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We Lived. We Pained. We Did Not Die.


Started by Aaxe
Post #145450
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Ebonheart Pact (Nord)
Click.

Zzzzzrrrrnnnnnzzhhuuuuthuunmppduuun!

Click.

Zzzzzrrrrnnnnnzzhhuuuuthuunmppduuun!

Click.

Zzzzzrrrrnnnnnzzhhuuuuthuunmppduuun!

Were the sounds that echoed into the Rift churning water down the half frozen stream to turn the wheel at the Hraldsted Sawmill. With each pull fell another of the gathered logs from the stream as the dual waterwheels turned. One lifting the river logs pooled on the Northern face of the Mill that powered the slow moving crane that lifted the heavy solid twenty feet cut onto the platform. The second waterwheel on the Southern side was powered by the river, not a man-made drain pool to cage the wood product. It supplied the energy to the saw to cut the logs as they were powered by a simple design of ropes, gears, and pulleys. Then pushed onto a barge, nothing more than a large raft made out of the first layer of five logs wide tied together, anchored into place.

Aaxe Hraldsted would finish two layers by the end of the day, already at a high noon in which the snowy fog broke the sun's rays into a gleam. She didn't care that her throat had become dry and cold to the point it became a bit hard to talk. There was no one around, no one coming, and no one expected to be talked to in a conversation out this far away from Riften. The merchant would not come for this part of the delivery until the end of the week in two more days. Twelve hundred and thirty-three cuts to go before the order would be complete. She had resigned her fate to be out here all winter toiling away at the crank and saw.

It would have been nice to have an employee for a temporary amount of time. At least until the order was fulfilled. Though the last one she had...had...with too much enjoyment. Yet, that order contained only about fifty or so. She wondered if it would be possible for her to not desire to consume the flesh of a body chiseled with the perfection that came from the job. To her, twelve hundred and thirty seven logs split into two thousand and seventy four pieces was just like watching or placing the pain brought upon by that many protrusions. Aaxe had decided that she would wait. Wait and watch the person or persons grow into a temple of...

"Oo..."

She moaned at the thought.

"Now. Now."

Trying to regain control of herself before falling into a sort of frenzy of thoughts about cooking the next meal, with the cuts of meat made to look like porcine or beef cuts from the back shed that led to the entrance of a small cold cave chilled by the frosty underwater stream that floated through it, coming down from the nearby mountains. She began to hear thuddy footsteps in the snow approaching her. Coming closer still. Turning. Looking at the figure with her dirt covered face, having streams of muddied sweat paths frozen along her cheeks, a bit of matted dirty looking blond hair frosted with wood shavings and ice, and a strong demeanor coupled with hands at her hips pivoting her stance on one leg that demanded an answer to the question, "Why are you not helping cut these logs already?"

"Well..?"

She asked completely unafraid of the result of confrontation.
This post was last modified: February 10th 2014, 07:48 PM by Aaxe
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Danaris
Post #145477
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Arbjorn Frosthowl emerges from the shadows of a shoddy wooden shack near the mill after a long while of watching and waiting. Previously undetected, the hulking Nord hefts up his massive hammer on top of his shoulder as he struts about, widely unaware of the profound, almost canine-like odor emitting from underneath his ornate, yet fading, armor. As the warrior reaches a carved wooden bench next to a stone-encrusted well, he lifts his horned helm and bearskin cloak from his body and sets it down next to the seat. Shortly after, Arbjorn occupies a large part of the bench, causing the structure to croak and groan under the sheer pressure of his weight.

A soft growl can be heard under the impressive, fiery red beard of Arbjorn, as the warrior's striking blue eyes scan the area for any signs of a perceivable threat. After a few drawn-out moments, a detection fails to be made, and the warrior ceases his growls and slides a humongous, bear-like hand across his inferno of a mane. Setting down the hammer momentarily, Arbjorn pulls out a large, unidentifiable object from a tattered knapsack and begins to chomp on it furiously.


Arbjorn Frost-Howl
Zeymah of the Bromlokiir
VOTH AKRIN!

'This is where we fight! This is where we die!' - King Leonidas
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Post #145623
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Ebonheart Pact (Argonian)
Dan-Ei lay in wait in the very top of a tree, feeling the cold brisk wind against his scales. He quite disliked Skyrim, mainly because of his dislike for cold but the Nords didn’t help either. He looked down at the forest floor, watching a rabbit dart across the path. He looked up ahead, at the big mill. He repositioned himself, sitting down on a branch and supporting himself by holding a branch that was above him. The branches up where he was were thin, so he had to be careful when moving around. He looked down at the forest floor again, knowing even if he landed on his feet he would either die or suffer serious injury. The tree he was in was one of the tallest around him. He slowly climbed down the tree, watching his step and what branch not to grab. The branch under neath his right foot suddenly cracked, startling him but he managed to recover thanks to a nearby branch. He climbed further down, and jumped off the tree a couple feet off the ground, landing with a roll to reduce the amount of noise he made and the impact of the fall. He stood up, brushed himself off, and started walking towards the mill.


Dar'Rak: Khajiit assassin, son of the Mane, at your service. But not really.
Im-Kur: Argonian Nightblade, killer of men, caster of spells.
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Post #145987
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Arbjorn, still progressing rapidly through his unknown meal, suddenly stops eating as he perks his head up. Unheard to mundane human ears, a sound of rustling is heard on Arbjorn's behalf, originating from the forest encompassing the small settlement. Baring his recently-bloodied teeth menacingly, the warrior narrows his watchful eyes as he scans his surroundings, holding what can now be identified as a rather large humanoid leg in one hand, the other reaching for the massive warhammer that is resting serenely against the wooden bench. A few seconds have passed, and Arbjorn, with his weapon at the ready, resumes his profound meal with the cautiousness of a wild animal. Bite after bite, each interaction between the seasoned fighter and his fleshy food seems to double in time, as the concentration of Arbjorn gradually intensifies.

Arbjorn briefly contemplates the series of events that led him to this mill in the Rift. As large and as brutish as the Nord appears to be, Arbjorn has remained secretive and elusive for the better part of his lifetime. Prior to arriving to the mill, the warrior was roaming freely through the luscious forestry commonly found in this part of Skyrim, hunting a pack of giants for their beefy mammoths. After a few encounters with the normally docile creatures, Arbjorn stumbled upon the mill and proceeded to engage with a burning curiosity. Being unaccustomed to what many consider to be normal company, the fighter tends to keep to himself, and thus it was unlike him to decide to enter the settlement freely.

In any case, after a few moments of juggling between munching and watching, Arbjorn tosses the end product of his lunch into his knapsack and lifts himself from his resting spot with great ease. After grabbing the ornate horned helm from the opposite end of the bench, and consequentially placing the headpiece upon his temple, Arbjorn shrouds his broad back with the bearskin cloak and begins to strut about, swinging his hammer in full arcs as if waiting for a challenge. With his eyes set on the borders of the mill, and a natural instinct only obtainable by attaining a certain type of blood, Arbjorn awaits patiently for what he currently assumes is a threat.


Arbjorn Frost-Howl
Zeymah of the Bromlokiir
VOTH AKRIN!

'This is where we fight! This is where we die!' - King Leonidas
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