to walk towards her, the girlnot being fast enough to stand. "Oblivion awaits." she heard. Turning into her back she saw him raising his mace, aiming her her head so he could crush her skull.

She only played at defeat. After the dremora was close enough, an ice spike left the hand that nutured a spell, blinding him. Altavia threw herself upward, sword driving itself into his dark neck. With a wince, she reminded the dremora a he fell, "You owe me a stone" before the dremora disappeared, eyes filled with astonishment. How could he have possibly lost? Altavia doubled over after, shoulder screaming. She removed her cloak to see that the fire enchantment burned through her armor and burned her bruised skin. Altavia looked over at Nick and the dragon for what would happen next, eyes watering from the wind and slightly from pain.

[Kveykva]

Nicholas Storm - Male - 31 - Breton - College of Winterhold - Tagged: Altavia
Although Nicholas recognized "Dovahkiin," he knew not its meaning beyond the strict translation of Dragonborn, which led to his question. Durnehviir held off on answering, as there was still an unbridled dremora in their midst. "You'll meet your end, mortal." The snarl brought Nick too back to attention, the Breton watching in helpless horror as Altavia and the dremora exchanged blows. He couldn't watch this. He couldn't watch the two fight, blades slicing flesh and maces breaking bones. It was pointless and would get them nowhere, but the necromancer was powerless to stop it. Altavia danced in circles around the icy court, almost taunting the dremora as they fought. "You won't let it kill her, will you?" Nicholas couldn't bear to watch someone die, even if he scarcely knew them. Durnehviir tilted his head ever so slightly to meet the mage's violet eyes. "No, I will not. My reactions are swift, even in my age. Though they would be much swifter if you were to remove your hands from my head." Nick apologized suddenly, letting go of the dragon's horn and awkwardly folding his arms. He was visibly distressed as the battle progressed, but once she slipped Nicholas went into a slight panic, watching the mace knock her to the ice in slow motion.

"Altavia!" Nick shouted, his heart jumping in his chest. The dremora could only laugh at her defeat, preparing to end her life. The dark haired necromancer waved a stern order to the skeleton on the other side of the rooftop, but its lumbering pace would do little to save the younger Breton. Durnehviir did not move, for his eyes saw more than the mage's. "Oblivion awaits." Then the scene changed, and the battle was turned on its head. Altavia cleverly faked defeat, using the veil of surprise to simultaneously blind and stab the daedra, reminding him of their bargain as it faded. Once he got over the initial shock and his own worry, Nicholas dashed to meet the other mage, slipping on the ice a second time and landing at her feet instead. "Iiz, Mal Dinok." The dragon reminded him. He stood up, entirely unconcerned with his sudden fall and likely not even hearing Durnehviir. "Are you okay? No, no I-I shouldn't even be asking that, I can see you're hurt. Oh God, th-this is my fault... I.. I-I'm so sorry Altavia, I shouldn't have asked you to do this..." A flood of apology and regret streamed off the Breton's tongue, Nicholas trying desperately to make things right. Using both his hands, the necromancer created a golden magic iconic to the Restoration school, turning his palms towards Altavia in an attempt the heal her injuries. The healing magic would take much more energy to use, but Nick would willingly drain his own magic reserves to make his wrong right.

(It's all good! I look foward to it. I somehow managed to get this one done, despite how late it is here)

[vega.]

(Oh yes, it's late for me as well, don't know how I managed to put the post fro Altavia in here as well)

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seventeen - breton - location: Winterhold, College - tags: Nicholas

Altavia watched Nicholas slide towards her, slipping on the ice before her. She didn't hear half his words, stripping away the soldering armor around her shoulder. Although the bite of the cold wind was harsh, it soothed the burns. She had not noticed that the dremora's mace was enchanted with destruction magic, of which being fire. After this point Nicholas' voice ran like a yowling cat through Altavia's ears and she faced him.
"Stop it." She said, "You didn't ask me to do anything, don't apologize for it."
It may have a been a bit a bit harsh, but she was a blunt character. She volunteered to duel, and even won by herself fairly, and the mage had nothing to do with her choices. "Except, you do owe me." She smirked, having known all along that this would put a skilled conjurer in her debt, even though there was more than just that simple incentive that drove her into being involved. She flinched away from the glow of magic in Nick' hands as they pointed towards her. She swatted them down, shivering. "Not here. When are we going to get the stone?" She asked him, her mind still focused on the matters instead of her wounds, or the cold, or the mage's obvious guilt. She was ready to head inside and start on her own business. "And what are you going to do with your dragon friend?" The second half had to be shouted over the wind as the storm began to settle over them. She remembered the odd event that occurred at the beginning of the cool, but it had becomes a distant thing for the breton in the present.

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twenty nine - breton - location: Whiterun, watchtower - tags: Akadar

"Hm. Over time it gets easier even with the wounds. Unfortunately, that's mostly experience." Celenr pointed out after glancing beside him to where the guard was clutching his side. the breton nodded in reply to his medical recommendation. Whatever he couldn't heal through whatever magic he could muster he would have taken care of through herbs and alchemy. He was about to ask further about the town's services when the Graybeards cast their summons all throughout Skyrim in a thunderous shout. Celenr nearly couldn't hold in a laugh. "Guess who's meditating finally paid off." He scoffed to himself, smiling. He's gone to them already, to learn the ways of the voice, but after some time they refused to teach him. Now they must be calling for that woman, or perhaps his sister. She would make an interesting student for the strict old mentors. There was no doubting now that she would be led to him, all in time for Celenr to have completed his mission. The Graybeards could never have done much. They wouldn't. Oh, but Celenr has grown without them, and so will his sister, he is sure, after she realizes what non-integrous men they were. He continued through the gates as everyone else still seemed interested in the summoning from the jagged mountain miles away.

[Kveykva]

Nicholas Storm - Male - 31 - Breton - College of Winterhold - Tagged: Altavia
Nicholas clammed up once she snapped at him for worrying. He couldn't help it, but as much as he wanted to argue, the necromancer gave in to her demands, flinching backwards when she smacked his hands away. He returned them to his pockets, though his face still showed concern. "Alright, a-alright, I owe you. I'm in your debt for nearly killing yourself in my place." The Breton sighed, the wind making a mess out of his already messy black hair. He chewed his lip for a moment, not quite sure what to do next to actually get the Sigil Stone, since that seemed to be Altavia's main concern, but Durnehviir interjected to answer Altavia's second question. "Mal Dinok called for my aid, and by his power I remain here in Tamriel. Without it, my strength would wane in my time apart from the Soul Cairn, and I would become no more. I will return to my servitude when I feel myself weakening." The best idea Nick could come up with was to just summon the dremora and see what happened, but the dragon wasn't quite finished. "There is another issue we must address before the being born of Oblivion returns and I myself return to the realm of the Ideal Masters." His gaze rested on Altavia. "You heard the summons, yes? I know not what it means, but the wielder of the words calls out for the Dovahkiin, Dragonborn in your tongue." Nicholas glanced at the younger Breton, then back to Durnehviir. "Yeah... I had a question about that. What are you looking at her for?" Durnehviir did not pause to explain himself.

"When I spoke of you earlier, Altavia," The dragon disliked the way her name rolled off his tongue, pronouncing to slowly as not to speak it incorrectly. "I had to bite my tongue to prevent myself from referring to you as Dov, though I could not fathom why such a word would cling to a joor like yourself. In light of the Thu'um we heard, however, I believe I understand. You share the blood of I and my brethern. I know not what the presence of a Dovahkiin means, nor who asks of one's audience, but I advise caution." Nick looked between the two of them, entirely lost. He wracked his brain for anything he knew about a "Dragonborn," but he kept coming up empty. "You don't know anything more than that?" The necromancer said finally. "Nothing?" Durnehviir moved one of his clawed wings forward, getting a better grasp on the wall that supported him. "Forgive me, Mal Dinok. It has been many centuries since the time I last roamed Tamriel freely. Much has changed in that time."

[vega.]

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seventeen - breton - location: Winterhold, College - tags: Nicholas

Altavia draped her cloak back over her shoulders, waiting for some kind of answer from the mage, who’s uncertain expression told her that this task was not going as he planned it. Perhaps the dremora would live up to it’s promise and return with the stone, or Nick would summon it again. So Durnehviir didn’t belong here. That didn’t surprise Altavia. What did was that he was another being for the mage to conjure. She was curious of how his impressions weren’t more outstanding, as he was running around conjuring things from different realms and animating bodies, apparently. She wondered if he came from High Rock with their withstanding reputation Institutes and Apprenticeships where the best mages being a product of it.

The dragon wasn’t finished however. He changed the subject, bringing up the explanation behind the strange sound that echoed through the northern mountains. She heard little of the myths, but they were explain her stranger occurrences times the only answer to nonsense was more nonsense, so more pieces were present to fill the puzzle. Altavia was already charged with precaution since she received the threat in Morthal. “So whoever’s on the mountain wants to see someone...like me? Are you saying I shouldn’t go?” She asked slowly, “And how could I possibly be like you?” She further gestured to Durnehviir in a wave of her hand after standing squinting, confused as much as the other two.

[Kveykva]

Akadar Strong-Blade - Male - 26 - Nord - Whiterun - Tagged: Celenr
Akadar remained entranced, the mountain holding his eyes until his throbbing injuries reminded him he needed to have them looked at. The burn could wait, but if his hand was indeed broken, the battle-maid would need to set it as soon as possible to avoid anything worse. The guard tore his gaze away from the Throat of the World and trudged up to the gate, nodding his head tiredly to the guards that stood on either side of it. The Nord was tired, and he believed he deserved a well earned rest. Unintentionally, Akadar caught up once again to the Dragonborn, as the Breton had to his group before. "You're lucky to have an audience with the Jarl," He commented. "He lends his ear only to the words of a few people, and even fewer outsiders." The Nord stopped outside the barracks, where they would be parting ways. "What may I call you, Dargonborn? I reckon that title will get old and cliche quickly, so I would like to know your given name, if it isn't too much trouble." Ignoring the whole 'Dragonborn' aspect, the Breton was an interesting fellow, though he didn't quite believe that he owed the man his life.

(My muse died a little inside, so this is unfortunately a bit short)

[Kveykva]

Nicholas Storm - Male - 31 - Breton - College of Winterhold - Tagged: Altavia
A puff of fog issued from the ancient dragon's muzzle filled the air between them. "Nid, you twist my words mortal. I advise caution, but you know more of Keizaal than I. There was a time when I called Tamriel my home, but those days have long since passed. I know not what may await you atop the mountain, only that you would be wise to tread lightly if you choose to answer the summons." The dragon lowered his head to more easily meet Altavia's gaze, his flesh dripping putrefaction that strangely carried no odor. "I fear not all will rejoice in the time of a Dovahkiin, if my memory serves me right. Be wary, friend of Mal Dinok. You share the blood of dragons, but with it you could also share their volatile and greedy nature. Akatosh has given you a great purpose; do not let your power consume you as it did many of our kin." A shudder rippled down Durnehviir's spine, his weakness now showing through. His decaying form began to fade. "Durnehviir! Honestly, must you speak in riddles? None of that makes any sense!" Nicholas reached out to touch the dragon's hide, but Durnehviir growled a warning. "No, Mal Dinok. It is time I returned to my servitude in the Soul Cairn. You must let me go." Reluctantly, he stepped back to Altavia's side. "Be strong, Little Death. I will return to Tamriel at your next call." The dragon dipped its head to the necromancer, fading like a vapor in the winds that attacked the top of the College.

Nicholas gave a small wave to where Durnehviir had been, the undead dragon leaving no trace. "... So that's Durnehviir. He's a pretty neat guy once you get to know him." Nick started nonchalantly, trying to brush off the fading of his undead friend in favor of finishing the ritual. "I really don't know what any of that Dragonborn mess means, but let's say we'll talk it over after we get our Sigil Stone, hm? If you want to, that is." The Breton moved to pat her comfortingly on the shoulder, reconsidering once his memory refreshed itself on her injury. Instead, he gathered the arcane energy to cast the spell, summoning the dremora once more. It answered the summons, bearing a large, impossibly smooth stone that radiated energy. "I have your stone," The dremora sneered, spitting the words through gritted teeth. "Though you have likely angered Mehrunes Dagon for taking it." Nicholas accepted the Sigil Stone, turning the black and red orb in his hands. "Why thank you, good sir. Much obliged," He gave the daedra a casual salute. "Hey, if I were to throw this really hard at the ground, would it break?" The dremora grimaced. "It cannot be harmed by any mortal means." This just made the necromancer even more giddy. "Awesome, great. Thanks. You're free to leave, then." Silence. "That means go. Shoo. Scram. Skedaddle." He made a shooing motion with his hands, the stone tucked under his arm. Looking almost relieved, the daedra vanished. Nicholas turned to face Altavia, grinning like an idiot. "That, was amazing. I can't believe any of that worked. Thank you so much, Altavia."

[Captain Plucky]

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Conavin Brueric
Male Breton
19 years old
Location: Riften
With: Raavi

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Conavin could practically feel how awkward Raavi was just by her laugh, and was beyond grateful when she spoke up, finally ending the very awkward situation. "I do suppose my lady does a point. We should go. Have a great day!" he bade the guard farewell with a smile, and quickly walked away. He knew that he should've waited for the guard to answer, but he didn't think he could continue that conversation any longer. "We will never speak of this again. Understand, Raavi?" he asked, keeping his voice down.

Raavi Kinair/ Khajiit/ Nightingale/ Mood: *Soft, internal screeching*/ Female/ 22/ Tags; Conavin

"Yes, I totally agree." Raavi nodded profusely to Conavin's words, thanking the Nine Divine's that the two were away from that intrusive guard. In any other situation, the Nightingale would just laugh it off and change the subject. But, when she got such words tossed at her when she was tired, hurting, and a little irritable...
Raavi was really tempted to just dispose of the persons body in the river, for the fisherman to find. She knew very well of her capabilities to kill, but it just wasn't what a thief did. It was more of the Dark Brotherhood's thing. That fact aggravated Kinair at times. "Ah, there's the general store." Raavi said after Conavin walked a few minutes, pointing to the building. "Finally, we can get my dumb ankle over with!" she joked, silently sad that she would be leaving the mans arms soon. He was surprisingly very comforting, and she would miss this more intimate-time that they were spending together. Raavi really did want to tell Conavin how she felt, but it just seemed to early to confess. She would need time to make sure that her feelings were real and legitimate, and not just some sort of one-week crush. However, Kinair was a very impatient person when such moments like this came around, so she honestly didn't know how long she could wait. Hopefully, Raavi could hold out just as much as she needed to. Then, she could do all of the talking she wanted. The Nightingale knew that, after all the waiting, that she would really enjoy telling Conavin. She had no idea if he felt the same, and her thoughts were actually trailing to a "no", since the man was so composed and seemingly-unfeeling. But, there was a slim chance that he did. A chance that Raavi would snatch up in a moment. If only the moment could come sooner...

Slick/ Brenton/ Thief/ Mood: Calming down/ Male/ 19/ Tags; Runa.

Slick listened to Runa's words, relieved that she understood he didn't mean to upset her. "Well, you certainly deserve compliments. I don't see why other men haven't tried to talk to you. You're very pretty." he stated smoothly, leaning back on the bench. "My name is Slick, it's a pleasure to meet you." He winked at Runa, smirking.