Join the Ashes of Creation MMORPG
(Register or log in to remove advertisements - why ads?)


Started by ragnar-ice blood
Post #98477

Likes Given: 153
Likes Received: 244
Faction & Race:
Aldmeri Dominion
Hailing from the cold desolate province of Skyrim had taught Ragnar many things but one thought still gnawed in his mind something that he thought he could bring himself to forget…

Chapter one: Frosts fall
It was a harsh winter’s night in Ivarstead Ragnar was only but a pup he could remember his mother Ysolda her beautiful face and his proud farther Alof standing proud and strong alongside his, mother unbeknownst to them what would happen next. When a strange, spectral cry was uttered outside the rough animal hide hut Ragnar’s farther looked at him one last time drawing his honorific steel sword not knowing what would happen when he left the hut...

Minutes had passed and with still no sign of Alof Ysolda grew worried and went to look for her beloved husband the scream she let loose when she found her husband he laid dead the glittering, golden elven sword that was logged in Alof's chest was bright crimson. Alof managed only five rasping words his lifeblood draining from him, they were ''run the Dominion have come'' his grief stricken wife sneaked back into the hut to rescue her infant child when she had hold of me she ran and ran but didn't stop till we reached the town of Riften where she made the hardest choice of her life...with a heavy heart and a tear-filled face she gave me to the honour hall Riften orphanage. Her last words to him were ''Ragnar I'm going to find your fathers killers if it is the last thing I do'' with a last smile she left Ragnar in honour hall never to return back.

Chapter two: Anger
All seemed joyous apart from the, occasional beatings in honour hall all until the fate-full day of Ragnar’s sixteenth birthday, which would normally be an extremely joyful day as the oppressed children, were finally allowed to be set free from the hell of honour hall orphanage Ragnar’s was much different…
his first stop was Alvor’s black-smith in the town centre, their he worked for gruellingly long hours until he could afford, to purchase the metal he needed to craft himself a suit of steel plate wolf fur-lined armour upon which he carved his forgotten family emblem-the head of a lion. And for a weapon he crafted himself a keen bladed longsword and to accompany it – it a steel bound oaken shield, and for once in his life I felt as though he wasn’t as weak as was drilled into him by Grelta the hag that ran honour hall he felt as though he could avenge his family.

Chapter three: The journey
When night had finally set in Ragnar left to his temporary home gifted to him by the jarl, when he at last fell to sleep his dreams were fraught with, terrible visions of pain of misery and of him burning and the faces of his assailants-Altmer the twisted arrogant look of their kind plastered across their, horrible sickly coloured faces, the next moment he was in a huge pitched battle but on his side there was only, himself and again his enemies were the tall golden clad regiments of the Aldmeri Dominion, he mustered ever sliver of courage he could and charged and with a crack like that of thunder battle was joined. The slaughter the blood, the looks on their smug arrogant faces draining from them as they witnessed the raw animal fury of the, Nord whom moments ago was like a child cowering now they knew of their mistake-all the while their comrades were butchered in to bloody chunks by the, unbound demon-like human.

Then Ragnar looked at himself through, one of the torn mirror-like plates of armour the elves wore, he was mortified by what he had become-a monster his sickly black skin highlighted by flashes of, bright crimson with large bestial horns sprouted out from his fore head and back. He realised what he had become and with a heavy heart he walked arms, held out beside him like some hellish looking cross and he screamed for them to kill him to put him out of his misery once and for all.

One of the elves stepped towards him, his black leather robe’s pulled high above his head Ragnar recognised him as, a justicar one of the elf elite he looked shocked and was trembling, ‘’how; ''how could I do this to such people on such a scale?'’he asked the elf, at that thought the elves drifted, into liquid shadows and reformed and now in front of him was his village, his father lay dead the same golden sword plunged deep in his chest then he saw his mother, being beheaded in front of a cheering crowd. Then he remembered why he fight, why he was strong enough to stop this happening to anybody else, a smile appeared upon his face he knew what he must do...

Chapter four: the roads of Skyrim
Ragnar awoke the next morning; the dreary grey of night was still fading he smiled at the slowly rising sun, he got dressed before walking downstairs into the kitchen where he was shocked to find a note, upon which read-'’you won’t be able to take on the Aldmeri by yourself meet me, in Whiterun and hurry.’’ When he had read the note he carefully placed it into his pocket, and put his recently crafted armour on grabbed his enchanted weapons and exited his home, and went to the stables bought a horse and set upon the mossy, cobbled roads leading to Whiterun.

Upon his travels, Ragnar was ambushed by a band of bandits which didn’t even have the intelligence to, grab a bow he used this advantage and simply sped away from them, where they proceeded to shout curses long after Ragnar’s escape. Night had fallen just before Ragnar got within sight distance with Whiterun and the weather had turned from be a beautiful and sunny day into a cold stormy night, he however travelled on undoubted, until he met a traveller on the road from Riverwood he was dressed in only rags and Ragnar could tell a werewolf when he saw, one and the beggar had clearly know that Ragnar could tell he was a creature of the night, when he did what he did next…With a savage bestial snarl of pure animal hatred he changed, into a werewolf fortune was smiling upon Ragnar however as when he drew his sword the creature, simply ran from Ragnar.

Ragnar gave a quick thanks to the divines, as he knew the werewolf could have easily killed him ripped him to pieces and eaten him or worse,-he could have infected him. Ragnar banished the thoughts from his, mind and continued on to reached the hallowed city of Whiterun by early day it was a master piece of military and architectural engineering, every outside exit was guarded by a cadre of Ebon Heart troops their grizzled faces suggested they had witnessed untold tragedy, during their lifetimes of warfare.

Chapter five: A rose by any other name
When Ragnar entered the city, he saw why they had troops around the perimeter-The famous Ebon guard some of the most feared, and respected warriors in all of Tamriel were here in Whiterun! He could not believe his eyes, however unfortunately he had not the time to meet them as he headed briskly, towards Dragons reach.

Inside Dragons reach was, far from what was expected-maps were everywhere and all assets were devoted to, planning the war effort quartermasters were issuing equipment to soldiers while mages of all stripes were issuing last minute lessons to students, Ragnar walked over to what he assumed to be the, acting commander and asked him about a Dunmer called Dark-blade.

The commander looked shocked by, his question but promptly pointed out a dark hooded figure amongst the masses of troops and tacticians Ragnar thanked the, over worked warrior and headed over to Dark-blade unsure of what would happen when they would speak. ‘’Are you Ragnar Ice-Blood I presume’’ Dark-blade asked Ragnar nodded, briskly ‘’Then you must have gotten my letter let me help you and you are sure to succeed I am Slyven at your service’’ Ragnar looked at him with a face of surprise and suspicion the Dunmer were renown to be, somewhat shrewd when it came to things such as companionship but never the less, he accepted his offer and told him ‘’pack your things we leave for Markarth today’’ Slyven nodded, and later that day the pair headed of for Markarth.

Chapter six: Blood and silver
The journey to Markarth was treacherous at, best one instance of such was the cave the warriors took refuge in during the night, as the rain lashed from the heavens and lightning spat from large grey storm clouds. What they did not know however was, that said cave was infested with the un-dead and not the typical draugar but, something much worse…vampires the remnants of those afflicted with Vampiris sanguine a, so-called blessing from the deadric prince Molag-Bal which caused to have to feed on human blood or go feral with dark hunger.

Fortunately the creatures that resided in the cave, were but fledgling’s those who had only had the blessing for a minority of time but their leader the giver of their, vampirism was a much different case-he was Vholkair a member of one of the oldest clans in the whole of Tamriel. However Slyven, was prepared with -silver weapons Slyven handed Ragnar a ornate rune encrusted mace while he held a sanctified dagger a weapon blessed by the Deadra, hating vigilantes of stendar and set off into the bowls of the cave…

The walls were covered in, many kinds of colourful and pungent fungus from Namira’s rot to Blisterwort, which every now and then Slyven would stop to collect a particularly rare type of mushroom, that is until they reached the entrance to the vampire camp.

Chapter seven: Bloody Fangs
The dull metallic stench, of fresh blood was ripe in the humid caverns as the vampires slit the throat of yet another captive, and spilled the crimson liquid into a large bronze brazier which was being chanted over by, what was suspected to be their leader. Ragnar and Slyven crept ever closer to the, entrance that is until the blood mad creatures smelt them…

Their faces were horrific messes of flesh as they charged towards the pair snarling, in animal fury Ragnar raised his shield and braced himself while Slyven unsheathed his dagger, and sneaked in during the commotion his aim to kill the vampires leader, the vampires that were charging hit Ragnar’s shield at full sprint, however one of them misjudged the jump and flew face first into the wall behind him and with a crack like thunder it neck was instantly snapped killing it this did not stop the other vampires, who were trying their luck with magic as it conjured a fireball a spell Ragnar knew would burn him to naught but cinder, the spell erupted in its hand as it lost concentration and even as the creature died killing the third vampire as well in a fiery inferno it spitted a curse at the pair.

'’The leader would not die as easy, as his minions but he would’’ Slyven thought to, himself as he manoeuvred behind the blood addled monstrosity and with a flick of silver the vampires neck was severed, but the creature did not simply die instead it ran at Ragnar he prepared and with a thunderous overhead smack of his gleaming silver mace crushed the silver mace straight into the beasts head killing it instantly.
The pair left the cave by, the orange glow of the early morning sunrise and continued their journey on wards to Valenwood.

Chapter eight: Ancient knowledge
The beautiful, dwarven towers reached far above the drab grey, brick walls surrounding Markarth a stark contrast to the mid-morning, sky which had turned a dreary dark grey.

Ragnar rode towards the heavily guarded main gate into the city and noticed a, grief stricken woman near the gate her face told of great loss feeling sorry for her; he rode towards her and asked her ‘’what has happened’’ she said ‘’What don’t you know the covenant have started, to raid our towns and villages they attack like beasts killing everything in their path. They have already attacked Skingrad where…’’ Ragnar looked at her waiting for her to; finish however he knew that he wouldn’t know when she burst into tears. Ragnar called a guard over to, the teary eyed woman and continued to ride into the city.

Inside the city was a, stark contrast to White run; everything here was peaceful and serene Ragnar found this odd as Markarth was near the borders to Cyrodil and Hammerfell , normally a city like this would have had an army raised and it walls laden with archers. Ragnar and Slyven made their way to the tavern here the so-called ‘Drowned Horker’ the, ancient wooden building was located in the middle of the city the stained windows echoed that age.

The pair entered the dreary tavern the flickering lanterns casting flickering shadows, over the patrons ‘’we should ask the barman about the bounty’’ said Slyven his ashen skin appearing pitch black in the shadows ‘’it would be a good idea’’ Ragnar replied walking over to the barman ‘’have you heard of a man named Ralof?’’ Ragnar questioned the barman ‘’perhaps I have but why would I want to tell a stranger secrets?’’ the barman’s face had turned into a smug expression of pure greed, Ragnar handed the man a small sack cloth bag of gold '’ah you know had to make someone talk, Ralof is in the basement tell them Bjorn sent you’’.

Chapter nine: Brotherhood of darkness
‘’Are you sure he’s here?’’ Ragnar asked Slyven the Dunmer had been quite for the last few minutes ‘’positive’’ Slyven answered. The pair come across a sanguine red door the stone skull emblazed on its surface casted a horrific shadow about the place, Ragnar went to open the door and was shocked as it spoke ‘’what is the colour of night?’’ the door questioned ‘’sanguine my brother’’ Slyven replied as the door swung open.

Inside was horrific crimson blood coated the stone, walls as the corpses of the fallen covered the floor as a tall figure stepped out her armour spattered with blood ‘’ah brother Slyven welcome back and who might this be?’’ as she spoke a masked Argonian appeared alongside her ‘’this is Ragnar do you have the prisoner?’’ Slyven asked as sweat started to form on, his forehead ‘’yes we have him follow me’’ the woman walked down a long corridor before stopping next to a heavy looking door '’he is here’’.

Chapter ten: re-united
The dungeons reeked of blood and death the smell wasn’t unfamiliar to any of them. The group finally found the correct cell the man inside was, covered only in rags and drinking from a wooden bowl Ragnar walked up to the cage and tapped on the bars '’you there come here’’ the prisoner stood up and walked up, to the cage ‘’Ralof I thought you were dead’’ Ragnar smiled at his brother that for a long while was thought to be dead

'’Well let us get you out of that cell, assassin how much for his release?’’ The assassin pondered this question before drawing her dagger '’you never said safe release’’. At this gesture Ragnar drew his sword and with a, brutal swing decapitated the assassin '’I have searched for my brother for years now you will not stop me from freeing him’’ Ragnar grimly said taking the key to the cell and unlocking the door '’come Ralof let us leave this place’’. Ralof acknowledged the comment rushing forward grabbing Slyven’s dagger and stabbing the shadow scale that was poised to attack the group '’already you have saved our lives’’ Ragnar smiled for once in what seemed like an eternity '’come on let us leave this place’’ the group exited the cave and left the city of Markarth and set forth to the jungles and sand of Elsyewer…

Vlos Hithern!
The Blood Coven!

Va Khaj Dar!
The council of Arcanea!

Like this post Reply
The following 1 user likes ragnar-ice blood's post:

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)
(Register or log in to remove advertisements - why ads?)

This fan site is not affiliated with ZeniMax Media Inc. or any of its subsidiaries. Including, but not limited to, Bethesda Game Studios and ZeniMax Online Studios.
The Elder Scrolls® images © ZeniMax Media Inc. / Forum content ©