Muttonhawk

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

In any case, it's been a fun introduction!

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

I have to go out soon. I'll be back in a few hours.

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

Janius grinned at the exchanged between Lorag and Ahnasha. "You two are made for each other, did I ever mention that?" He turned around and went about his business, "Heheh, catdog.."

Fendros nodded at each of the names. He had assumed that the biggest one, Lorag, would be the alpha, but there had to be a reason for the Argonian Meesei to be in that position, so he accepted it for the moment. "If I may. I don't know if my clothes survived me turning, or if my weapons and other belongings were found?" Fendros indirectly asked, "Also. Would you happen to have any spare... garments? I am quite cold... and I would like to... be modest, if I may." Fendros tried to remain reserved and undemanding in his tone. He was done fighting with these people, the least he could do to try and get what he wanted was to be polite.

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

While the Argonian spoke, Fendros sat and listened, still looking down and hiding his face. He was able to retain his composure for a while, but as the orc described his family, a tear left Fendros' eye and dropped onto the blanket. He covered his face with his hands and sniffed back liquid gathering in his nose. It was too much to be reminded of everything he had just been taken away from in the space of several hours. This wasn't something that was supposed to happen. He might not see his family ever again.

He sat for another half a minute, trying not to sob loudly. He raised his head from his hands and faced the orc, tears had streamed down his face and his eyes were puffed up. "Fendros. My name is Fendros Avarul." Fendros said, wiping away the tears and trying to compose himself, "Forgive me. I didn't hear your names."

"You can call me Janius." The Imperial said, "I understand what you're going through."

The Breton remained silent, her cloak of furs over the lower half of her face and her beady eyes continuing to stare.

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

Mkay

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

Fendros hadn't noticed until the Argonian mentioned it. He had retained much of his sensory perception from his dream. He could hear birds chirping that were so loud that he thought they were close, when they were nowhere to be seen. He could smell... textures... indescribable smells... things he couldn't smell before. That was something he couldn't explain. He sat and thought for a moment, still feeling cross about his situation.

"Okay Argonian. I will humour you for now." Fendros said with quick words, "Hircine. He is the Lord of the Hunt, isn't he? A Daedric lord? An unfriendly one, as I recall. Why does he want me?"

At this point, the Imperial decided to speak up, "None of us really know what exactly Hircine wants to keep us individually. He's just our patron as werewolves." The imperial crossed his arms and bobbed his head. "But if you managed to kill a werewolf before you turned, you might have impressed him some."

Fendros faced the Imperial as he talked, then addressed the rest of the group. "And what if I don't want to 'kill like a true hunter of the wilds'?" Fendros jabbed a finger in the direction of the Argonian, "You say you wouldn't stop me if I went home, but what choice to I truly have in this matter? Was this truly something I desire?!" Fendros' voice raised as his anger escalated, "It seems to me that I have been cursed, not bestowed some great power! Hircine be damned in his pelts and antlers! Remove this curse from me, now!" Fendros flinched and clutched at his shoulder, taking in the silence.

"There is no cure." A small voice chimed in.

The Breton girl's words seemed to cause the others to look to one another. The Imperial looked to the ground and scratched the back of his neck. The silence was sustained. Fendros tried to breathe regularly, but his wound kept him from doing so. His anger simmered to a defeated look as he lay his elbows on his knees and stared into the blanket that covered his lower half. In his mind, there was a mix of outrage, fear, sadness, confusion, almost every negative feeling he could have. He couldn't begin to fathom what this meant.

Fendros' shoulders started to shiver. All he could do to keep from breaking down into tears was to stare down, as he had done hours beforehand. "You're..." Fendros struggled to form the words "... you're telling the truth, aren't you."

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

"No..." Fendros started with a shivering voice, "No. That can't be true." Fendros cast his mind back to before he woke up. He was hunting, tracking a deer, then a great wolf beast knocked him off his horse, tore the horse apart and attacked him. He only just killed the beast, but it had torn him with its claws.

With all the different races here denying they were bandits, and not an elf among them, Fendros had a hard time convincing himself that he was a werewolf. That was just a dream I had, he thought, these have to be swindlers. Take nobles and convince them to give you all their money with fanciful tales of power.

"That beast I killed. It was a werewolf?" Fendros asked. The wound he sustained probably would have killed him, it would make sense if he was given the strength of a werewolf if he was to survive, or these people found him and saved his life. How could he be sure? Fendros shook his head, "I don't believe you," he said flatly. Fendros tried to get up, but only managed to sit up "I have to get back to Cheydinhal. Where are we? And where are my belongings?" Fendros' voice remained shakey from the cold and from nervousness, as much as he would hate to admit it. Most of these people were armed, but he still tried to sound somewhat authoritative.

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

Fading in and out of consciousness, Fendros could barely think. He heard voices. Not immediately voices. They all had foreign accents. He started to wake slowly, then opened his eyes suddenly when he realised that he did not know who the voices belonged to. He felt a heavy blanket fall over his lower body made from some kind of fur. Turning his head around he saw several people standing over him. An Argonian that had a faint yellow light emanating from her hands, an Orc man, a Khajiit woman, and a young Human girl who had apparently cast the blanket over him, probably Breton. The fur clothing and the trees surrounding them all gave Fendros an immediate impression that these people were bandits. Kidnappers. Fendros inhaled to try and talk, but winced as a bolt of pain shot through the right side of his chest. Fendros tried to reach for his sword with his right hand, but found that he had apparently been stripped of all belongings and clothing. He didn't realise how cold he felt until the blanket started to warm him.

An Imperial man, also in furs, came into view. "A Dark Elf? I can tell we're going to get along already." The Imperial said. He knelt down, "Those are some nasty cuts. I don't remember having to be lacerated when I was turned." He faced the Argonian, "What happened, Meesei?"

Fendros' eyes looked over each of the people staring at him. "Are... are you bandits?" Fendros croaked, trying not to aggravate his wound.

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

- - - Fendros - - -

He could only see the ground. A few stones here and there. Blades of grass scrunched by his tense hands in front of him. He observed everything to try and distract from the sudden nausea. Everything almost went dark as another coughing fit started. He felt as if his bones would fall apart if he so much as moved an inch, so he tried not to cough, but it was futile. Eventually he regained control and stared at the ground again. A cool sensation flowed down his chin and a drop of blood fell away, disappearing into the dirt as it reached it.

In the corner of his vision he could see the unnatural beast that he had barely managed to kill before he could be torn apart by it. A wolf-like creature with long arms that ended in fearsome claws, and a humanoid shaped torso. It was definitely a werewolf, just as the people of Cheydinhal had been whispering about for the past several months. Fendros was out in a recreational hunt on his own, the kind that he liked to take to get away from his suffocating family and their depthless expectations of him. He had been tracking a deer for most of the day when he was set upon by this creature.

It came out of nowhere. A rustle in the bushes and he turned around to behold its gnashing teeth flying straight towards him. He could barely gasp before he was knocked off his horse and sent flying onto the ground. His horse's screaming neigh could be heard, but it faded behind the vile sound of viscera moving. Fendros struggled upright in time to shoot an arrow at the beast while it was tearing into his by then mutilated mount. The werewolf was hit in its right upper arm. It showed more anger in response than any sort of pain. Fendros had to think fast as its attention was turned to him. He threw down his bow and drew his sword. By using a tree as a barrier between him and the werewolf, Fendros was able to fend it off for a time, but was not quick enough. A misjudged thrust at the beast's neck found its mark without him noticing the left claw of creature come down on his shoulder and rend through his leather armour, the cold met his torso as blood began to flow from the both of them. In the shock of the moment, Fendros wrenched his sword free in a cutting motion, severing most of the creature's head from its body. As the pain of his wounds came through and the werewolf slumped dead on the ground with one last pained canine whine, Fendros dropped to his hands and knees and stared at the ground. There was nothing else in his mind but fear and pain. What afflicted him went beyond the flesh-wounds he had sustained.

Another coughing fit began, but was halted midway by an empty retching. Fendros clenched his eyes shut and pressed his forehead on the ground to try and stop it, but his grip was slipping. He felt parts of his body crack and warp out of shape, unseen, but felt in excruciating detail. His hands clenched through the ground until they were fists holding dirt. The warping contortions intensified and he screamed. He could not tell whether it was his own body making sickening sounds or the rivets and stiches of his clothing coming apart. In the last moment of opening his eyes, Fendros could see his fists through blurry tears; a black fur was sprouting from the back of his hands. The pain continued until it was all Fendros could sense. He continued to try and yell in pain. After a while his yells became constricted and eventually silent.

The pain. Dream. See. Open eyes! Forest. Green. Red. Brown. Blood. Blood smell. Brother blood. Dead brother. More blood. Hunger. Horse blood. Dead horse. Fresh meat! Feed. Not enough. Hear. Birds. Footsteps, no, hoofsteps. Horse? Not horse smell. Deer smell. Hunger. Fresh deer. Follow smell. Hunt deer...

Run. See deer. Smell deer. Fearful deer. Chase deer. Chase deer! Catch! Feed! Feast! Smell. Different smell. Brother smell. Sister smell. Smell of pack. Howl. Feed more...

Hunt. Track. Smell. Only small food. Cannot feast. Cannot feed. Cannot chase. Hunt finished. Sleep...

Call of the Hunt [EliteCommander and Muttonhawk]

For those taking a peek from the outside world

Hi there, welcome to the thread. This is our Elder Scrolls RP with some custom lore to fill in some gaps.

The character sheets below are currently out of date as story arcs have changed and expanded our original cast a bit. This has kind of blown out to a longer jaunt than either of us expected, spanning three nations of Tamriel, roughly a year of in-story chronology, and over a year of real time.

Please note that we are not perfect writers. I mean that mostly in the narrative sense; hindsight is 20/20 after all. We try to do our best in the meantime.

For those who would actually want to read all of the IC thread, may your gods have mercy on your masochistic soul. This was never designed from the start to be a well-paced and entertaining read. You have been warned.

So, starting off, Fendros has turned and has spent an indeterminate amount of time as a werewolf around the great wood a distance from Cheydinhal. He's probably lying in his Dunmer form somewhere in the wilderness, quite unconscious.

Character repository:

EliteCommander's characters

Meesei (Alpha. Main character.)

Name: Meesei
Race: Argonian
Gender: Female
Age: 28
Appearance: Meesei is of average height, has light green scales, orange eyes, red feathers, three small horns above each eye, and two large horns that curve down and forward, one on each side of her head.
Equipment: As a mage, she carries no physical weapon. She does not use armor and wears what she can make from the bodies of her kills, usually loincloths with assorted leather or fur (same as Ahnasha, think of forsworn).
Skills: Destruction, Restoration, Alteration, Illusion, Enchanting, some Conjuration (bound weapons, though she is not particularly skilled in their use)
Background: Meesei was born in a small village in northwest Black Marsh, her role in the community set from the day she hatched, as she was the daughter of the village’s shaman, her father. From the very beginning, she was trained in the ways of magic and in the traditions of her people. The role of Shaman was one of the three leadership positions of their community, so the responsibility on her shoulders would be great. She would be the absolute authority on anything of a magical nature when she took the role of her father, so she practiced rigorously with her father every day. She would also be one of the voices of the village to the outside world, so she was taught Cyrodilic and taken from time to time to the surrounding cities to witness the customs of settled people firsthand.

Meesei’s life continued mostly as expected until she turned seventeen. Shortly after the anniversary of her hatching day, her father died of unknown health complications, placing her immediately into his position. This was at the same time as the village was suffering a crisis with a food shortage. For whatever reason, their hunters could simply not track their usual prey on their lands, almost as if they were nonexistent. The village’s Master-Hunter had exhausted all of his options, so he called upon Meesei to see if there was some type of magic at work, some foul curse that was killing their prey, or driving them from their land. She tried at first to solve the issue with her own knowledge of magic, which was quite expansive, despite her young age. Even so, she could find no answers to their problem, so she turned to her last resort, the Daedric Lord of the Hunt himself.

In secret, Meesei ventured away from their territory into the lands of neighboring clans, then performed hunts and sacrificed her kills to Hircine. She eventually managed to contact him and made a deal with the Daedra. He brought game back to their land, and in exchange, she continued to hunt in his name and sacrifice the bodies of her kills to him. While at first she did this simply to honor their bargain, she eventually began to respect Hircine, then idolize him. From that point, she knew her fate in life was not simply to be a shaman for her clan, but to serve an even greater master.

For three years, Meesei worshiped Hircine in secret while training her replacement, one of her childhood friends who had also received extensive magical training. Shortly after entering into her twentieth year, Hircine called upon Meesei to leave her village and meet with one of her hounds, who bestowed upon her the gift of beast blood. She did not meet that hound again, but instead lived alone in the wilds of Black Marsh, hunting in the name of Hircine while she learned to use her new abilities. Seeing the potential in his new follower, after two years, Hircine directed her to travel to Cyrodiil, so that she might begin a pack of her own.

It has been six years, and Meesei is the alpha of a pack of five werewolves. While far from the largest pack in existence, every member of her pack is a skilled hunter, each with their own talents and exceptional promise. They are a close knit family, but one that is not quite yet complete.

Lorag Gro-Konesh

Name: Lorag gro-Konesh
Race: Orc
Gender: Male
Age: 32
Appearance: Lorag is a standard Orc, being very tall and muscular with dark green skin and short black hair. He has a single large scar across his chest, and an assortment of smaller ones across his body, including one just above his left eye.
Equipment: He is skilled with the use of heavy armors, but as with the rest of the pack, he cannot rely on being able to keep his equipment for an extended time. Currently he has a set of iron armor and a steel warhammer, but will make a set of the toughest, thickest leather armor he can manage and a spear if he loses them.
Skills: Two-handed, heavy armor, unarmed, smithing, one-handed (blunt weapons specifically)
Background: Lorag fits almost every stereotype of an Orc, and is proud of it. He was born in Cheydinhal to a family with a long history of service to the legion, so naturally he followed suit. He was born after the end of the Great War, so he missed his chance to fight there, but he was among the legions assigned to deal with the Stormcloak uprising in Skyrim. He fought in several battles in that war, but he did not see it through to its end, as he was turned to a werewolf before then. His patrol was ambushed by a pair of werewolves looking for a meal, though they found far more of a fight than they were expecting. He alone managed to slay one of the lycans, but was wounded in the process. His patrol was scattered by the other lycan, so he was left alone, wounded, and infected. After some time, he became one with the beast world and decided to leave Skyrim for his homeland, though he knew he could not go back to civilization. He lived in the wilds for 9 years before Meesei tracked him down, guided by Hircine.

Lorag can be described as a crude individual. He can be brutal and prone to rage, but generally he does not take himself too seriously. He is often sarcastic and loves to make jokes, no matter how inappropriate. He likes to drink, though he rarely gets a chance anymore living in the wilds. He follows Hircine willingly, but he is not religious and could not exactly be described as a “worshipper” per ce. He is, however, loyal to Meesei and would not think of betraying her.

Ahnasha

Name: Ahnasha
Race: Khajiit
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Appearance: Ahnasha is a moderately small individual with light brown fur, with lines of black fur all across her body in various patterns.
Equipment: Ahnasha fights exclusively with bound weapons, so she carries no physical weapons with her. She does not wear armor, so she wears whatever she can make from her kills, usually loincloths with assorted furs and perhaps trophies from her kills (think forsworn apparel).
Skills: Archery, one-handed (shortswords and daggers), illusion, acrobatics, some conjuration (bound weapons).
Background: Ahnasha was born in Leyawiin to parents who owned a local general store. It was a stable life, but one Ahnasha found incredibly boring. She had no interest in learning how to run a shop or barter for gold, instead wanting something with excitement, and perhaps some danger. As soon as she was old enough, she started practicing with a bow, then went out hunting local creatures as soon as her parents would let her. As long as she stayed close enough to the city and brought back the pelts to sell, she was allowed to hunt pretty much every day.

Over time, Ahnasha honed her skills, including magical skills she learned from reading books that passed through her parents’ shop. The ability to summon bound weapons was rather useful, especially considering how expensive arrows could be, and the school of illusion was invaluable to a huntress such as herself. She never found herself particularly compelled by the Eight Divines like her parents, so she looked elsewhere when the thought of worship came to her mind. Naturally, Hircine was the first being to grab the attention of the young huntress. She worshipped him in secret for years before her master finally called her to her destiny. After proving her skill by slaying powerful local beast, a minotaur, Hircine guided Ahnasha to Meesei, from whom she received the gift of beast blood, and was born into the pack.

Ahnasha is young, confident, and always looking to prove herself. She follows Hircine with fervor, approaching each hunt with enthusiasm. She does not have the crude sense of humor of Lorag and tends to be more serious, but does not mind being friendly and laid-back with the fellow members of her pack.

Muttonhawk's characters

Fendros Avarul (Main character)

Name: Fendros Avarul

Race: Dunmer

Gender: Male

Age: 24

Appearance:
Like many on his race, Fendros bears stony grey skin and thick jet black hair, which he wears brushed back with some braids through it. He stands a hand shorter than most imperials, but is solidly built. His eyes are red, as is to be expected, and are sharply angled down with his brow. Somehow, this doesn't make him look angry all of the time, in fact the rest of his facial features remain relatively soft in their youth.

Fendros was out hunting in the woods outside Cheydinhal in a set of finely crafted leather armour over a white cotton shirt and breeches to keep the wind at bay. His equipment is on his back and his belt.

Equipment:
A steel sword in scabbard, a steel skinning knife, a hide-covered wooden shield slung on his back, a hunting bow, 24 steel headed arrows on a quiver on his back, enough bread and cheese for a single meal, a skin of water on his belt.

Skills:
One-Handed, Block, Light Armour, Archery, some Sneak for hunting, and some Speech for the purposes of trade.
While virtually talentless with regards to magic, Fendros is a quick and intelligent learner in most other things.

Background:
Fendros was brought up on a Cheydinhal vineyard with Dark Elf culture and Dark Elf pride, even if he had never laid eyes on Morrowind. Being told that you were part of a great and ancient clan despite its name being unknown to most of the public beyond your immediate family was just one of the factors that has made him a verbal and headstrong individual. Growing up was a combination of being educated by his family, interacting with his younger sister and brother, and working with his family. Not much interaction with people outside his family went on for him, especially since their family did not worship the Eight, reducing their interaction with the Aedra worshiping community. This was due to them keeping ties to the Tribunal Temple, mostly out of proud stubbornness. Some of the most frustrating lessons in his education were when Fendros' parents tried to shove arcane knowledge and magical skill into Fendros' mind. Not only was Fendros born under the sign of the Atronach, making practice frustrating in their family that lacked the means to acquire magicka potions and supplements, but magic was never something he could get a hang of. He could never do much more that shoot a jet of flames to catch the upholstery on fire.

The more productive education came from the subjects of trade and mercantilism, but again, this was not a passion of Fendros. What young Fendros daydreamed about was being like the war heroes of his family's heritage, fighting off beasts and invaders alike. Great warriors and generals, all of them. When Fendros was deemed old enough to join the fighter's guild, training with a sword and hunting were his only activities where he could get away with it. The years went by and Fendros was unfortunately still ostracised from his parent's good graces by his lack of passion for magic and commerce. He is good to his younger siblings however, who seem to reciprocate his respect.

The past few years have given Fendros some autonomy, but sometimes he has to clear his mind by venturing into the Great Forest to hunt. Fendros was on a hunting trip for a day and a night now, having no luck so far. Little did he know just what strange fortune would find him on his hunt.

Runt

Name: Sabine 'Runt' Montgrave

Race: Breton

Gender: Female

Age: 14

Appearance: Sabine is a gaunt and pale girl who always seems to shield herself behind her knees whenever she sits still. Her green eyes dart between people's faces and various seemingly inconsequential details in the area from behind frizzy auburn hair. Like her pack mates, she wears cobbled together clothes from pieces of hide, but likes to keep a cloak of sewn together fur pelts from various animals to keep herself warm.

Equipment: Sabine carries a few pouches of alchemical ingredients as well as a round stone and a hewn wooden bowl to make salves and poultices. She also has a sharp steel cutting dagger and a few small glass vials, both have unexplained origins. Also bundled with her pouches is a long sling and a few smooth river pebbles. She guards all of her belongings closely, and doesn't let anyone so much as touch them without her permission.

Skills: Alchemy, Enchanting, One-Handed, Sneak, also handy with a sling. The only spell she knows outside of any enchanting is a soul trap spell.

Background: It is unknown to all in the pack exactly where Sabine came from. All that is known can only be retold by others in the pack, whose experience is limited to after she joined. What is known is that she was a werewolf before joining the pack, but was drifting alone in the wilds around the Panther river, surviving however she could. Sabine gained Meesei's trust after the body of a hunter armed with silver arrows was spotted nearby their camp one morning, his head cracked by a pebble that had Sabine's scent on it. Upon tolerating her presence in the pack, Sabine demonstrated exceptional knowledge of local plants and their various alchemical effects, as well as having a surprising affinity with enchanting when given soul gems and something to enchant.

Interacting with Sabine is often difficult. She rarely makes prolonged eye-contact, and only speaks in short sentences with a quiet voice. She appears compassionate to her pack mates and is always willing to help, even if the others call her 'Runt'. In werewolf form, Sabine is smaller than her pack mates, but is fast, and can climb better than any in her pack. Sabine seems to be more open with Meesei than anyone else, and follows her unquestioningly. Even so, Sabine remains withdrawn about her past. It was only recently that Meesei was able to coax her out of giving her family name.

Janius Aetius

Name: Janius Aetius

Race: Imperial

Gender: Male

Age: 21

Appearance: Janius may look lean, but his strength and his liver, along with his short blonde hair, has resulted in him being mistaken for a Nord on several occasions. He stands at an average height for an Imperial, and has a thick goatee that hides most of his mouth movements unless he grins. His hide clothing appears to look less rushed than most of the pack, as if he still tries to keep closer ties to civilization with what style he wears.

Equipment: On his belt, Janius carries his steel war axe and his imperial shield. For his clothing, he wears sewn hides and leathers like his pack, but also wears armour. Although they are visibly hammered back into shape from whatever warped form they assumed when Janius first transformed, he still wears his iron helmet, cuirass, right pauldron and both bracers. With some prepared knot work, Janius can loosen his armour so it would fall of him without warping if he would transform, but it does not fit him quite as well as it had done and he's still experimenting to try and get the knots right.

Skills: One handed, Heavy Armour, Destruction, Block, some Pickpocket to show off.

Background: Janius, grew up as a child caught between being brutish and quick-witted. On one hand, he loved to experiment with magic and to socialise with various groups, from the social elite of his wealthy parent's friends, to whatever females decided to sit at the tavern that night. Unfortunately by the time he reached adulthood, he found himself without aspirations and didn't make an effort to really grow up and make something of himself. Janius cruised under the wealth of his parents for about two years, but it was never going to be a lifestyle that lasted. With his father high-ranking in the Fighter's Guild in Bravil, it was disappointing to find that his son in such a shameful state of ambivalence that he 'enrolled' him into the guild branch to beat some discipline onto him. Having no choice, Janius had to learn how to fight fast, but found that he was quick enough on his feet to manage, and with some extra practice flinging destruction spells, he might have even been considered an asset. After a few months accompanying the guild to solve various civil disturbances and other minor issues, Janius was assigned to accompany a group of two other fighters to clear out an abandoned mine of a family of cave bears that had been threatening travellers. What was thought to just be a mother bear and her cubs turned out to be a heavily populated spider nest. In an extraordinary set of circumstances, Janius' party was trapped by a cave-in and had to run around the labyrinth of the mines, killing off the spiders as they went and trying to survive. Janius was the last one standing because of a combination of incredible luck and that he had fire spells that his shield-mates did not. Janius could not escape however, and had to wait by the cave-in area for help to arrive. Help came in the form of Meesei's pack, who had been commanded by Hircine to find Janius and gift him with beast-blood for his tenacity in killing the spiders.

Janius was resentful to the pack for a while, as Hircine did not give him a choice in the matter, but after a while he found that the pack became more of a family to him than his real family had ever been. They were also true friends, unlike the hollow sycophants that followed his family's wealth around. Janius goes into hunts enthusiastically, as they give him purpose. He is always eager to join in the revels of his pack mates with good humour.