Private/Closed The World Eater - Skyrim Roleplay

[wintersolstice]

Somewhere in the pine forests outside of Falkreath, a lean figure lurked behind two guards. Their identity wasn't obvious, due to the numerous strands falling from their ponytail into their eyes, as well as the dark mask that covered the bottom portion of their face. Based on their body, it could be assumed that they were maybe a lanky, boyish woman, or instead maybe just a thin, pretty boy. Regardless of that, it seemed that finding out was not going to be on the guards' agendas, for the figure didn't intend to be seen. They seemed focus on the satchel dangling loosely behind the second.
"Heard the news about Helgen?" the first guard mused to the other. "News of dragons. Killed everyone in the area."
"Yeah, heard from Holgunn. Ulfric Stormcloak was amongst the dea- hey, wait. Did you hear that?"
The two men slowly drew their swords, creeping backwards, unknowingly closer to the figure. A brown wolf stalked towards them from ahead, a low growl rumbling in it's throat.
"Shit. Wolf. Can't be too hard to kill, it's big, but-"
"Are you dense? Wolves travel in packs, they're probably around here.."
Aided by the distaction, two slender hands silently opened the satchel, grabbing a tiny bag as well as a bottle. The bag jingled softly when removed from the satchel, and the two guards whirled around, already drunk on adrenaline. The figure behind them slid backwards and got to their feet, whistling sharply.
"Hey-! What're you-?!"
"Karnwyr! Heel!"
The figure took off sprinting with a hearty laugh, and as did the wolf, side by side as if one in the same. The guard spluttered weakly before running after them, their heavy armor clunking obnoxiously as they ran.

- -

"Good job, mutt," the person praised eventually, affection in their tone. After a bit of running (not much, as guards were easy to outrun), the pair came to a stop at a tall tree. The masked figure was slumped at the base, scratching underneath the wolf's chin, while his tail thumped against the ground. They sifted through the bag with a single finger, mumbling numbers beneath their breath. "This gold should be enough to get a meal from one of the Khajiit caravans, just hope J'Raksa isn't still mad about that horse haunch."
The thief tugged their mask down so that it bunched up at their neck, revealing a slightly dirty but otherwise pretty face. With their lips pursed into a natural resting frown, they seemed upset, but they were actually quite pleased by today. They looked around for a moment, studying the terrain, before crossing over to a semi-uplifted rock. Underneath was a dense pile of moss, deliberately placed to hide a (stolen) backpack. Inside one pocket was a single loaf of bread, small in size. They tore a bit less than half off and held the rest in their mouth, tossing the piece to the wolf, who snatched it middair before settling comfortably at the base of the tree. Bottle still in hand, the figure approached one of the bigger trees, hoisting themselves up and climbing up into the branches. The forests here didn't have too many trees with stable branches, so the location was obviously planned. Sitting comfortably against the trunk, the figure tore off some of the bread and chewed it slowly, before washing it down with a gulp of mead.
Shit, she still couldn't handle alcohol.
The woman, named Valdestine, had been roaming alone with Karnwyr for nearly a decade. Stealing, roaming, trading... the world had no greater destiny for them, and she was okay with that. She rested her head against the tree, breathing into the mask at her neck. Looking down at Karnwyr warmly, the woman endured another swallow of mead, before tugging her mask back up and directing her dull orange gaze to the sky.
Dragons, huh? And I thought Argonians were a stretch.

 

[Barefoot_Kittens]

The sun was high and the day suitable for a stroll through the city, and if he were in any other city, perhaps, Zander would grant himself with the less stressful task of a stroll through the city. Per usual, however, Zander was not in any other city- he was always in the wrong place at the wrong time. And this place was Falkreath, the time being only days after a tragic occurrence. The type of occurrence that you wouldn't believe if a kid told you- but it was so believable right now. The town was quiet, saddened with loss- some were already cleaning up the large amounts of debris that was likely once their very houses. Zander did his best to keep his eyes on the path ahead of him, afraid that someone would get upset if he were caught staring at them. And the young man, wondering why, of all places, he had decided to go here, contemplated turning around and leaving right then and there. Zander's major predicament was that he couldn't just turn around now- he was on a mission. And while his eyes jumped from place to place, the grip on his small satchel tightening with nervous force, he was much more focused than he looked. Zander had, in fact, been planning this trip for some time. Of course, nobody had warned him that the whole damn city was going to be under siege by a dragon just days before he would arrive.
Zander had one talent: alchemy. One talent that he is, indeed, quite proud of; but, when it comes to producing anything else, Zander pretty much sucks at it. With mediocre charisma, zero coordination, and the absence of wit necessary to wield magic- Zander tends to stick to what he knows: alchemy. Locking himself in his room for days at a time, Zander will sit at his alchemy table and use every ingredient he can- experimenting and testing different ingredients until he's satisfied with the outcome- which was often just one measly bottle of some odd-colored potion. After a certain amount of time, Zander grew bored with the variety of ingredients given at his local alchemist store in The Reach. The Hag's Cure is quite familiar with the young breton, who visits nearly twice daily, but the small shop didn't forever keep Zander's wandering mind. While the thought frankly still scares him, and Zander would deem the task unnecessary and irrelevant on any other occasion, Zander's enthusiasm for Alchemy prompted him to leave his small, comfortable home and wander elsewhere. Whiterun was a bit too much for the boy's taste, but Falkreath seemed like the perfect place to check out their alchemy store. Grave Concoctions wa- Zander looked up just a moment too late, lost in his own thoughts and not paying attention to his surroundings. As the male's forehead lightly pressed against an old wooden surface, Zander looked up to realize he had walked straight into the shop's closed door. Zander let out a puff before he traced his hand across the door's rough exterior and curling his fingers around the door knob. He took a breath, mustering all the courage he needed for the next social interaction- but the knob only jerked slightly when he attempted to open the door. Zander furrowed his brows, a panic rushing through his entire body as he tugged on the door a few time before racing to look through the window. The shop was empty, with nobody inside.
Zander let out a dramatic, exasperated sigh as he pounded a closed fist on the window and shook his head violently. "Why?" Zander's voice, dropping to a whisper was broken and unsure. Just his luck- now he was stuck in a town that had way worse problems than a closed shop, he didn't have enough rations to get home on, and he didn't even get any of the ingredients he wanted. Zander's shoulders slumped as his whole body physically melted with disappointment and he dragged his feet through the dirt. Zander sighed as he walked out of the city gates, what a waste of time. The young breton scoffed at the city before turning around to a large creature causing him to jump backwards and release a yelp. As Zander looked up to see the slender sabre cat, the boy let out an annoyed huff. He was already it a bad enough mood for this- "Anahi!" Zander groaned as he stood up, the large cat then promptly opened it's mouth and allowed the mutilated carcass of a rabbit to roll off of her tongue. Zander grimaced with disgust as he turned away from the prey and scowled, he was in no mood for Anahi's antics. In fact, he knew that the rabbit was indeed a trap, for when he went to touch it Anahi would sure raise her fur and hiss at him- some friend she was.
Zander brushed himself off and rolled his eyes, heaving his satchel higher onto his shoulders before taking off into the trees muttering about who he hoped he'd at least be able to find some ingredients, Anahi walked silently behind him.

 

[Sentorus67]

Gerdur sat still on the fishing dock. beside her was a high elf with red robes. they were both staring off into the sky with confusion doubt and grief. News of the dragon attack was immediate, and since many people in Helgen had family their live in Helgen sadness overwhelmed the small town. Next, to her, the Altmer, Khaled, did not have anyone he knew living there. His mind was focused on the cause. Dragons, the sons of Akatosh. He could not understand why the gods would to bring back such creatures if it only meant destruction. Originally when he found Gerdur in such a miserable state he hoped to comfort her and provide. But Khaled himself was having a hard time digesting the situation. after some time past, he got up and helped around the town as he used to. He would chop wood, help prepare drinks, and tidy around with odd jobs. It was the least he could do after another recent incident. A few bandits snuck into town and raided the trader. He tried to fend them off but one severely cut his wrist. After that Khaled made it his duty to help out the place until he recovered and return what was stolen.

His recent task was to deliver goods to Falkreath. Khaled grabbed a large traveling bag and trotted down the road.

 

[Riverrunner]

For once, Jo’dran had a stroke of good luck.

Following his suspension from the College of Winterhold, finding work as a mage had become well-nigh impossible. The ability to conjure flames from nothing was exhilarating, but unfortunately offered little utility outside of selling bits of charred meat. As such, he had relied on using his spells for mere performance acts, forming flames into the shape of doves in hopes of picking a few gold from the crowd. Or, worse, teach his knowledge to few roaming adventurers for a pittance. The very thought of giving away his hard-earned knowledge for what was comparatively such little left a sour taste in his mouth, but it was certainly better than running on an empty stomach.
The constant travel in itself was exhausting. Had it not been for his pride, he would have already returned to his former life as a pickpocket, or paid a fee to the College in an attempt to lift his moratorium. A couple more gigs, a few weeks travel, and a hearty helping of humility would’ve gotten him to the latter, but—judging by the complete lack of people and therefore the complete lack of ability to earn any money—that would have to be even further delayed.

Yet, despite his cynicism in the past months, even Jo couldn’t deny he’d caught a lucky break. He’d had his share of near misses in his life, but none quite as grand as the draconic attack that had leveled the town of Helgen—the town he had set course to arrive in several days earlier. News had spread fast, even prior to his arrival, the tales woven through word of mouth paled in comparison to the destruction that currently was laid out before him. He’d expected to find a place to rest on his way to Falkreath, but they hadn’t been exaggerating; everything was gone. What may have once been a sprawling community was now little more than a few splinters, grasping at the cloud-covered sky like the charred fingers on a skeletal hand. The cobblestone streets were covered in soot and scored with long, jagged indents. If the rumors were to be believed, these were the surefire marks of a dragon’s presence.
After witnessing it with his own eyes, he certainly believed it.
Nonetheless, this still meant that he had nowhere to stop and rest.

Jo scoffed at the scene before him, kicking a few scattered pebbles back in the direction of what might have once been a sturdy wall. He’d seen enough. There was no sense staying in a dragon-made graveyard. The Khajiit stuffed a chunk of bread into his mouth, turning on his heel and heading southwest. Coming here had been a waste of time.

————
Unfortunately, the atmosphere at Falkreath wasn’t much different.

Physically, the city was in much better shape, but emotionally, everyone seemed to have been shell-shocked in some degree by the recent news. Due to its close proximity to Helgen, many of the shops were closed, with some mourning those they knew from the town that had been leveled overnight. From the looks of both the city and the contents of his coin purse, he likely wouldn’t be able to draw in a crowd, nor would there be any place to get rations. A quick stroll around more than confirmed his suspicions—much of the populace had taken residence inside of their homes, and, subsequently, many of the shops had been closed for the day.

That left only one option.
If no one was selling food, he’d have to find his own. There would have to be some kind of game waiting outside the gates, after all.

The Khajiit groaned, ate the remaining bit of his bread loaf and begrudgingly headed out of Falkreath’s walls, ignoring the dull ache of his legs as he trudged out into the forest.

 

[Red Gallade]

Near the outskirts of Falkreath the forest was calm, the animals ran free, but in the middle of the forest was a small campsite with a beige horse tied to a tree branch with plenty of grass around for her to eat.

Ryon was busy with his quiver, he made sure that it was filled with freshly sharpened arrows that he spent all evening sharpening, he stood up and donned his cloak before he collected his bow and walked over to his horse. "I won't go too far, girl. Just gonna find a good hunt." He said with a smile before he turned and walked deeper into the woods. While his camp was only two hours from Falkreath by foot, Ryon always set up his camp far enough to find game, yet close enough for people to hear in case he or his horse were in danger. Ryon looked down and saw something that the normal eye would easily miss; pawprints within the dirt... and fresh ones to boot.

"These marks..." Ryon softly said to himself before his hand lightly brushed the pawprint before he took a small sniff. "Sabre cat..." He whispered to himself before he got out and arrow, crouched lightly and started to walk as quickly, yet quietly as possible, a Sabre cat would be a good find; good food and a profitable hide which meant easy money... but easy money wasn't always fun in his opinion, hunting wasn't a job for him, it was something he felt that he was born to do, to traverse the wilderness with the animals he shared it with and show nature exactly who stood at the top of the food chain.

Ryon stopped and began to take a sniff of the air, it smelled like an animal, but it was hard to tell which one as it smelled like a mixture between two variants, either a hybrid or there were two types nearby. He hid behind a tree and slowly went to peek out and notice where one half of the smell came from: It was a proud and strong looking Elk who calmly ate the grass beneath it's hooves, clearly oblivious to the danger that stared it down. Ryon smiled, it was no Sabre cat--something he was still wise to remain cautious about--but Elks had valuable hides and their antlers were one of his favorite trophies, the hunter put the feathered end of his arrow against the bow's string and began to draw it back slowly, he knew the slightest sound would get it's attention and get it to run off.

But as he took aim at the majestic creature... he began to hear the bushes opposite to him rustle followed by an ominous growl. Ryon kept his bow drawn, but slowly moved deeper into his hiding spot, still able to see the Elk turn toward the noise, but before it could run off, a large Sabre cat loudly snarled and pounced out of the bushes, immediately it caught the Elk by the neck with it's two massive fangs and mauled the defenseless creature until the life drained from it's eyes. Ryon sighed lightly in relief; if he were a few seconds quicker to react, he would likely be a second serving to the monstrous feline who began to feast upon it's well earned meal, unaware of the hunter who slowly emerged from the tree and took aim with his bow once more.

 

[Barefoot_Kittens]

Zander's expression was tense- he wasn't much of a nature guy. Besides Anahi, he didn't have any experience with animals. And the shade from the trees were far too ominous for him to ignore. Each rustle caused the young man to flinch, it's crossing insect caused him to hold his breath. Zander's shoulders tensed when the sound of nearby buzzing caught his attention: bees. Slowly opening one amber eye, a smile crept across Zander's face. An unsure, but still somewhat relieved smile. "I can get honeycomb- yeah. That'll make me some stamina potions, ooh or fortify block!" Zander's face visibly lit up when he began talking about alchemy- it would've been more charming if he weren't talking to a sabre cat. Zander let out a long breath in preparation as he mustered up every bit of courage in his body, the boy's eyes began narrow with determination and his lip pressed together in a gesture of solidity. Zander rolled his sleeves up, he sure this act of manliness would make him feel braver. And yet, Zander still trembled at the thoughts of the many tiny needles piercing his skin when he bees defended their home. Giving himself a pep-talk, Zander made his way over to the beehive. With one single swat he attempted to take the beehive down, swinging with all of his force before sprinting back to his previous position. Zander took a moment to catch his breath before he groaned at realizing he had struck nothing but air, and the hive was very much still in tact. Moving on to plan B.
Anahi lowered her ears suddenly, letting out a low growling sound as her haunches lowered and her tail swished furiously back and forth. Zander, focused on the beehive, did not notice his cat's reaction. Anahi's lips twitched, her beady purple eyes grew small and her nose flared intensely. She smelled danger. The mix of blood and metal and experience; there was a hunter nearby.

 

[Sentorus67]

For a while, the path to Falkreath was simple for Khaled. Be it his prayers to a peaceful forest or his intimidating great sword few creatures would approach him. And only half of them were hostile. He heard a small rustling in the far distance. From the looks of it, there was a Khajit wandering aimlessly. It seemed not only tired but somewhat hungry and it moved in a lethargic manner. Hoping the encounter would be peaceful he waved and loudly beckoned to come closer.