Evos Ash-bringer The other Dunmer Evos had met wasn't really interested in names, merely offering a farewell as he headed off into the snow that raged around them, Evos shrugged and continued on his way to Kynesgrove, he must only be a few days away from it now. The snow had let up by the next morning and the skies remained clear all of the way to Kynesgrove. The village itself was visible once Evos made it over a hill, it was a fairly simple place, serving purely in the form of utility, not comfort. most farms or mining colonies were like this, however it seemed that Kynesgrove served in both cpacities, it was likely that it would turn over a sizable amount for the Jarl of Windhelm, whom, according to visitors to the shrine was a man named Ulfric Stormcloak. Evos liked the name, it sounded like a strong and unbendable one and apparently it matched the man it belonged to. Now he was here he simply had to search for the group named Dovahfeyn, and as if Azura herself had blessed him there he could see a large group of people heading towards the village, even from a distance it was evident that were a band of warriors, the way they carried themselves made certain of that. Evos made his way down to Kynesgrove as fast as aching joints would let him, his armour was making a bit of a racket and it attracted a few stares from near by farmers and guards but Evos paid them no mind. By the time he got within earshot of them a man, clad in a very decorative armour and adorned in what appeared to be crimson velvet cloak, that was seriously weather-beaten, its old age evident just from looking at it. Was speaking to the group. That one might be the leader... Evos thought. But he addressed himself outwards to everyone, rather than just one person lest he be wrong. "Excuse me." Evos stated his voice solid and prominent, as to assure he had their attention. "You are Dovahfeyn, are you not? A menace permeates itself here in the east of Skyrim, The queen of roses stated so herself, I can only assume it is the dragons that roam the land, and sky." "I am Evos Ash-bringer, and if you will have it, my lance is yours." Evos bowed slightly to the group and awaited a reply.

It has been several days since Thorin, along with his new companions, Lugdush and Scatha, has been on his way to Whiterun. The three have decided to take a shortcut through the wild, and then arrive in Riverwood, where they would get back on the road to the great city. They traveled on foot with brief rest stops, and three encounters with wolves. It took them two and a half days to reach the small village by the White River. Thorin was born here, so the company had no reason to worry about acceptance by the locals. As the company descended from a hill, and onto the road, Thorin could see it: the great wooden arch standing high above the village of Riverwood, where he used to play hide and seek with his friends, chase little girls with infatuation and learn how to become a master warrior. A wide smile appeared on the Nord's face, full of memory, as he said to himself: "Riverwood..." "Thorin?" Scatha asked, noticing a slight change on his companion's face. "My birthplace, Scatha." Thorin replied: "There is a house where me may get some food and rest. My friend is a blacksmith there." As they entered the village, they could see that the arches were secured, and that guards were patrolling about, which was rather uncommon. Thinking back, Thorin remembered that the Jarl of Whiterun, Balgruuf the Greater, dispatched them here, because the village was defenseless against the uprising dragons. Thorin, Lugdush and Scatha found Alvor outside of his house, doing his usual work: he was using a grindstone to sharpen a newly forged iron sword. Not wanting to distract him, Thorin waited for him to be done with his work before greeting him, because using a grindstone requires the most attention, or one could end up damaging a weapon. "Alvor!" Thorin hollered, when Alvor got up. The older man was quite surprised by the call, and smiled pleasantly upon seeing someone he had known since he was a small child: "Thorin? Thorin, ma' boy!" he walked over and offered his elbow for a handshake, because his hands were dirty from all the iron. He then asked: "What brings you to Riverwood? And who are they?" Thorin replied: "They are friends. We're going to Whiterun to take care of some business." "Well, please stay a while!" Alvor suggested: "Just wait for me to wash my hands and I'll get you all inside. Hadvar is here as well."

As the group had arrived, they had lingered on the borders of the small town at first, so as to not scare the locals. With the size of their group, they may have feared the War, or even bandits, had finally arrived at their sleepy village. However, as word passed through the villagers about who they were, and what their purpose was in this part of Skyrim, they were looked on with more favourable eyes. The innkeeper the Braidwood Inn had even come out to the borders, offering free ale and food, if they chose to stay in the inn. Leo had been looking forward to a warm bed, a decent meal, and perhaps even a local girl – but Niko had other plans. As the de facto leader of the group, he’d stated that before anyone rested, the burial mound should be looked over, and a strategy was to be set up. “I’ll pass on the hike up the hill and the sparring match.” Leo began with a lazy grin, hefting his bag from his shoulders and sitting on the dusty ground of the road, leaning back and using his knapsack as a pillow. “Can’t see how either of those things will help us with a freaking dragon. Our best bet is to just come straight at it, swords a’ swinging.” “Great idea. We’ve leave it to you then.” Niko stated dryly, kicking his couchant cousin in the ribs as he walked towards Valerion. “Sparring sounds smart at this stage, Valerion – just try not to injure anyone, okay? We just need to see what everyone is capable of. The witches from earlier didn’t really help us out on that front.” He said in a low tone to their very own Lich King. Niko had to be honest – the guy was growing on him. He wasn’t inherently evil or psychotic like a lot of Necromancers that he had run into in the past – he just had this off-putting aura about him. The daunting – yet epic – armour and weapons didn’t exactly help his image, but they were certainly a deterrent for any bandits who assumed they’d gotten lucky in finding such a large group out in the wilderness. As for the witches that he had just mentioned – although normally quite a difficult enemy to defeat, especially with one of those hideous Hagravens on a leash – they had been decimated fairly easily by the group. The vast numbers of them probably overwhelmed their three foes, but it didn’t really help much in terms of knowing who could do what. Some of the group hadn’t even bothered to approach the hut; either too scared, or just trusting that those in the vanguard could take care of it with ease. If anyone acted like that in front of a damn dragon, they would be doomed before they even began attacking. Dropping his bag by his winded – and scowling – cousin, Niko walked towards the front fringes of the group; close to the mine on the edge of the village, the path leading to the ancient mound sat there. It was about an hour away from the village, and Delphine had headed up there as soon as they had arrived. Glancing around, he took in the group. Faire had already left, with her new Altmer ‘’friend’’ staying behind; Val didn’t look particularly thrilled that Faire had disappeared. Thinking on her words, Niko wondered silently if she would really turn up. Perhaps she thought that their cause was a lost one, and they would all perish fighting the dragon. Being the only ones knowing of her rare existence, that would prove to be most favourable for Faire. But then again, even from the scant conversation that had taken place between himself and Faire, Niko found it hard to believe that she would abandon them. She did, after all, give him plenty of information on dragons. Possible weak spots, their fire breath range... things that would aid them in survival. He just hoped that she would show. However, his musings were brought up short as they were hailed by a newcomer – a Dunmer, wearing a most curious armour. “Gods, Leo’s going to be drooling over that.” Niko thought to himself as he approached the bowing elf. At a closer look, he appeared to be beyond his more nubile years – not what you’d call elderly, but certainly approaching that title. “Greetings. I’m Nikolaus Aliksen – feel free to call me just Niko.” He began, smiling at Evos. Despite the Dunmer’s age, it was clear he was a seasoned warrior – and a devout one at that, going by what he had stated during his introduction. “We don’t really have a proper leader, but people are looking to me for the time being, so I suppose I’m in charge for now.” Niko paused at this, glancing up at the path before him, and then back to Evos. “I’m sure you’d like to meet the group, but perhaps you can accompany me on the walk up to the mound? It’s not too far – and we can talk on the way there.” He added. As the title of Leader was very likely to be bestowed on him, what with his calmer, diplomatic stance on things – the whole issue with the sudden and violent arrival of Faire being a perfect example of this – he had taken to talking with everyone in the group. Although it hadn’t been much in the way of conversations, he’d been able to weigh up certain judgments on the different characters in the group; especially the newcomers; Ildrun, Faire, Val, and now Evos. He was certainly curious about the Mer; his armour, his lance, and his affiliation with Azura. Although it was common knowledge that Azura was one of three Daedra that the Dunmer usually worshipped – the other two being Boethiah and Mephala – the way he gave her name ‘’Lady of Roses’’ seemed to be in a more reverent tone than just a regular believer. Despite her common sense practically screaming at her, only two thoughts had been running through Rozalia’s mind for the past week – How the dragon encounter was going to go, and how she was going to kill the Thalmor. Ever since that bastard’s arrival, her mind had not stopped obsessing over the various ways of getting rid of him. In some ways, it had certainly helped – especially in her nightly training sessions with Rawlith. He had been an excellent and patient teacher for her. Before, she had barely been able to keep a flame going other than just for a source for light and heat – now, she was able to set up a steady stream of it. In less than a week, she was able to actually kill someone with fire. And in her mind, that someone was always the Thalmor. Within the camp, she was aware that plenty of rumours had arisen, what with Rawlith and herself sneaking off every night - whether they trusted each other or not, she knew they enjoyed to gossip. It seemed to be prevalent among groups larger than one. She ignored any hushed comments, instead focusing on the group’s goals, or her own, personal ones. She noticed that Val liked to hang around the Snow Elf – a shame. She would have liked to talk to Faire sometime. It would be awe-inspiring, talking to someone as old as that. But for now, that would have to wait. The group had reached the borders of Kynesgrove, and there they would stay until Niko returned from the mound. Standing with Rawlith, as usual, she glanced at her Khajiit companion. She’d trusted him from the get-go, and their relationship had grown over the past week. She’d come to see him as a friend, one she could depend on. And it was for that reason she was sure he had noticed her reactions to the Thalmor in their group. Although her emotions were certainly wild every time she heard or saw the slimy, faithless bastard, her face kept composure for the most part. Not that Roze had brought it up at all – she wasn’t one to talk about her past, or negative feelings. Rather than dwell on her negative thoughts, she turned towards Rawlith, her mind switching from one problem to another; the whole reason they were here. “Hey Rawlith...” She began, tugging one of her curls, as she did when she was nervous about something. “Do you think we’ll really be able to take on a dragon?”

Rawlith found his mind wandering as the next couple of days past from the night at the camp till Kynesgrove. The only time it didn't wander were the nights with Roze and the early mornings he spent cleaning and working the Elk Bones from the camp. He stayed busy, both wit Roze and with duties as a member of the group, but his mind was always a loft in two trans of thought. The first being the Dragon ahead of them while the second was of his past. It was specifically of his childhood in which he spent a couple of his earliest years as a boy in not Elsweyr, but rather a small town to the southern most point of Cyrodil just outside of Elsweyr. He recalled how the Colovians looked upon him and his family, and then he began to remember a seemingly worse set of memories. He had let the memories flood back and saw once more the way his own people treated him and his family when they returned to Elsweyr. Rawlith was only five when they returned and his parents sought out their old tribe hoping for a possibility of returning. They were accepted in once more only by the fact of a kind Chieftain while the rest of the tribe was less then kind. They spoke ill of the whole family much of the time and many of the other cubs around Rawlith's age spoke of him like a sickness and a curse that they did not want around. They called him every form of negative term within Ta'agra and they mocked him as he grew older and trained. As he aged even the parents and elders began to speak ill of him and his deceased parents. He aspired to rise above them, but much of his past was littered with repressed memories that affected his personality. His odd speech of calling himself "This One" is a result of his past, a result of everyone from the tribe referring to him as an object and not a person. He almost never thinks of himself as a full person, only as "This One" who takes up space near others more full. His primal, predator, and hunter personality are also a result of this, being demeaned as a person made him lean more towards the true nature of those outside of civilized life and his Lycanthropy added to that ten-fold when it occurred. However those memories have yet to funnel their way back into his mind. He halted the sudden flood of memory after revisiting his fifteen year of birth and has forced the pressing Dragon into full mental sight. The passing of the Witches was something that helped take his mind off everything as he happily took the front-stead when they approached the situation. The time passed and they finally arrived at Kynesgrove, the foretold first milestone in a long journey. Roze sat at his side and he let off a low growling sigh as he looked about their surroundings and the trek up the hill to the Burial Mound. He took a moment though at the end of his survey to examine Roze as she spoke to him, teasing a curl in her hair as she did so. "Roze.." He stated with his deep, yet oddly suave Khajiiti Accent. "This One knows many things, and doesn't know many things. This one has faced many beasts, a Dragon is not one of them. I do know this, one should trust in themselves as the Hunter, and one should trust in their allies as Allies. One cannot face their obstacle without first facing themselves. This One has no clue what the outcome will be, but This One knows he trusts in himself, he trusts in Rozalia, and he trusts in his Allies. This is not to say he may agree or like all of them, but he trusts in their willingness to fight, for now. The aftermath is when This One will truly KNOW what his allies are like." He stated in his explanation while creating the odd, but unique Khajiit grin and then directing his attention up the hill. "This One intends to ascend the hill and observe the fore-coming battle-field, will you join This One?" He added with a question. --- Varnadiir WIP after sleep.))

Evos Ash-Bringer

Evos was approached by a Nord; if his ears and eyes told him the truth that is. His name was Nikalous and by the sounds of it he was the leader of Dovahfeyn, which in a sense was only right, Evos pondered. Naturally a nord should lead the group that was designed to hunt down the menace that started in Skyrim.
Whilst Nikalous was talking he took in the group that was stood behind him, they all appeared be pre-occupied doing something, some were looking at him, others completely disinterested in a new arrival, evidently they were all in thought of fighting a dragon, maybe reeling in from killing their last.
That was something Evos yearned to know, just how many Dragons these already renowned hunters had dispatched. If they Queen of roses had her eyes on them then they surely must be a formidable force.
Hopefully Evos would add to that strength.

It was then when Nikolaus offered Evos a walk up to the 'mound', turning Evos assumed the Nord was talking a bout the hillock behind them.
An odd thing to call it...Evos mused momentarily before replying.

"Of course sera, after you."

The two of them walked a good few yards, thankfully the Nord was slightly aware of Evos' ageing joints as he appeared to be walking at a fairly subdued pace.
Evos asked his first question as they approached the first turn on the stone path that lead to the top.
"So. Dragon slayers..."
Evos gave a slight chuckle "I have served two Daedra in my time on this plane of existence, and I have seen many a thing, and heard of even greater things, but to actually be apart of something that hunts long thought extinct beings..."
"It's almost surreal, a fine final chapter to this old mans life."
For the first time in quite a long while Evos spoke with a vigour in his voice, his melancholy tone non-existent.
"Tell me what your companions are like then, sera, I'm sure you have attracted quite the diverse group?"

Chuckling quietly, Niko nodded in agreement.
"Diverse... you could definitely call it that. Not just in races, but in types. We have warriors, mages, archers, rogues... we even have a Lich on our side." He said with a grin, shaking his head slightly. It was amazing, how all of these people could band together when the world needed it. It was a shame that a crisis was necessary for such a group to be together. "We've lost a few people along the way - the idea was just to frightening for them, I suppose. Or perhaps they just couldn't work as a group - as made obvious by our late Dragonborn, teamwork is a must to stop Alduin." Pausing only for a moment, Niko looked on the elderly Dunmer. Although clearly getting on in his years, he still had some vigour in him - a light in his eyes that surpassed the lines in his face.
"You mentioned 'Lady of Roses' earlier; you're saying that Azura herself is interested in this group?" He asked after a moment, frowning slightly, pondering if this was good news or not. If Azura knew of it, the other Daedric Princes surely would - and he knew of quite a few that enjoyed chaos on this world. Killing the dragons would surely rid them of some entertainment.

Roze's eyes followed Rawlith's gaze towards the hill, atop of which sat the burial mound - and the ground of their upcoming battle. Her worry melting away for the time being at Rawlith's words, a provocative smile grew along her face.
"How about we have a little race? I want to see if those fluffy paws of yours are faster than my nimble feet." She challenged, dumping her bag on the floor and bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, ready to go. "Last one there has to punch the dragon on the nose!" She added, and with a daring grin and a rushed 'onyourmarksgetsetGO!', Rozalia tore away from the camp, her laughter swiftly following her.

At first glance, Alvor's house was a simple, yet fairly tidy place, compared to other houses. The first thing that meets the eye upon entering is a hearth, in front of which was a small cooking pot. To the left, there was a double bed, and to the right, a stairway leading down into the cellars. To the side of the door was a dining table, while another pair of single beds were placed adjacently to the left wall of the house, with a small table between them. Above the hearth was the head of an elk stag, while to the other side there were two doe heads. Inside were people that Thorin knew and recognized: Sigrid, Alvor's wife, Dorthe, their daughter, who has grown a lot since Thorin last saw her, and Hadvar: their nephew, who served Tullius, the Imperial general in Skyrim.
"Hadvar!" Thorin exclaimed in gladness, since it was relieving to see his old friend once more.
"Thorin?" Hadvar asked, lightly smiling and rising to his feet to greet Thorin. The two embraced tightly, with a deep chuckle from Thorin.
"It's good to see you again, old friend." Thorin said.
"Thorin!" Sigrid's voice was heard, as she climbed from the cellar: "Please, sit down! All three of you! I'll get you something to eat immediately."
Soon, Sigrid served some fresh Salmon Steaks with grilled leeks as a side dish. A small feast began, and our trio were refilling their batteries. Not before long, a conversation between Thorin and Hadvar would ensue.
"So, have you heard from any other friends of ours?" Thorin asked.
"Not really." Hadvar replied: "Most of them moved to Whiterun, or out into the other holds. All of them are looking for work, it seems."
"And Ralof?" Thorin asked, recalling another of one of his better friends in Riverwood.
"Ralof joined the Stormcloak rebellion." Hadvar sighed: "He was one of the Stormcloaks that escaped Helgen, when the dragon attacked. I don't know if he got out of there alive, and I don't really care. We don't have anything to say to one another now."
Thorin was feeling very unsettled right now. His emotions were a mixture of pity and anger, because he himself harbored a burning resentment for Ulfric Stormcloak and his foolish insurrection.
"So, he fights for the death of Skyrim, then?" Thorin asked.
"Seems so." Hadvar replied.

Although quite sure that she would beat Rawlith to the top of the hill, Rozalia's steps slowed to a stop until she was but a few yards from Niko and their Dunmer newcomer - Niko had turned around and paused in turn as he saw the furrowed brow on Roze's face. She was scanning the surrounding areas, eyes darting to the sky as she turned around uncertainly. Niko froze, his eyes turning to the heavens, wondering what had caught the young Breton girl's attention. But the skies remained grey and cloudy - no death from above as he was all of a sudden expecting. And yet, he felt the same unease that was showing on Rozalia's face.
"There's no noise." He finally whispered as he realized. The animals had stopped. Any birds in the area had all but disappeared; the buzzing of various insects muted, and any vulpine or rodent life had hidden away in the bushes and trees. And as Rawlith came to a halt beside Rozalia, the four stood in silence as the world seemed to stop around them.

-----------------------

Leo had wandered away from the camp, bored of the sparring noises and tedious conversation of building fires and whatnot. Although not bothering to go into the village, he had walked along the outskirts of the camp, eating a ripe green apple, and wondering vaguely how long Niko would be. His cousin seemed to know what he was doing in charge, which was a relief.
"Hopefully it'll be enough to do better than poor ol' Alyx." Leo muttered to himself with a cynical smile. There were plenty of stories circulating about the brave and tragic Dragonborn. Some said he was an old, seasoned war criminal, ready to end it all and take his chances in Sovngarde; others said he had been nothing but a dumb and drunk man, barely out of boyhood when he decided to take on a fight with his bare fists and his shouts against a dragon. In reality, Alyx had been nothing more than a farmhand, having been at the wrong place and the wrong time when Alduin descended on Helgen. He had probably died fighting a dragon because he had no concept of fighting off nothing larger than a bear - he had no friends to rally to his cause, no decent equipment, and no experience. Judging by the look of their group, they had all three of those things covered.
"Ah, who am I kidding. We're going to sail through this dragon slaying thing." Leo chuckled to himself, throwing the apple core into the distance. "Alduin will be dead before you can say-"

"DRAGON! ALDUIN IS HERE!"

Leo jumped as his cousin's voice echoed from the hilltop, accompanied by the beating of wings in the cold, cloudy air. Almost instantly freezing to the spot, he watched on in awe and terror as a blackness descended from the clouds, heading directly towards the burial mound. In a fleeting moment, Leo felt lost and as a child again - he had left everything back at camp, and he was without his cousin or arms.
However, this fear swiftly passed, and the crazed genius mindset took place in his mind once more. A wicked grin splitting his face, he sprinted back to the camp - the rest were already scrambling to their feet, some still frozen in terror as Alduin himself flew over the camp, and hovered at the mound.
Gathering his weapons, Leo's dark eyes glinted with wonder as he approached the hill.
"Leonidas; let's go kill ourselves a dovah." He thought, breaking into a run to join his cousin.

"Which one of you lads wants a drink?" Alvor asked.
"I'll have an ale." Thorin stated.
"Give me a Honningbew." Lugdush added.
"Do you have any wine, by chance?" Scatha asked ultimately.
Alvor made an expression of deep thought, before finally responding: "...I, think there's a bottle of Argonian bloodwine down there... I'll search and check if it's still drinkable." Having received the requests of his guests, the patron of the house headed downstairs to the cellar to search for some worthy alcohol.
"And you?" Thorin addressed Hadvar once more, wanting to know about how well he was doing in the legion so far.
"I've been doing just fine. The general even commended me once. I need to get back to Solitude someday and report on the situation at Helgen. You know that a dragon attacked the city."
"What did this dragon look like?" Thorin asked.
"Black, thorny and with bright eyes. Red, I think. It just trashed the whole city when it came and burned everything to the ground." Hadvar added, describing the attack more thoroughly.
Before long, Alvor came up from the cellar, carrying a mug of ale and a mug of Honningbrew mead for Thorin and Lugdush: "Here you are, lads."
"Thank you." Thorin smiled, taking the mug.
"And as for you..." Alvor addressed Scatha: "There's some good bloodwine. I'll low you a glass right away."
"Take your time, sir." Scatha replied.