MacabreFox

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

<Snipped quote by MacabreFox>

Will we finally know who was champ?

@Frizan

Champ of...?

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

I got a surprise for you scallywags come tomorrow.

The Jolly Roughers ~ Dervish & MacabreFox

"And fret I would if you had gone," She teased, she was slowly coming to realize that she enjoyed teasing him in a playful manner, certainly not like how she teased Sam over his school-girl crushes when they were just tiny children. No, for Shay, this was almost a flirtatious manner for her, as flirting did not come easily, namely so as she had so dutifully avoided it until now. When he had counted the money, her eyes widened in surprise, was that all?! Tommy anticipated their needs beforehand, and it had come to pay off. Despite his frigid exterior, Vera knew from personal experience that Tommy was a family man, anyone involved in the gang, or held family blood in their veins, were well looked after. In fact, she remembered how Elouise, heavy with her first child, and only one so far, rejoiced at the fact that Tommy had gone to great lengths making certain that his brother's child had everything it could possibly need when it would take its first breath. Perhaps this was an oversight to making sure that Shay had the best of everything on this job, after all, they were cousins. Here, a smile graced her lips as she waited for him to put his shoes on.

"I don't feel we'll use all of it now, so it wouldn't hurt to finish enjoying our evening by ending it with a good meal, hm?"

As she locked the door behind her, Vera took Shay's arm, as her shoes were slick with melted snow, and they made their way out into the chilly night air. Everything the snow touched, it muted the sound, save for the crunching of frozen particles beneath their shoes. Like ethereal wisps, their breaths rose into the air, thin and white, and gave her the impression of miniature ghosts.

"While I enjoy the rain, as there is a peaceful air to it, one that makes me want to sit by the fire and read a good book, I much prefer the snow to the rain. At least it doesn't soak into your clothes." Just then, she slipped on a patch of ice, and were it not for Shay, she would have fallen, and perhaps suffered a fractured arm. She breathed a sigh of relief, and glanced at him with gratitude in her eyes. Not before long, they rounded the corner and came to the restaurant she happened to spot on the car ride over.

---

The Spirit of Tuscany, the name of the ristorante certainly conveyed the sense of dining in an authentic restaurant in Tuscany, Italy. Heavy in the air, she could smell from the kitchen in the back, the thick aroma of pungent spices wafting out over the patrons head's like a heavenly cloud of gourmet food. The snowflakes that clung to her pinned hair, had also clung dearly to both of their coats, now glittered like diamonds under the sleepy yellow lamplight. The apples of her cheeks were rosy pink from the chill in the air, giving her the appearance of a Renaissance maiden, or some Ancient Greek sprite or forest nymph. Impressed with the comely atmosphere, her judgement of the place expounded when she met the waiter, Frank, who dressed in a professional manner with his button-down shirt, tie, and shiny black shoes that gleamed like boiling tar. After he sat them at a table near the window as Shay had asked, he took their drink order, and soon departed. Underneath the illuminated glow of the conical red-white-green lamp, Vera leaned forward on her elbows, and waited for the server, Frank, to return with their drinks. While Shay chose a glass of whiskey, Vera opted for a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. She munched enjoyed wine, and while whiskey from the gang was abundant, it often gave her more confidence than she needed.

For the first few minutes inside the restaurant, Vera simply felt satisfied, as her gaze shifted from the curious paintings on the wall, reminiscent of Tuscan vineyards and villas, she turned her attention to Shay when he asked her a peculiar question, she almost didn't hear him right away. So how are you doing?. His question left her feeling vulnerable, there were many answers swirling around inside her mind, any that she could choose to say, and would be a proper fit. But, she liked Shay, and she didn't want to appear dishonest, nor unlike someone wishing to avoid difficult questions; so, she answered honestly.

"It is not you "tailing me" that has me upset. It is my brother. You saw with your own two eyes what he did. Sam wasn't always like that, not until he came back. I feel... that he has no respect for my personal privacy, or any regards to my choices and decisions in life any more. As for those men, I do feel restless, and uneasy. I'm glad that the boys were able to accommodate me for my well-being, but I feel angry. Angry that some vigilante has the notion to stalk me, to monitor my every move in hopes of killing me. What did I do-" She paused in her speech as Frank returned with the whiskey and wine; she muttered a polite "thank you" and waited for him to leave before carrying on.

"What did I do, to deserve this fate?" She sighed, irritation high in her voice, though she kept the volume down in case any prying ears overheard. Turning her gaze to the window next to them, the chill that wafted in from the frigid air, resonated with her disposition towards the Adders.

"I suppose I have been on edge lately, I have had fitful dreams since going to Holloway... Perhaps it is the pipe, or the lack of. It's been almost a week..." She muttered more to herself than to Shay, her eyes downcast with a painful longing. Then, as if her mood changed on a whim, she smiled at him, her eyes wrinkling at the corners.

"Allow me to say this, my life has changed since you came into it, and I am grateful for that!" Then she gestured with a sweep of her hand, "Now this, this is a wonderful place to be, and I am glad you are here with me. You are a delightful companion, and there is something about you, something you have, an air, if you will, that I take a shining to. So despite what has happened before, I am beyond happy that I am here with you. And besides," here she winked playfully at him, as was her way, "no good woman would send any man, if it can be helped, on his way in such troublesome weather. I enjoy the snow, for the cold it brings is refreshing."

"Regardless, I find it rather exciting to be an official member now, though it is emotionally taxing on me to stroll about playing pretend. My headaches when I wake, and it aches when I close my eyes for sleep. It is a strange combination to be certain. And I certainly didn't expect to have a guard. But... What of yourself, Shay? How are you? Are you on edge? Or nervous, perhaps?"

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

A Worthy Challenger

A Collab by @Peik and I.

---

Her feet were light as she strode, nay, sprang, away from Do'Karth, as were her heart. She walked with purpose, one that guided her through the masses of bodies, searching for Sadri Beleth. She had thanked Do'Karth, and now she had to pay her respects to the Dunmer. Were it not for the two of them, she surely would have succumbed to the mandibles of the chaurus. She sought high and low for Sadri, even going as far as to venture inside Windpeak Inn, which proved difficult to navigate through, as there were many people drowning themselves in the ale and mead alike. Leaving no stone unturned, so to speak, she made sure she searched for him thoroughly, even checking below the tables to make sure he wasn't sound asleep, or passed out in some dark corner. When she did not find him, Sevine left Windpeak Inn, and began her search outside. She passed by Asper, to check upon him, and found that the children had now left, after decorating him with a great big snowberry wreath, while his tail and mane were braided with brilliantly colored ribbon. After a reassuring pat, she left him to munch on the grass, and carried on with her search.

As she entered the lower portions of the bay, near the docks, Sevine was surprised to see that several competitions were arranged, javelin throwing, archery, even a ring where many people were gathered in a circle. Drawing near, she realized that those gathered in the circle were watching a mock duel, where combatants attacked one another with wooden swords. And then, she spotted him. Sidling around so that she came to stand next to him, Sevine noticed that his red eyes were focused on the dueler's while his mouth busied with a bowl of whale stew. "Sadri Beleth?" She asked, making certain that it was him. While she did not know many one-armed Dunmeri men, she did not want to make a mistake.

"It has been some time, hasn’t it?"

The Whaler’s Festival had brought a bouquet of good memories of the past, and with them, a dreadful sense of time lost, for Sadri. When was the last time he had seen this? How many decades ago? The taste of whale stew, while invigorating, also made him shiver on his spot. All this time somehow felt wasted. He wasn’t happy. Yes, he wasn’t happy – that was proof enough that his time was wasted. His body, wasted, his mind, wasted. "A waste." He needed to buy a water pipe – but did they even craft those in this backwards fishing town? Better to just focus on the duelists.

Children. There were children around, running with joy, unblemished thanks to their native ignorance – Sadri remembered once being like them, but by now, all that remained of those days were his parents, ancient relics of days gone by. "I should not have been a mer," Sadri thought to himself. Indeed, had he been a man, he would not have had the time to contemplate on a waste of seven decades – he would have been too old to care. Did it not dawn upon any mer at all, just how horrifying a curse it was to live so long? Here he was, with seven decades of memories, yet he was supposed to be young. How could one be young with the weight of such memories?

‘’Sadri Beleth?’’

For a moment, the Dunmer expected a sudden stab to the chest by some long-forgotten foe, for that’s how Sadri would have done it (he had not forgotten Dumhuvud), but when he turned to face his fate, he was instead pleasantly disappointed by the sight of Sevine, one they called the Huntress – an emotional, almost romantic young woman. Sadri vividly remembered of her arguing with members of the Dawnguard, despite crossbows aimed at her.

‘’Sevine?’’ Sadri asked back, although it was obvious it was her. ‘’Here to watch the lads?’’ He pointed absent-mindedly at the duelists, surprised by the woman’s presence.

At the mention of coming to watch the duelists, Sevine's gaze shifted to watch the fighters engaged in a rough spat, wooden swords made dull thunks as the men came together, parried, and then separated, sweat causing their faces to shine in the setting sun.

"Actually, as much as I would like to, no. I came to speak with you. The pleasure of doing so has evaded me for sometime, and I wish to amend that. I wish to thank you, for coming to my aid in the cave. Were it not for you, I would have succumbed to that hideous chaurus in the end." She said.

Recalling that fateful encounter in the caves, she had forgotten the fact that he had been pierced by an arrow of the Falmer, and so her eyes wandered over his good arm, but did not see any visible problems, although they could have been underlying just as well. "How does your arm fare? The arrowhead, was it not poisoned?"

Sadri gave a tired smile as Sevine mentioned her gratitude for him saving her in the caves. Of course, having been slouched by the relaxation of the festival after days on duty, Sadri waited well after she finished speaking. Had he no shame, he could easily pass as the grouchy old man; perhaps he really did have no shame and just unabashedly gripped onto the old card thanks to seven decades of life, despite the youthful body, but he conveniently threw that thought in his mental meat grinder.

True to his expectations, Sevine was not done speaking, and asked him about his arm, for it had caught an arrow from the long-degenerated descendants of the Snow Elves. Sadri smacked his lips, subconsciously too caught up in the old man act. ‘’Well, Sevine, I appreciate your thanks, but I don’t think it was anything worth mentioning. We’re soldiers, our job is to cover one another,’’ Sadri said slowly.

‘’As for the arrow, well, I was lucky enough that the arrow did not manage to pierce my skin. Back in Hammerfell, warriors wear quilted coats with a lining of silk to keep themselves safe from the heat, and arrows. I don’t leave home without it,’’ Sadri said as he patted the thick, although admittedly soft looking coat underneath his vest. ‘’Although the coat of mail I got from Edith must have also helped.’’

As the older Mer spoke, she returned the favor, as he had done, and listened to him speak. A light smile came to her lips, relieved to hear that he had not suffered the same fate as Leif. "Edith is a good woman, she will do her best to see our needs as quartermaster. We have known each other since we were babes sucking our thumbs." She said, her voice unusually soft, despite the damage to her vocal chords, as if reflecting on some long forgotten dream of nostalgia that Sadri could not see.

"As a matter of giving thanks, whether or not they are warranted, is to each their own. It is something I have always done, even in the war. It was... a way of bonding with my fellow comrades when I did not communicate with them as frequently." She fell quiet for a time, standing in weary silence as her eyes surveyed the duel before them. There were several spectators that had gathered round to watch. It appeared that the opponents were the blacksmith and a festival visitor, for he was large in all aspects, girth, height, and the thickness of his hands and legs, while the other was considerably smaller, and younger. They lunged, and they parried, avoiding serious knocks to the head with ducks and vicious swings to the knees. Suddenly, the blacksmith gained the upper hand in the duel, for his opponent had worn himself out with his quick footwork, and perhaps had under-anticipated the blacksmith's stamina. With a swipe, the blacksmith landed a crack on the youth's hand bearing his wooden sword. He cried out in evident pain, that would leave a sweltering bruise, no doubt, and dropped his sword. After declaring the blacksmith the winner of that match, the judge, the one that monitored the fight for fairness, made an announcement.

"Who dares to step into the ring, and try their hand? Do we have any volunteers? Any that wish to test their strength and wit, to earn the right to boast? Come now! Only the most valiant warriors will do!"

Sadri smiled faintly when Sevine revealed to him that she and Edith were childhood friends. It made him happy to hear that people had such long-lasting companionships, but also it made him jealous deep inside, for in his life he had lost many close friends, often to petty disagreements, arguments, violence, old age, or just plain misfortune.

‘’That’s quite nice, you and Edith. Friendships can be hard to keep these days, although yours should not be a surprise, with your intent to keep your bonds with your companions close. It is a rare quality.’’

"Indeed... My family have been taken from me in untimely ways, my mother in childbirth as she bore me my only sibling, and my father when I returned from the war. Some may say, that while my friends are few and far between, I do hold dear the value of those friendships, for were it not for them, I would have no one to speak to. And that, that is but a lonely path to walk." Whether Sadri heard her or not, for her voice came but a whisper, she knew that she spoke the truth, and part of her did feel heart-broken. There were times when she greatly yearned to see the smiling face of her mother, to bury her face in the warm bosom that held her dear in tender embraces, and to hear the voice of her father, to hear how he laughed with a great roar, or sat beside the hearth fire puffing on his pipe, his eyes cast downward into the flames, as if drawn into deep thoughts. Even now, she yearned to see the face of her sister, Liliana. How did she fare with her new husband? Was she with child yet? Had she changed at all?

In the heat (was it a heated conversation, even?) of the conversation, the mock duel had ended in the favor of the burly man, which had come off as no surprise to the Dunmer, for bigger people were usually better at bashing things, and wooden swords obviously did not have the equalizing sharp edges of their metallic brothers. Sadri looked at the judge of the fight beckon for more fighters, and then looked back at Sevine. As far as he knew, she had earned some fame as the Huntress in these lands, a renowned fighter. Sadri’s expression lightened somewhat.

‘’So, Sevine, what do you think about these duels? Ever partake in one?’’ He asked, one part of him not wishing to get involved in an unnecessary fight, and the other part of him itching for some youthful action.

At his question, for the shouting of the judge had not broken her thoughts, Sevine blinked slowly, as if hearing him speak for the first time. The corners of her lips twitched upwards into a hint of a smile, one that felt relieved to let go of such distant thoughts. "Aye... Aye, those were childish things of the past in the fondest days of my youth gone-by. It would be a worthy challenge, Sadri, to face you in such a duel. What say you? Shall we step forth, and give our hand a try? Mayhaps show these whelps how real warriors face one another? It would be good sport nonetheless, and nothing foul ever came of raising the blood flow to the heart, eh?"

‘’It is a lonely path indeed,’’ Sadri muttered with a solemn tone as his mind traveled to distant lands of sorrow for a moment. His parents were alive, at least, but for how long had he not seen them? He remembered the letter he had penned when in Windhelm, and the fact that he had been unable to get it sent. He figured he had to handle it, sooner or later, for he did not want to lose another tie to his better days in life.

However, when the Huntress actually went ahead and offered a duel for him, Sadri could not help but smirk in a youthful manner. In truth, Sadri had no theoretical knowledge of martial arts. His was more of years of accumulated experience and practice, often learned the hard way, as his wounds could attest. Nonetheless, if she were the Huntress, then she was worthy of facing the mer who had once risen to minor infamy amongst the Altmer in Valenwood as the Ashen Porcupine. Plus, perhaps the adrenaline rush could help him momentarily forget his freefall in life.

‘’Nothing foul, except a heart attack,’’ Sadri mused in reply to Sevine’s comment on the rush of fighting, and then moved into the ring after stripping off his thicker garments. Taking a wooden imitation of a sword, slightly curved seemingly thanks to constant battering against its tip, Sadri nodded for Sevine.

‘’As challenger, you have the right to first blow,’’ Sadri mused in a satirical tone, as he spaced the gap between his legs slightly wider for easier movement, his good hand holding the wooden sword in a readied manner.

A hush fell over the crowd, and as Sadri and the Huntress came to stand within the ring, there were audible whispers from the onlookers. "Isn't that Sevine the Huntress?" said someone hidden amongst the gathered people. "Aye, it be her. See the color of her hair? Red as blood. Some say it is from so many foes she slaughtered in the war." Someone replied. "This will be a good show! Do you think that Mer has a chance? He's only got one arm, I say." Came another.

She did not strike at first, for she appeared to either be lost in deep thought, or at least studying her opponent with a great severity. The image remained fresh in her mind how Sadri sprang into action back in the caves. What these people didn't know, or understand, was that despite the lack of a limb, Sadri was still a formidable Mer. Mimicking his stance, with legs parted, she drew up her sword in her right hand, and held it ready. Her eyes glinted in the sinking evening sun, like that of a predator's gleam when stalking prey in the underbrush of the forest. And so she sprang forth, unexpectedly, not a word did she utter, and thrust the sword between Sadri's legs in an attempt to strike him on the inner portion of his thigh.

Sadri was happy that Sevine had taken his offer of striking the first blow, for he preferred to stay on the defensive until he earned a certain familiarity with his opponent’s moves, and also make good use of the advantage of tiring them out. A strike between his legs was unexpected, definitely, and Sadri felt that the parrying window of his sword would be too limited to effectively deflect it, and thus, he hopped back on his two legs, covering enough distance to dodge the hit. He swung a strike in Sevine’s direction immediately as his legs settled back on the ground, although he did not expect for it to actually connect with Sevine – it was merely a bait of frustration for her to take, make her unable to think, keep her distracted.

She gave a short cry, more of a laugh really, for Sadri was more nimble than he let on. Ducking beneath the swipe of his sword, Sevine lunged again, this time thrusting her sword towards his ribs, right where his absent arm should have been.

The Dunmer, however, flicked the wrist of his weapon hand to his side to counter, and thus, instead of a grunt after a strike upon flesh, a cracking sound after a clash of wooden swords filled the air. Flicking his wrist back, Sadri swung the practice sword in his hand underneath Sevine’s extended arm and against her belly.

How he countered her incoming blow, she would never know. Perhaps it was the years of experience that had prepared him for such an attack, after all, Sadri's body held scars like that of a canvas painting. Or at least from what she could see. The edge of the wooden sword had found its mark. She yelped in surprise, not from pain, and sprang backwards. There may be a small bruise by morning come on the morrow, for the thickness of her leather armor reduced the impact of the blow. Of course, had the blade been one of metal make, instead of wood, she would have suffered gravely. During the voyage to the college, her chainmail had disappeared from her rucksack, even her steel helm had seemed to grown a pair of legs and vanished. Now this blow reminded her that she was without the comfort and protection.

Switching the sword from hand-to-hand and back again, Sevine decided to Sadri take the initative and make an attack. She had no idea how her opponent moved or attacked, and she would not wear herself out on brute force. Whether she assumed that with his lack of appendage, that he could not assail her properly, proved wrong.

"Come then, Master Beleth, and show me how great your skills are." It was not a taunt, nor a jest, but an open invitation to strike first.

Sadri didn’t like the notion of having the initiative in a battle, for it meant that he had to strike true, lest he get punished. He preferred to simply counter his opponent, but he could not insist for his adversary in a duel to keep attacking now, could he?

‘’As you wish,’’ Sadri replied, and then moved forward, closing the distance between them. Only, he did not strike at sword distance, but came closer, pulling his sword downwards against Sevine’s face at close distance, while his right foot went forward to hook itself behind Sevine’s.

Sevine had little time to counterattack Sadri's swift approach, she had to admit, he was a nimble fellow. She saw the oncoming blow of his sword, and ducked her head to avoid a blow that would leave a nasty mark. Bringing the pommel of the sword into his side, she had not noticed his foot so carefully placed. She stumbled backwards in a splay of limbs after trying to back way.

Upon seeing Sevine stumble upon the ground, Sadri immediately stepped upon her sword and pointed the tip of his weapon at her face to finish the duel. ‘’I suspect this should be enough,’’ he said to Sevine after a moment, dropping his sword and offering his arm to pull her up. It felt good to see that he could still hold her own against someone more than rabble – perhaps even made him feel slightly valuable, even.

Defeated by a Dunmer would have aroused rage from a typical Nord, especially in a man. But Sevine was neither typical nor a man, so with a smile on her lips, she accepted the outstretched hand by Sadri, and pulled herself onto her feet, dusting the seat of her trousers off. A murmur rumbled through the group of onlookers, some saying that Sadri had won his way by using tricks, and others muttered that maybe The Huntress wasn't what she used to be anymore. The judge of the duel declared Sadri the winner, and Sevine felt a sense of humility, not in a bad way, so to speak, but a feeling of gratefulness. Sadri could have done worse, he could have broken some bones, but this was not a fight to the death, but simply a game that children played, now by adults in lay of festivities.

"You honor me, Sadri Beleth. You have shown me more than I knew to be true of you." Here, she clasped her hand about his own, and shook it.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

@MacabreFox

@MiddleEarthRoze

And Leif is one not to leave that Friend-Zone so easily.

@Dervish I'm glad you thought so ^.^

Are we gonna see Leif powerbomb 'Karth off the top turnbuckle?

FIND OUT THIS SUNDAY

@Frizan

It is my goal to bring this event to you all, in due time...

<Snipped quote by Frizan>

You'll pay for the whole seat BUT YOULL ONLY NEED THE EEEEEDGE!!!

@Leidenschaft

And tickets are half-priced for this special event! Get them while they last!

On a side note @Leidenschaft I've decided to keep Leif's long sword after doing my homework, because it looks pretty bad ass. Thanks for the help! I'm going to brush up on what long swords look like, so that way I can accurately depict what his sword is, and how it will move in future fights.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Of Scorn and Confessions

A Collab by: @Leidenschaft and I

---

A man shunned, a heart broken, woe upon him, did Leif Raven-Stone come stumbling from the Windpeak Inn, his coin spent on several flagons of ale, and his blood boiling like molten iron. It pained him, and it felt as if a great, poisoned blade had been thrust through his very heart. Glimpses of his beloved, Sevine, came to him, again and again, a scene that would never end. How she stood beside the Khajiit, Do'Karth, the two exchanging intimate words in hushed tones, and how she leapt upon him, her arms embracing him readily, like a lover now known. There, the Khajiit gave her a token of his affection, some amulet that she now bore proudly around her slender neck. The very same neck that he yearned to kiss, the very woman that for so many years, he desired to call his own. She even had the courage to kiss this cat upon his cheek. And what of him?! He was cast aside like a piece of spoilt meat! Staggering off the porch of the inn, Leif made his way through the streets, the hour of the early evening had gone, and little light now remained as the sun, now a brilliant ball of crimson, sank lower over the hill. Muttering to himself like a mad-man, one that lost his mind, as tears stung his eyes, he came upon Sevine's horse, Asper. A creature she loved and doted upon even more than himself. Swearing harsh curses under his breath, he fumbled hopelessly with the knot she had tied, a simple loop, until it unfurled. Slapping the powerful beast on the rump, he yelled, waving his hands wildly in the air, "Be gone ye beast! Have off with ye!" With that, Asper sprang away, startled at the sight of the drunkard that had become Leif. Where the horse went, none would know until Sevine came to call for him later.

"Forsake me, will she? I will show her! I will show her the true man I am, and then she will desire to be mine..."

For a while he rested against the tree, burying his head into the crook of his elbow, as sweat poured down the sides of his crown, with his eyes closed, as he had not the strength to open them and to look upon the world. Off in the near distance, he heard voices of men engaged in conversation. This seemed to provoke him, for he pushed himself off the tree with great force, almost collapsing to the ground, and went stumbling, headed towards the voices. Swaying to and fro, his sight well blurred, he could only make out the figure of a tall man, with great height and girth to match, along with a mighty red-beard. 'Twas none other than Jorwen Red-Bear, and even in his dastardly state, Leif knew him nonetheless. Approaching Jorwen, and his companions, he bellowed in a great and terrifying voice, perhaps to instill fear, whatever the reason, it could not be discerned in his clouded mind.

"I challenge ye! The three of ye, to a match! Come! Take up your swords, and bear them against me! I am Leif Raven-Stone, I fear no man! Fight me if you wish, for I am no coward! And only a coward would deny such a worthy challenge!" His fingers felt blindly as he reached to unstrap his sword from its leather thongs, and when he had done so, swung it in a wide arc as a display of bravado. Although, to the others, he would simply appear as a drunk fool that would only harm himself than them. The sword slipped from his grasp, and wedged itself into the flesh of the earth. He found not the strength to recover his sword, for he could not steady himself in his current state to even take the hilt again into his hands. As he went to retrieve the blade, he fell to his knees, and there, he remained, his blood-shot eyes glaring up at the three men, too drunk to move, or to speak for the moment.

Of a sudden, Brittle had his knife in his hand and took a step forward. Jorwen reached out clamped a hand on Brittle's shoulder with a grip that told him he would have no blood. "I'll have you know, little lad, every moment you are in my presence is one I choose not to murder you. You take one more step towards that man, it'll change."

Brittle grinned sheepishly at Jorwen and let go his high laugh, sheathing his knife and holding his hands up in peace. Mire made no moves, though Jorwen was ready for him. He never came on. Instead, he spoke, "This talk isn't over. Black Sutt still wants you at your earliest convenience."

"Who knows when that'll be." Jorwen squinted at Mire, "Perhaps it'll be so long he'll keel over before I get a chance to. Or the Deadlands freeze."

Mire just chuckled and shook his head, gathering his companion and walking away into the town, the darkening sky over the bay around them. Jorwen watched them leave and when they had finally gone, he turned to Leif. "There was a time, Raven-Stone, when bellowing a challenge to the Red-Bear was something only a man looking for a gory death would do." Jorwen walked towards Leif, his hair dangling over one eye, and he stood over him. Then he pushed the locks from his face with a sad smile and offered a helping hand to the lad who was very obviously drunk, "But I distance myself from those times unless that man I was is utterly needed. Take my hand, Raven-Stone, and walk with me."

Even after the flashing gleam of metal blades were sheathed, Leif did not flinch, nor wallow for an apology. Yet, as the great Red-Bear came to stand over him, he simply looked up, his body swaying, he went to push the offered hand away, and fell to one side, he quickly scrambled back to an upright position, and regarded Red-Bear as a man that dared to end his rage. Whatever logical sense was left, Leif uttered a crestfallen sigh, and after a few misses grabbed the weathered man's hand in his own, and forced himself up. If Jorwen had a nose like a hound, he would certainly smell the alcohol coming off his body in great wafts, so potent that some would wonder if they themselves could become intoxicated by simply being in his presence.

"And if a gory death be what I seek, who are you-" Leif hiccuped loudly, one that shook his body with great force, "to stop me? My heart has been thrust upon a deadly knife as is, so there is nothing left... in this world, for me to hold life dear." His words were slurred, and his head bobbed like a dinghy being tossed about on mighty waves of the ocean.

Yet, as he stood there in his condition, he did not relinquish Jorwen's hand, for it was like a great anchor that kept him from drifting out on the sea of miserable drunkness.

Jorwen frowned at Leif's words. The father in him wanting to hug the lad, but Leif was a man. He needed guidance, not pity, or at least just a conversation long enough for him to sober up or fall asleep. "We've plenty chances to come for gory deaths, my friend. But try as you might, I will not give you one." Jorwen laid a good-natured hand on Leif's own and then put his steadying hand around the lad's shoulders, keeping him upright as they began to walk. Jorwen looked Leif up and down, the smell of alcohol stinging his nose, "One only drinks like that either for great mirth or great sadness. I can tell it's the latter, friend." He let it go unsaid that he was no stranger to it, the drink or the sadness, "What troubles you? Speak freely. Has a friend passed, a lover?"

As they walked, his feet shuffled, as if his boots were filled with lead, when Jorwen mentioned what troubled him, his mane of tawny hair shook as did his head. "One could say... that the one I love has forsaken me, and chosen another to be her lover. Of all the fair women in this land that I have lain with, sang to, wooed, adored with tenderness... It is she that has captured my heart since I first lain eyes upon her." Shaking his head once more, as if to clear the drunken fog from his mind, Leif sighed, like that of a forlorn lover.

"It is Sevine. For she has taken her first love. Do not misunderstand, Red-Bear, for my pride as a Nord man is gravely injured. She has not chosen a man! Her choice lies with the furred beast, Do'Karth. Perhaps my beating heart would not feel so wronged if it were another man, but this?! This is an abomination! And where is her great pride and dignity for a mighty Nord woman, that she might lie in the bed of a dirty cat?!" He cried aloud, nay, shouted, so that all may hear who were in ear-shot.

"She cannot even bear children with him... And I have would have been an honorable husband, I would have loved her until her beautiful, crimson tresses were grey with age, and wrinkles on her face. I would have looked after her until the end of time, and there would not be a want that I couldn't fulfill. What man I am now? I ask of you, what man I am now, if all this time, I have been but an ignorant fool? She never wanted me. She never saw how I took care of her, even in the darkest hours of the war, when she was struck down by that Imperial officer, who smate her with a poisoned blade. Who was there when she laid upon that cot stricken with fever? 'Twas not that beast! 'Twas I! And I have tended to her ever since, like a faithful housecarl that serves his Thane." His words were morose in nature, and he did not hold back the torrent of deep pain he held in his heart. Perhaps it was the alcohol that made his tongue loose and wagged so freely. Yet, as they walked, Leif leaned heavily on Jorwen, he wanted to sleep, but as the bear of the man led him on a walk, he knew in his heart that he needed someone to speak with.

"I see. You loved the Huntress." Jorwen nodded, and his pain brought to mind his own from years ago, buried by the sheer amount of years between it and now, but Leif had uncovered it. "I was not always my wife's lover, nor was she mine. I found another while Halla and I were..." He looked away, "She was a warrior, one of those in Ulfric's Band he took to take Markarth back from the Reachmen. I followed her, because war was the only thing I was certain I could be good at and because she understood me in that light. The Reachmen ambushed us one night after we escaped the Empire's so-called justice for Ulfric. I was stabbed, the lifeblood draining from me, and what they did to her... they slit her throat and left her on the ground like a broken doll. I raged and raged across the Reach." Jorwen sighed. "My heart was torn and battered by more things than you could know. I was alone, angry, so endlessly angry at the Gods and at everything else. I know your search for a gory death all too well."

Jorwen set Leif down on a bench and sat next to him with much work. His joints were not all there anymore, but he'd die before he could no longer heft his sword. "Try to look for death to your heart's content, Leif." Jorwen looked up at the night sky, his breath smoking on the cold air, "As you say, no man can stop another from making his own choices. But want it or not, those you'll leave will miss you, Sevine among them. And the death you seek is not quick or painless. She's made her choices, you can make your own. Rage across the lands of men and elves and beasts all you want. I only hope you find something that brings you happiness at some point in that journey far sooner than I did."

The deep brevity of his words resounded within Leif as they sat side-by-side on the bench, his body had quit swaying, and all but a great headache had slowly begun to descend upon his crown, his conquest for emptying his purse of all coin. He did not speak for many moments, there were many questions that swam inside his head, and for once, he forgot Sevine, if only for a little while. "Then mayhaps, this heartache too, will disappear in time, and mayhaps, there will come some greater good of it. All I have yearned for in this life, is a woman for which to make a wife, and to one day, have a family of my own. I envy you, Red-Bear, that you have such someone to call your own, to have a warm embrace waiting for you... Alas, it will not be for me, for sometime to come. But tell me this Red-Bear... Your wife, Halla? Does she know of your lover to wrongly slain? Does she know of your grief that you once held inside?" Why he wanted to know this, he could not say, perhaps to comfort him in the future if he found himself in a similar situation, were his potential lover to be cruelly murdered as had Jorwen's.

"No." Jorwen shook his head. "She only knew that I was a proud and contemptuous man from the day I met her. I fathered Solveig after I'd talked Halla for two days and it was not the warm and gentle entanglement of lovers, but of two people who had a pain to quell. And failed to do that. Her anger and sadness has leaked out of her as the years passed, as did mine. Our daughter may have found both."

Jorwen chuckled at that, "And yes, Leif. It is often hard for young men to realize there are many years ahead of them and not just the very moment they are in. If nothing else, you will learn to be at peace with yourself. Only then can another love you the way you deserve. Halla found it to be true, as did I. The ghosts of my past are still there, but I have learned to distance myself from the man I was. You are ever the better man than me, Leif. That I know from the stories men tell of your's and your Clan's name. Keep it so."

At the mention of Solveig being his daughter, a blossom of red coloured his cheeks like that of a blanket of poppys covering a grave in the spring. Why had he been such a fool? Oh woe upon him, and mercy befall him if Jorwen ever heard from his daughter's mouth the words he had said to her at Candlehearth Hall before knowledge of the Kamal's had blackened this world. Clearing his throat, he offered Jorwen a gracious smile. There was a deep comfort in his words, one that Leif had never heard before in his life. For his father and mother alike, Jorrlak and Sanja, dead they may be now, never spoke so soothingly to their son, and if they did, he was a lad too small to remember. "I am all that is left of my kin... Perhaps that is why I seek so strongly a family to make my own, so that my namesake will not be forgotten so easily, and like the Red-Bear, and even of the Huntress, my name too, will be sang in halls long after my passing. But come, I will keep your secret, as your wife is a good woman. You have a kind spirit Red-Bear, one that most must often over-look because of your name. If I may ask one favor of you tonight, as you have done me a great favor already by saving me from shame... Will you walk with me back to the inn, so that I do not lose my way, or fall down in a pile of manure to sleep?" Already, his head dropped with the heaviness of sleep, and his eyes closed slowly, tiredly. He would feel better in the morning, or wake with a crushing headache.

Jorwen's head leaned forward from looking up into the sky, a small smile on his lips, "I thank you for letting an old man talk and hopefully finding that some wisdom sticks. I think Halla and I have been together so long the news of another woman long dead would hardly phase her past punching my shoulder." He chuckled, "And of course, friend. I'll walk with you."

He stood and the two clasped each other by the wrist. Jorwen hauled the man up, not such an easy feat for the man's size and his sleepiness. The two walked in comfortable silence back towards the tavern. Jorwen could not say farewell to his friend and have him hear it, as he'd fallen asleep standing somewhere between the bench and the inn. He threw down what coin was needed for a room and laid the man down in the bed there, face-down lest he meet an end ingloriously choking on his own vomit. He lingered in the doorway, ruminating on their talk, and wondering if he'd ever have the strength to talk to his daughter like that. If he had the gall to, after so many years apart and absent. Jorwen had never tried to lie, and so he gave Leif his wishes for a heart at peace someday and meant it. He made his way feeling both tired after old hurts had come back to him and a small bit content that his words could help another instead of hurting them. Settling down and doing nothing these past days felt good, especially when they were with his wife. For more time than the quiet moments before the battle, Jorwen had been a man of peace. He hoped Leif would take his words of staying as good a man he could to heart.

It was for that reason, a bittersweet feeling came over him when he saw his friend, Do'Karth by his fire.

Formaroth: Battle for the Throne

In the reference sheet, I have added a section for Formaroth Magic Guide, and a section for Alenius, be sure to check those out!

Courtesy of: @TheDuncanMorgan and @PhoenixWhite

The Jolly Roughers ~ Dervish & MacabreFox

She came around the corner into the living room to see Shay standing in awe, looking every which way, as if he was afraid, or not used to such... niceties in a home. Her heart leapt for him, and now, of all times, did she wish greatly to know if Auntie Liza was alive or not, how she would love to take him around the wings of her manor, and through the expansive gardens, even taking to the horses in the stable and riding across the many forested acres that were her property.

"No, you don't have to. At least not tonight, what with the weather like it is, I would be worried sick until you returned. Besides, the hour is late, and the markets are likely to close soon. Although..." She put a balled hand on her fit, and queried, "Do you have any cash left over that Samuel gave us? If so, there is a nice little restaurant I spied on our way up here, just around the corner actually. We could walk there if you fancied going out for an evening for dinner, as I don't care much for cooking tonight. I haven't got the faintest idea what to cook, even though there is plenty of food in the pantry, and in the ice box. There are a spare change of men's pajamas in the guest bedroom, so I think someone anticipated you staying with me, or at least Sam. Point being, unless you need to head back to your place, we could just go get a bite to eat, eh?" As she spoke, a weight was lifted from her heart, gladdened to have Shay staying with her tonight. It would give her some peace of mind at least, and she would certainly sleep easy.

Formaroth {Battle for the Throne} Reference Sheet

Alenius - Cultural Information

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A Land Reforged

Mercy, Capital of Alenius

Mercy is a larger castle city extending down the forested hillsides, and towards the coastline. The metropolis is protected by a series of walls, having been built hundreds of years in advance of each other. Many of the internal walls have suffered greatly from time, and dragon alike, but instead of being left with gaping holes, new work has done on them regularly to repair them to their original glory. The city is divided into a few different districts dominated by the way ruling dynasties have prioritized them. Very few buildings peek out over the menacing walls, with the outermost one being the thickest, and the newest. Much water runs through these walls with aqueducts built-in beneath the top layers to provide water to the extensively wide population that drain into cisterns beneath the ground, and flow out to the sea.

However, one thing that does stand out is an alarming number of towers. Thicker, tougher towers that are a bit stout, and have great width mark the cityscape. These structures are continuously being maintained. The areas central river snakes around the inner sections of the urban environment, and is reinforced with large canal walls, having been built up with short wooden palisades in the event of an incursion. These tend to have rectangular holes sparingly cut into them. The bridges are reinforced with more metallic gilded plates on top of stone to create fire-resistant architectural integrity.

Despite being separated by districts, and walls of varying quality and age, the city retains its low architecture with a profuse stucco-like design that focuses on low columns, and railings bordering everything. The rooftops are inaccessible due to the peaking, and terracotta tiles of years past marking them, and in lower class areas, are known to be a rather frequent cause of death. However, wood was not a readily available building type contrary to the surrounding landscape, simply due to the frequent dragon attacks in the past, though after the Blackwell Dragon War, the forests around the keep have been cleared to make expansive fields around the keep, and to use wood more liberally as a resource within the keep and lands.

That being said, however, there are many city streets which do retain signature scorch marks from prior battles. The worst scar on the city perhaps would be the main avenue, where many market vendors, and traders move to streamline their mercantile processes, but end up being the primary target for attacks. However in past generations, the city has undergone construction of safe rooms, and subterranean tunnels which are used as checkpoints intermittently, and have gone through fortifications and expansions by the Blackwells when they assumed control of the keep.

The castle itself is magnificently appointed on the zenith of the hillside, having itself another wall around it, but with taller towers more closely placed together to create a fence-like atmosphere on the approach. The castle is wide and spread across the hilltop, like an acropolis, with the main keep being at the highest point but only a few stories tall with large spires, and spikes on the rooftop. Several gardens and atriums are sprinkled around, with the atriums doubling as a defensive front with iron lattice work overtop to allow shots through. Regardless of the lack of extreme height or roof peaking, the fortress has a number of buttresses supporting the outer walls. The buttresses have layered color schemes, and the entire estate tends to lean towards red and orange hues, being the colors of the family crest. The many archways show vaulted ceilings, and the railings are more often metal than they are wooden and have solid, opaque shutters that fold around the columns, and can be unlocked in case of attack. A series of cheiro ballistas, and onagers mark the castle grounds and roof, most seeming to have been repaired, and refurbished recently, if not built not too long ago.

[Credit for description goes to an associate of mine off-guild, for he has a mind for architecture that I do not]

Local Dishes

The cuisine and dishes of Alenius are of a spartan nature, its people having little room for experimentation in the past due to the cruelty of their lords, and the infestation of dragons rending their agricultural life moot, and food a scarcity - so the people of Alenius made the most of very little, and rather than elaborate or extravagant dishes the people have developed efficient and simple meals.

After the Blackwell family was placed in power, and agriculture was allowed to flourish, however, many exotic meals surfaced from the land's rich soils, primarily in the form of herbs and spice.

Dragon's Spit
This is an incredibly spicy dish that resembles a gruel, and is almost a point of pride for drunkards in taverns everywhere, who challenge others to the consumption of the dish. Its intense spice aside, the dish is an amalgamation of many spices and herbs that come from the land, though its primary contents are a simple blend of grains that become enriched by the spices. A fulfilling and challenging dish.

Spite
It is a particularly potent ale from the region. The ale is served steaming hot rather than cold, and is actually a rather bland drink once the heat dies away from it. Crafted from a blend of herbs and spices, the drink smothers the thick alcohol used to brew it under a strong spicy musk, which leaves a bitter taste in the mouth, not unlike chewing tobacco, once the fiery sweetness of the spice fades. Usually the consumer is too drunk to notice or care about the aftertaste, and drink it in spite of the aftertaste itself.

Hot Dish
This dish is, perhaps, one of the only cultural aspects of Alenius that has persisted through the Blackwell reconstruction period. Hot Dish is a simple, fast to make, and fulfilling meal consisting of jerked meats being packed tightly in a bundle with hardtack breads and a tightly-wound bundle of herbs. The dish was made popular by refugees from the dragon-infested lands in the south, who when seeking asylum would often be supplied with these things and ended up grouping them together into an oddly satisfying meal. It would seem that generations of survivors and travellers have made Hot Dish a favorite of those travelling Alenius for its ease of transport and fulfilling nature, despite its minimalism.

Any other meals are rather standard.

Customs

The people of Alenius have a handful of customs born of the circumstances of their land, and naturally these events revolve around the tyranny of House Willow, the dragons formerly plaguing their lands, and the rise of the Blackwells.

The Fall of Willow

Nearing the end of winter, groups of men and children often get together to re-enact the complete, and utter destruction of the Willow military, and the routing of the House in comical, and often times, exaggerated ways. It seems to bring them good cheer to mock their prior tyrants.

The Dance of Dragons... and other marriage rites

This is one of the queer customs that survived the Blackwell reconstruction of Alenius, and it's a tradition that exists through the rites of marriage. Those getting married within Alenius' lands are married within a ring of fire, which separates the groom and bride from those observing the marriage until the ceremony is complete. Those with weak constitutions might very well faint from the heat or water deprivation, but it isn't seen as an ill omen for this to happen, and the ceremony does not last very long, meaning this occurs incredibly infrequently.

The marriage ceremony, and the marriage celebration are very separate for this very reason, and following the marriage ceremony is a period of revelry - often in the form of 'rehydration' through 'excess alcohol consumption'.

Competition

Competition is a large part of Alenius society following the Blackwell reconstruction of Alenius - as rather than blood or status dictating socio-economic position, the Blackwell's value merit.

The repercussions and benefits of this competitive spirit the Blackwell's have instilled are far reaching, and numerous, and depicting them would be redundant in usefulness and wasteful of time.

Fighting Rings

In a land where fields were destitute, and coin scarce from the sapping grip of a tyrannical house, the peasants had little to entertain themselves with - thus the people of Alenius soon found entertainment in the gritty joy that is the sand pit.

Circuits of fighting rings formed all through Alenius' lands, entertainment for those with nothing better to do originally, but after the Blackwell reconstruction coin began to flow through the land once more, debt was conquered, and gambling on these fights became a popular pass-time.

There are other minor customs that marr Alenius and give it its queer, unique, air, though they do not merit description.

Clothes

The clothes of the people of Alenius are simple, and focus on function rather than form on all levels save the higher nobility of the land, and even then the Blackwell family's value of simplicity and effectiveness has skewed the upper echelon of nobility into favoring simplistic elegance rather than complex clothing. Colors are used more heavily than fanciful materials, though those who can afford softer silks and more comfortable clothes than the rough-hewn stuff of peasants certainly do enjoy that luxury.

Legends

The Tale of Edward Fire-Heart

The Tale of Edward Fire-Heart is a children's tale, a rather popular one at that, that quite possibly explains why so many people of Alenius stayed rather than fled in the years that dragons inhabited the lands.

The tale of Edward depicts a man who owned a farm who travelled into the mountains after his home was burnt down by dragons. He had lost his wife and son in the fire and had nothing left to his name save the clothes on his back and a longsword of Dwarven Steel he had from years in service to the noble house of the time.

When he arrived in the mountains, the story says that he spent years searching them and trying to find where the dragons laid their eggs or kept their young, or even where they slept so he could slay them in the spirit of revenge for his family. He survived by scavenging the scraps the dragons themselves ate, and every so often he'd glimpse one of his formidable foes in the sky, and rave at them madly.

However, one day, many years after he entered the mountains, he did discover the nest of a dragon, and when he approached it he grew mad with wrath, and butchered the dragon's young and eggs. The dragon whose nest he had sacked returned shortly after he had concluded his foul deed, and a great battle ensued between the two - a father who lost everything, and the great beast he had scorned.

Edward overcame the beast after a battle that raged a week in length, but after his rage subsided, and he laid down to rest, his heart stopped, and he lay still forevermore in the very cave the battle originated.

It is said that other dragons returned, and melted the very stone of the cavern, and buried Edward Fire-Heart's body inside, with the corpses of the dragons he slew.

While the tale is grim, and lacking in fantasy, it made many children spiteful of the dragons, and later lead to the high quantity of would-be dragonslayers that the Blackwell's later drew from in their Dragon War.

The Warrior Poetess
Alyssandra Heart was said to have lived hundreds of years ago, and to have been one of those who sought to escape the dragons when they first became a problem in the land. Her poems, and epics are the most noteworthy writings to come from Alenius, and they are a matter of pride for the people of the land. Alyssandra Heart's existence is doubted by some, who claim her being to be fictitious and fabricated to hide the real author's identity, but regardless of this fact Alyssandra Heart's name and writings are renowned for their fantastic nature.

Alyssandra is said to have died in combat with bandits who assailed her in her travels, though no report of her death can be found officially

The Grand Adventure of Narmora Stone

This is an epic of Alenius culture, and is a fantastic myth written by the most famous writer to come from Alenius; Alyssandra Heart. This is considered by many to be her magnum opus, and to be the epitome of poetic content across all of Formaroth. Of course, this could be bias from those born in Alenius itself.

Many believe the epic to be an auto-biography of the woman, though others dispute it as pure fantasy, but regardless it is a harrowing tale of morality and ethics.

The poem begins by describing a woman who is aboard a great ship, sailing away from Formaroth and to the Elvish lands. She was a warrior, fleeing the dragons terrorizing her home in search of wealth and glory so that she might return home one day and save her family and kingdom from the dragons' wrath.

However a storm struck the sailing ship, and soon the ship was splintered by the power of the tempest and the woman was left floating the sea on debris. She is said to have drifted for several days, before a great swell suddenly erupted from the sea and threatened to throw her weak body into its depths. She clung to her life-saving flotsam however, and soon is depicted to be face-to-face with the massive form of a Kraken.

Alyssandra's poem depicts a Kraken as a Massive shelled creature, with great tendrils bearing power and muscle. Its great beak could rend the sea, man, woman, ship, sword, knight, castle, and the sky itself into nothingness, and that its cry threatened to send the very soul itself from Narmora's soaking body.

The kraken, however, did not even seem to notice Narmora floating there, and instead seemed to be in great pain from wounds it had suffered. As Narmora marvelled at the creature, she suddenly realized her danger had not passed - as a second swelling once more threatened to capsize her.

A second Kraken had risen violently from the ocean, and plunged its massive beak into the body of the first kraken Narmora had witnessed - the two great beasts were doing battle!

Their throes, and thrashes created such powerful swells, and waves that Narmora was sent rapidly across the surface of the ocean, and was carried far through the night at such rapid speeds she nearly lost grip to her life-saving flotsam on numerous occasions.

However, she soon saw light in the distance, and within a few moments she was thrown ashore near a campfire by the waves that carried her.

She fell limp then, and all was dark.

She awoke much later, inside, dry, and with warm clothes. Her spear, a weapon of legend amongst the people of Alenius known as 'Fate' was missing however, and she sensed in her bones she was not home.

And indeed, she was not, instead she was in the Elvish Imperium- the very place she had set out to reach, in the hands of a friendly mercenary group. She was lacking her spear, but soon she recovered and set out with this new mercenary group with a loaned lance, and she rode with them for several years through the queer lands.

The poem then spends considerably time describing her adventures with this mercenary company, and the great battles she got in, and the numerous fantastic misadventures she took part in- including the riding of a unicorn, the discovery of a dwarvish city, the murder of an Elvish prince, the forging of a Dwarven blade, and the rediscovery of her beloved spear 'Fate'.

With 'Fate' rediscovered, she took to the sea once more- and on her travels back to Alenius the sea once more held peril for her, though with her spear in hand and a song in her throat the woman slew the kraken that rose from the deep and threatened their passage home.

When she returned home, it is said she took her mercenary company south to combat the dragons and never returned.

Many still whisper that, perhaps, the legendary spear 'Fate' is lost in the mountains, and that it can be found by those who search hard enough for Narmora Stone's grave-site.

Formaroth {Battle for the Throne} Reference Sheet

Formaroth: Magic Guide

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(Note: This is not the limit of what mages can do, just a summary of the known, and practised magic in the world.)

Destruction Magic
Destruction is a form of magic that focuses mainly on the offensive use of magic. Mages often use magic in an elemental or primal form. The strength of a destruction spell is based on the skill of the mage wielding it. Like most other magic forms, a destruction spell can be amplified in power and size depending on the amount of mages casting it. The most common ways this form is utilized are as followed:

Force:
The most commonly used form of destruction magic, force focuses around using magic in its purest form. Utilised in battle in the form of basic shockwaves, however, mages can train to use it in more sophisticated manners such as telekinesis. Skilled mages can also vary the size of the shockwaves, even direct them, and use them as a way to cut through their opponents.

Fire:
Another common form of destruction spells, fire magic proves to have the most devastating effects when used on the field of battle. Despite most mages having the talent to create fire with ease, battle mages must train for years to be able to control it effectively, as well as being able to extinguish it at will. Though fire can be effective in a battle it is not all powerful, the intensity of the flames depends on the skill of the mage using it. For example an average mage would have difficulty trying to counter a knight in full plate.

Lightning:
Lightning magic in its controlled form, is difficult, as it needs pure magic to be converted into this fantastic form of magickal energy. This energy is produced, though not limited to, in the form of lightning. Though lightning is an incredibly powerful form of destruction magic, it is wholly difficult to control, and only those of a magister level can direct it with precision. As a result, mages tend to only use this while fighting on their own due to the high risk of friendly fire to their surrounding comrades.

Ice:
Along with force and fire, ice is another common form of destruction that battle mages use. Most mages have the ability to control water via telekinesis. However, during battle this is near pointless. Mages have the ability to change the temperature of different objects including water. Many mages lower the temperature of water until it turns into ice, which they may then use to send deadly sharp ice shards towards the directions of their enemies. Mages also possess the ability to use ice on a much grander scale, however, a large quantity of water must be present. In circumstantial situations, the only water mages have ready at hand, is what they bring with them onto the fields of battle.

Glyphs:
Glyphs are particularly rare when it comes to magic. Due to the complexity of these spells, only the most studious of mages have the ability to wield them. They involve placing down ‘Glyph marks’ (dormant spells) in particular areas, and then setting them off when needed. Glyphs can be put down instantly, but the user has to be close to the glyph ( at least within 100 meters) for it to remain dormant, and even closer to be able to lay it. The number of glyphs that can be place depends on the skill of the magic user.

Restoration
The Restoration School of Magic is the school that the majority of mages enter into, for it provides essential skills. As such, there are mages that operate as healers, and doctors. Restoration involves healing individuals, and repairing wounds. Restoration magic is capable of healing all manner of wounds, from a small cut to a broken bone. The more skilled the mage, the more severe of a wound they can treat and heal. Restoration magic can also be used to bring life back into dead plant vegetation, for example: if a village were to suffer a loss of crops due to disease or drought, then hypothetically, a mage could resurrect said crops (however this would require a large number of mages for a long period of time). Mages can bring life back into people as well, however, what they bring back are monstrous, and soulless, nothing near to what those that inhabited that body before. As such, "Necromancy", as most call it, is forbidden, and next to no one in Formaroth knows how to perform such a spell. Restoration can also be used to enhance a living being; for example: large quantities of mages, when together, are able increase the total yield of crops, and increase the the size of plants, nearly doubling or tripling the size of the original plant; though this depends on how long magic is spent on the plant. This magic can also be used to enhance people as well; however, most of these attempts result in abominations, and like necromancy, they are forbidden by the Mage's Circle.

Illusion
Illusion magic is one of the most commonly practised forms of magic among mages, and it is the most common type of magic that mages learn once they arrive at the Circle. However, not many mages continue to learn it to a effective proficiency. Basic illusions consists of nothing more than a few party tricks capable of entertaining people, but not capable of fooling them for long. Advanced illusions can only be pulled off by master's in this field of magic. These illusions require a large amount of intelligence, and imagination. At this level they are able toproduce illusions so powerful that they are able to fool people into believing it is real. These illusions can play tricks on the target's sight, hearing, and in some cases, even smell. As influential as these spells may be, they are not without their limitations. For example, depending on the complexity of illusions used (as well as the size), it is more likely that the illusion will be recognized. Depending on the intelligence of the target, whether they are a Mage or a Mundane (people that do not practise magic), the easier it is for the illusion to be seen. Any physical contact with said illusions will confirm them to be false. Mages who operate as spies or assassins employ the use of illusion magic for obvious, and practical reasons.

Summoning
Summoning magic is a skilled form of magic that only a select few can master. These spells involve summoning shades. Shades are semi-astral beings that are only present in Formaroth as long as the mage whom summoned them are alive. It is unclear what shades are, or where they came from, as the first mage who brought such magic to Formaroth was an elf, who was just as unclear of the shades origins as the Mage's Circle were. Only the High Mages of the Elven Imperial Court know of the shades origin, and it is highly unlikely they will share such secrets anytime soon. Shades appear in the form of an animal. The animal, depends on the mage who summoned them, and varies per mage. The choice of the animal that the shade will appear depends on the following: the mage's personality, appearance, morals, etc. These shades can be used for a wide range of tasks; scouting, entertainment, battle or even simple companionship. Depending on how powerful a mage is, the more shades they can summon (though the highest known number anyone has managed is twelve). While the Church of Klebrithy has condemned such magic, claiming that shades are daemons sent into the world by Hystix, it has done little to deter mages bent on summoning a shade as a companion.

Shapeshifting
Shapeshifting is the rarest form of magic, and the School of shapeshifting has the smallest number of students. This is simply because it is the hardest form of magic to manage, and little have what it takes to use the magic properly. Shapeshifting involves changing into an animal of the mage's choice. However, this is no small task. The mage must first study the animal so as to understand it wholly; the way it moves (anatomy), what the animal's diet is, how it breathes, and how it interacts with others of it kind. It can take nearly a year before the user is capable of shapeshifting into a single animal. A majority of skilled mages are put off by this school due to the long learning process. however. those who succeed are noted as being extremely skilled mages, and worthy of respect.

Alteration
Though many mages consider this school to teach the "weakest" spells, the School of alteration offers the widest variety of spells in comparison to any other school. Alteration involves teaching its students spells that will help them in everyday life. These spells can range anywhere between, but not limited to; creating light, improved eyesight, being able to breathe underwater, and even telekinesis.