Hello everyone, I am Tilman, new member of the blog, and was very interesting in my fellows' creativity and deep devotion to Skyrim, and the Elder Scrolls series, in general. So I will like to add my own little background to the collection, this one centers on the msyterious Thane of the Pale, S'Jul-Dar, starting with this little prologue.
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Standing on the west wing tower of Heljarchen Hall, a solitary figure looked in the distance as the sun shone bright in the glory of dawn, his cold blue eyes looking upon the white tundra of the Pale like a sabertooth overseeing his territory. The blistering winds blowing at his furred cloak and ornated glass armor, but it didn't affect him, it never did. Leaning forward, his clawed hands squeezed around the railing, and with a slow inhale, the Master of the Hall exhaled a cloud of his frozen breath before pulling his black hood back.
He was not man nor mer, but Khajiit. Once lowly compared to the noble people of Skyrim, now the esteemed Thane of the Pale, Defender of the Hold's south, Champion of Dawnstar, and much more. His age was hardly noticeable in his thick white fur, marked with black birth patterns, but his face spoke of experience and acceptance of the nordic culture. His black tuft of headfur braided on the sides and fluttered abit from the wind as his tufted ears angled very slightly.
"Yes?" He asked to the middle-aged Nord climbing up the ladder, showing no discomfort to the chilling winds. Swallowing abit at disturbing the feline's meditation, he got up and closed the trapdoor, wearing the respectable steelplate armor nicked and dented from numerous battles over the years.
"Good morning, my Thane." The housecarl greeted respectfully, "I was...worried about you and thought to check on you."
There was a intense silence between the two men before the Khajiit gave a characteristic laughter, "Still faithful, Gregor? That is always heart-warming to know, loyalty and faith is abit hard to get." Smiling abit, Gregor put his hands behind his back, lightly disrupting his sheathed greatsword, made in awe-inspiring detail of the off-shore nordic blacksmiths of Solstheim. Since the time of the Dragons' return, a few settlers returned to Skyrim and their arts are well-kept and rare to learn.
"Have my son arrived yet?" The Thane asked. "He has, sir. Training in the cellar as always." Gregor answered with a smile. "Good, I might need his skills in a moment." He said. "Sir?" The Nord asked, abit worried on that answer. "There are some Forsworn sneaking about and are drawing closer." The Khajiit said, his nordic accent deep and strong at the thought of battle.
"I will fetch him and the guards right away." Gregor said urgently before starting to climb down. The moment the hatch closed, it seemed like the frost-carrying wind made a ghastly figure behind him and invisible lips whispered in his ear as it always did.
"He calls..."
"And I will answer." The Khajiit said before vaulting over his railing and in a few moments, landed on his feet with no discomfort. Drawing the symbol of his title, a sword crafted from the same technique of the once-isolated people of Skaal, its blade made from the so-called 'enchanted ice' and hissed with magic bestowed upon it by enchanters of a previous time, it have been given the name, "Sword of the Pale" for good reason.
Running across his field, the Thane beared his fangs as his eyes caught a handful of the intruders trying to cross the border. Bouncing on the boulders with little noise, his body suddenly immaterialized. The Forsworn whispered to each other, one of them thought they saw something coming in their direction, but dismissed it as a trickery of long travel.
After a moment of sneaking, the leading Briarheart grunted and signaled his scouts to moved ahead and fan out. Acknowledging, the wildmen and women pulled out their crude bows and arrows, beginning their hunt for fair game, or nordic victims to add to their bone decorations. Unaware, they are the hunted.
The scout who believed himself seeing things was the first to be attacked. From the heights of a tree, the Thane dropped and landed on his back as he crouched. Bones crunched and he screamed out in pain for a moment before a boot crushed his spine. "Been too long." He commented with a grin before turning his head slightly to see a couple fellow Reachmen running to see the murderer, who seemed uninterested and unafraid to face their arrows and fury.
Turning to them, the Thane charged with his sword in his armored hands, and started to dodge their arrows with innate agility and reflex, very few managed to bounce off his armor or hit his cloak, before he was close enough to disembowel one scout and with a swift spin, impale the other.
Gripping at his intrails as they started to freeze from magical ice, the breton could only cry in pain and groan as his cleaved flesh freezed over as well. The Thane smiled sadistically as his impaled victim gasped painfully as her body stiffened and eyes became glass.
Ripping his sword out, the Thane laughed, "Welcome to the Pale!" A large nord charged out of the forest with a battle axe in hand when his throat suddenly sprewed out freshed blood, making him stumble, and gurgle. Turning to face this dying man, the Khajiit looked at him for a second, and when the man met his eyes, a gush of fire flew from his free hand and melted the barely screaming intruder.
With that done, he went off to hunt the others, smelling their stench in the clean breeze. Then his keen senses smelled fresh blood near his home and smirked, knowing his steward and son have the others. Just then, he staggered forward abit at the impact of a arrow hitting his shoulder. Snarling, he looked at the arrow, and heard the snap of a bow. Quickly diving to the side, the Thane rolled around, and got into fighting stance with eyes narrowed on the bow-wielding Briarheart.
"The legendary Champion of the Pale himself, I've heard rumors that you was a cat, but never believed it until now." The Reachman said, voice deep underneath his deer headdress. Throwing his bow aside, he drew a sharpened stone-headed axe for both hands, "Now I will have both a glorious story and new fur to further my favor with my Mistress!" He roared with muscles straining with power.
"S'Jul-Dar is my name, barbarian, and you will be screaming it in the Abyss that hungers for your soul." The Thane said with bared fangs and charged with a warcry, watched matched the ferocity of the Briarheart as he matched the charge.
When the larger man swung both axes, Jul jumped surprisingly higher than expected, and slashed the Briarheart's exposed shoulder and a piece of his antler. Growling in pain and surprise, the man turned to the just landing Khajiit, and kicked him off balance.
"Got you." He said, raising his unwounded arm for the chop down when the wind blew and his exposed underarm was suddenly sliced. Roaring in pain, he dropped his axe but that moment was enough for Jul to bring his sword to bare and blocked the weapon, the barbarian's strength nearly pushed his blade against his face.
Smirking, Jul kicked the Briarheart's leg out from under him, and rolled out of his reach, getting into a crouched stance. "Why you sneaky..." The breton growled as he tried to get up with his wounded arms. Slowly getting up, he walked towards his crippled prey with small heaves. "You've got me tired..." Jul simply said, "Not as young as I use to be."
When the Briarheart managed to get on a knee and ready to pounce again, Jul stabbed down and embedded his sword through his hip. Gasping, the Forsworn started to freeze over like his companions. Pulling his headdress off, Jul smirked at the practically deadman's face, and in a defying rage, the breton tried to swing his arm in self-defense.
Catching the arm, feeling it stiffing from the frost, the Khajiit pulled his free arm back, "Your heart is...mine." He said before thrusting his armored hand into the Briarheart's chest, watching the man gasp with wide eyes that almost seemed to beg, before he tore the plant-like heart out of his chest.
Almost instantly, the Forsworn was dead. "May your soul scream for eternity." He prayed darkly before looking at the heart. Then slow clapping caught his attention and a smile crept on his face when he found who was doing it, "Hello son, what a lovely morning, isn't it?"
The hooded redguard standing on the small cliff smiled under his thick braided beard, dressed in the reinforced leather and white animal pelts with spikes lining his knuckles and a Dawnstar crest on his necklace. "Indeed it is, Old cat." He answered with the affectionate name, "Still bristling cold and full of dangers as always."
Laughing, Jul ripped his sword out and sheath it back in its place. "It is good to see you again, Alesan." He greeted. Alesan smirked lightly, his dark skin roughened and use to the cold since he was a child under this aged Khajiit's care. "Come on, let's return back to the house." He said before turning and walking off.
Looking at the briar heart, Jul chuckled, and followed behind with well-cloaked anxiety.
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