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Morna Lykos: a Little Skyrim Journey

Gaby

Lord of Altera
so when I was looking for a picture of the Archangel Michael, I had stumbled upon something interesting:
character builds in Skyrim. it would take a while for me to explain, so I'm simply going to post to the site that I found on that fateful day:
http://theskyrimblog.ning.com/group/character-building/forum/topics/the-character-build-archive

so I was intrigued by one in particular, and I decided I would pick up the game again to try out this build. it's a primarily mage build, using unarmed strike as the main source of weapon damage, and the concept is to build yourself like a tank using restoration, alteration, and enchanting, then simply wailing on enemies with your punches/claws.
the big selling point of the build, however, is it's story, which I'm not going to reveal to you guys because I feel that would spoil just about everything I'm planning. (I love giving people a mystery. it makes the foreshadowing oh-so-much sweeter.)

so I went and made a character using this build, and I thought, since theres more than a few people who like Skyrim, I have a good audience on these forums. so I'm posting her story here, chapter-by-chapter as I play the game.

but on to our character:

Name: Morna Lykos
Gender: Female
Race: Altmer
Morna.jpg

(I'm playing on a PS3. my screenshots are literal screen shots)
(@BrianAT16 apparently, "Morna" is an acceptable altmer name, and so I just rolled with it)
(I have also learned that apparently, Altmer don't typically have last names. Morna will pick the name Lykos for herself for symbolic reasons)

Prologue
Raised in Summerset Isle, Morna was a Thalmor Justicar, having volunteered to do so to serve her country and her people.

However, as she studied magic, she quickly learned that she had been possessed by an odd affliction. magic seemed impossible for her. even the simplest conjuration or destruction spell felt like an uphill battle, as though she was being battered by someone whose face she could never see. At the same time, she was also, most terrifyingly, taken to odd bouts of anger and unfitting strength.

Her superiors marked her as unstable, and watched her even as she left on official business in Cyrrodil. One day, she was on a normal patrol through the streets when something snapped. She leapt upon her colleague unthinking, and did not notice he was dead until she saw the blood on her own hands. She knew what fate would await her for this treason, and she feared it. Thus, she ran from the Imperial City, abandoning the robes of her station and fleeing into the woods. She wandered without direction, eating what she could, drinking rainwater.

When she stumbled upon the Stormcloaks, she thought herself still in Cyrrodil. When she was thusly captured and dragged to Helgen, she stared dumbly at the sky, hearing what the nords around her said, but of what they spoke, of the stormcloaks, the rebellion, she knew nothing. When they asked her name, she said she was Morna, the Justicar. This gave them pause, but the Thalmor officials drew close and murmured words to the Imperials, and she was sent to the block.

Then the dragon appeared. the executioner faltered and fell, the town was thrown into chaos, and Morna fell into chaos with it. all thought had left her, and she ran.
 

Gaby

Lord of Altera
Chapter 1
---

Today was a rather eventful day.
With the dragon at my back, I ran with speed I never knew I had. Though my lungs were about to break, I found myself pushing on still, I would catch my second, third, fourth wind, as all voices faded away and there was only raw terror, coupled with the roars of the fell beast. I think I fell into fire once or twice. I had ducked into the largest intact building quickly, running and clawing my way through the place, without even pausing to speak with anyone. when the chiseled stone began to fade away, exhaustion finally crept in, and my vision began fading at the edges, all turning fuzzy and black. before I knew it, I had collapsed.
I woke up with the sounds of the dragon far in the distance, looking up at a man looking down at me with his brow furrowed in concern, yet with the slightest smirk. he took my hand as I struggled to rise, my legs and chest still burning, sides seizing up with fatigue. “by Kyne, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an elf run that fast. or a Nord, for that matter.”
I could only respond with desperate gasps for air, air which seemed so thin in this cave I had collapsed in. the man chuckled at this, and it was then that I noticed he was the very man who had been captured with me. I pondered what he said back then, though not without listening to his words now. he bade me to relax and catch my breath, a supportive hand upon my shoulder. I believe he joked some about me being “mortal after all,” and not some spectre merely guised as a ragged Altmer.

he introduced himself as Ralof, a name that I noted was nothing like the names of the men in the Imperial City. as my vision grew sharper, I noted the subtler details of his physique. his boots were laced with fur, a braid ran through his long hair, his armor was light, yet seemed warm, and now I noticed the chill of the air around me.
“where am I?”

he laughed at this. “you’re in Skyrim, lass.”
“Skyrim?”
“aye. Land of the nords. You came from Cyrrodil, didn’t you?”
“Yes… pardon my ignorance. Does Skyrim normally house dragons?”
he smirked, and muttered, “ afraid not. The dragons are new. They’re supposed to be creatures of legend… the harbingers of the end times.”
Those words drew a chill through me. I tried to force this from my mind. Ralof suggested we keep moving, as he had a family to return to, and I needed a place to stay, no doubt. I saw no reason to disagree, and so I followed him from the cave.

--

He suggested we part ways for the moment, perhaps to reunite in his hometown, Riverwood. I followed the road for a bit, but I was confused, deep in thought. Ralof was clearly wanted by the Empire, and by the way the Thalmor spoke to those soldiers, the empire was not my friend. It would do well for me to avoid associating with a Stormcloak. Doing so would merely bring attention to myself.

Furthermore, the Stormcloaks clearly detested elves, and now I remembered what my colleagues spoke of Skyrim. The people here were rebelling against the White-Gold Concordant, just like Hammerfell had. These people were the chief worshippers of Talos. Perhaps I should wait, I thought, before trusting this nord. He seemed friendly enough, but who knows how friendly he would be were he to learn the truth.

I started to wander off the path, going deeper into the woods, and soon found myself lost in the trees. What first struck me of this place was its cold, and then of how… strangely welcoming the land was. Though the people would likely be hostile to me, I found myself somehow at home in the crags and half-frozen grass. Elk wandered closer to me than some people would in Cyrrodil, or even back home. Once, I dared myself to touch them, though they would not permit it, and ran soon as I lifted my hand. Still I wandered, lost though not alone, until I had stumbled upon a camp. Said camp was a filthy affair. Straw beds, a rough table, and scattered supplies were arranged in a semicircle around the campfire, and there was not even a tent to shade them from the rain. Still, whoever was here had left food out. Seared fish and leeks did not seem appetizing until I paid attention to my own hunger, and then I lunged at them, foregoing utensils in favor of my own hands and teeth. It was barbaric, and I felt guilty at stealing the food of another, until I heard the drawing of a sword, and turned to see the owners of the camp staring at me, prepared for battle. Bandits.

“well, well. Look what we have here,” they sneered, “think it’ll do tricks for us?”
My pride was wounded, but I was not willing to be killed because of some wounded pride. Unfortunately, my body did not seem to listen to that. It tore forth, like some angry demon, or perhaps more like a hungry animal. I had a sword, gifted to me by the nord, and while I had enough sense to use such as first, I…. dropped it. The steel seemed inadequate. Heavy. A burden. I used my hands instead, and not a fist. Claws. I did not think I had them until then. Still, I was outmatched by these bandits, who had likely fought worse beasts than me, and I was quickly wounded. Upon which I… used magic.

Yes, magic. The thing that was so difficult to me, the thing that I could never master, and at the flick of my wrist, I managed to heal myself without even thinking. Were I fighting myself, perhaps I would have dropped my blade and stared in awe at this miracle, but the bandits did not fully understand the significance of this event. They merely fought on, and thus, I could not stare in awe at my own power. In fact, at the time, I remember not even noticing the significance of the event myself. It was only after I had torn the life from the last of those barbarians and was finally looking down that I realized.

I was also filled with dread. The fight... It was so much like that “incident” which had forced me into these wilds in the first place. I could see the strength of my affliction was only growing stronger. I needed to find the cure.

I wandered further through the woods, found a few more bandits, dispatched them, each time becoming more and more easy. I learned my newfound powers, my newfound… strength. The affliction itself would come and go, but the fact that they were there, and still strong made me fearful. Praise the divines that I was not in a city, that the men I killed were criminals, anyway. I could not stand to see what might happen otherwise…

But, soon, my unanswered question was answered. I found myself in the town of Falkreath. A horrid place, but I noticed, the more I wandered, it was the seat of power for the entire hold. Perhaps this lord liked his lands wild, I do not know. I lingered there, more than any self-respecting ex-thalmor should have, I believe I was looking for something, or maybe I was lost, or… simply curious?
It was then that I heard of the werewolf. A man named Sinding, normal, respectable worker, suddenly lashed out and murdered a girl. I was struck, not by grief for her murder, but by the eerie similarities to my own condition.

I thought, there was a clue to my agonizing mystery. I must speak with Sinding. I wandered into the watery prison that Sinding had been caged in, gazed on his wild countenance, had no doubt in my mind we were stricken by the same curse. And he taught me what a werewolf was. It was a gift from a daedric lord, a body and mind changed unwillingly into a vessel of the bloody hunt. It was looking upon another and seeing prey, and it was losing your mind to strike against the worst of people, at the worst of times. Sinding’s plight was twofold: not only was he a werewolf, but he bore a ring that he had stolen, and Hircine had thusly cursed him. It was at the tale of the ring that I thusly found my chance at salvation. With the ring, I had an excuse to speak to hircine, should hircine remove the curse of the ring, he could also remove my affliction. I had no doubt then that somehow, I had become a werewolf, or perhaps I was slowly turning into one. Sinding gave me his ring then, and I walked away from the prison. Night had fallen, and I needed to follow his directions, find the white stag. I needed to conquer not only Hircine, but also my own nature.

As night fell, I had found it, a gleaming white stag, that seemed to glow even in the dark night, and it had found me. it ran, and though I had no hope of pursuing it, I ran still, chasing it through the woods and up the mountain, the further it got away, the less I thought of catching up to it, and the more I thought of simply keeping it in my sights. Thus the chase ensued, all the way up a mountain, until the stag had nowhere to go. Tired, yet determined, and carried by purpose, I sought to drag it down and dash its head upon the rocks. Kill it, and commune with Hircine. That is what Sinding told me. the stag fought me, and my arms were perhaps too weak. I beat and clawed at it until it was weakened, and finally wrestled the last of its life away from it, and thus it lay dead.

I looked up then, perhaps expecting a menacing hunter, clad in the fur coats of a thousand animals, bearing a giant bow and staring down at me. instead, I saw… the white stag. Or rather, its ghost. I marveled at why the Lord of the Hunt would choose the form of an animal that is hunted, but when it spoke, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was the daedric prince I sought:
Chapter 1.png

“Well met, hunter.”
“Are you the daedra?” I asked it.
“I am but one avatar of the lord of the hunt, the beast your kind calls…” the ghostly stag approached me as it spoke, “… Hircine.”
I was… unfazed. What else would you have expected from me?
“Then, dread wolf, I ask you to remove my curse.”
“Your curse? You mean the ring? The ring that was stolen from me?”
“Not merely the ring.” I spat back, “the curse you cast on me, so long ago, the affliction that plagues me, ring or no.”
“Cast on you, elf? I did no such thing.”
This would have given me pause, but my resolve was perhaps a little too strong. I remained unconvinced. “If not from you, then from where else does this lycanthropic condition originate?”
“Lycanthropic? You don’t have a drop of the beast blood in you!”
“What?”
“You’re not a werewolf.”
“Then wherefore…”
“Enough. I tire of your ignorance. On to the matter at hand.”

We then spoke of the “matter at hand” as he said, but I was yet unconvinced. I was sure of it. It had to have been lycanthropy. If not that, then what else? The stark denial shocked me nonetheless, and in a fur coat borrowed from bandits, I shivered as Hircine gave me a task: hunt and kill Sinding. only when I had completed that task, he said, would he remove the ring’s curse.

End Chapter 1
 
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CthulhuPeople

Lord of Altera
I actually think this is interesting, but I find it funny that you were looking for the Archangel Michael and found skyrim character builds xD
 

Gaby

Lord of Altera
I actually think this is interesting, but I find it funny that you were looking for the Archangel Michael and found skyrim character builds xD
no you don't understand.

I was looking on Google Images.
I needed a picture reference to do this:
Archangel Vermella.png
and I found them, obviously, but I also saw this picture of a glorious shining angel slaying a dragon:
http://api.ning.com/files/OsG-NixX3...tC/michael_fighting_the_dragon1.jpg?width=750
google images also shows some of the text included with a picture, and I noticed the text was talking about Skyrim,

and like a normal, rational person, I was like
"the heck does archangel michael have to do with Skyrim?!"
and I went to the site, and found this:
http://theskyrimblog.ning.com/group...orum/topics/character-build-archangel-michael

so long story short, I was drawing Vermella, and I found an AU where christian angels are in Tamriel, and somehow that led to me making an Altmer character named Morna
 

Gaby

Lord of Altera
Chapter 2

the chapter before, I wrote in a lonely cabin, mired in the midst of the high woods, so close to the place upon where I met Hircine. of course, I was not alone, though the inhabitant did not think kind of me. she was a nord, yes, but it was cold, I was tired, and I was beginning to understand that in these lands, there would not be a single one of my kind to extend a hand for me.

she said she would not hesitate to put an arrow through me, and I will admit my disgust, but as well... I did not turn back. I introduced myself as Morna.
she said, her name was Angi. she did not trust me, but saw how I did not agree with the cold, and said I could sit by the fire. she gave me a rough blanket of... some animal's pelt, then went to her training. archery training. I watched her quietly, huddled in the cold. she was swift, yet focused. a hunter. the moon hung in the sky, and I was tired, and Angi brought up an absolutely barbaric meal of rabbit, roasted, skinned, cut open.

it was salted just a bit, cooked enough to not be bloody. it was tender. it tasted good enough.
in the midst of a lonely mountainside, there is little one can do except talk. and such was what we did. we had little we could relate on, or so I had thought. she killed two imperial soldiers in a rage, revenge against their actions on her parents. this was why she hid. I had killed a companion, not of revenge, but in a similar rage. this is why I hide.

I felt my pride as Altmer crack just once in her presence. I was humbled, in realization that she and I were now alike, and I had fallen to her status. I am a fugitive.

I march my way down to Falkreath, and in the midst, lost much of my journal and memory in the cold, wet snow. So cold, so much unlike how I thought snow should be. I paused for but a moment in the town, wandered lost before I remembered the long-lost art of asking for directions. thus I was told that Bloated Man's Grotto is north, past the lake. without a moment to spare, afraid to remain near people too long whilst my curse still persisted, I set out north, going off the road in my moment of foolish impatience.

my feet splashed rather rudely in a freezing stream. I remembered exactly how cold it was here. perhaps it was winter in Skyrim. is it winter? I do not know. following the stream, I climbed up the precarious hill. I was dearly underprepared to fight anything. My armor was fur, my boots and gauntlets having nothing to protect me but rusty iron. I was weak, and untrained, and my magic barely functional. what hope could I have of fending off a werewolf?

there is a tower. It gives off an aura of foreboding.
IMG_2394.jpg
I choose not to explore. there was likely a witch there or something. best to carry on my way, and besides, there was a perfectly normal road just behind the tower. a fine, lovely road that I absolutely should walk on because I am a civilized thalmor justicar who just so happens to be wearing fur rags!

either way, I walked down the road. I ventured through enough wilderness to think myself hopelessly lost, before I stumbled upon a mill. it was dark out, or at the least, the sun was not there. damn this blasted, shivering land, and it's blasted clouds! the door to the mill was locked, and I found a lady standing outside, as though she was waiting for me. the lady there was.... friendly? she offered a quick meal, a breakfast of bread, some fish, and rather bad-tasting wine. must be hard to find good liquor when you own a lumber mill. something of the lady's demeanor disturbed me, and I decided to quickly get on my way.
IMG_2396.jpg
I found myself at the lake. it was larger than I thought it would be. I had the decision then, to swim like some brazen animal, or walk around like a normal person. guess what I did.
I swam. worst decision of my life. after an embarrassing shiver, and a doubly embarrassing battle with a mudcrab, I was nowhere closer to finding Bloated Man's Grotto. I stumbled through the chilly cold, between the mist and the bitter cold snow, the whole landscape seems white. my feet sink right through the snow, leaving behind footprints that are all too easily tracked. it comes to my mind that I am not a hunter, and fear enters my heart as I wonder if one wrong step will cause the tower of precarious snow at my back to collapse suddenly, burying me inside with no hope of escape. I slink as quietly as I can, deathly afraid of both the claws of wolves, and the snow of the mountain. the wind grows stronger, pushing at my back, spurring me on. I resist it, trying to venture down the mountain as safely as I can...
 
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Gaby

Lord of Altera
Chapter 1, Part 3
(seemed strange for the chapters to be so short. I decided to instead divide the chapters up by character level. Morna levelled up to Lv2 somewhere in this part, so this marks the end of Chapter 1)

The mountain path I took seemed almost perfect to traverse, the further down I marched. it almost seemed like a road, carefully dug into the mountainside, a short and winding mountain pass. almost as though the past was made for me. The snow thinned as I made my way further down, and I found that I was being followed.

I looked back, but it was a rabbit. Small, brown, and timid, it also wound its way down the mountain path. We stared for but a moment, and I looked back, and continued my way down. It was strange how the creature, so small, so easily hunted, was not afraid. Wary, but not afraid. A strange thought came to me, as I allowed the creature to follow me:

I was the rabbit.
No, of course I wasn't a rabbit. I am still an Altmer. I am still Morna, but I am the rabbit. It is a strange use of language, and I had never quite gotten the hang of these metaphors. In any way, when I was there, walking down the mountain, unsure if I would ever find my quarry, much less kill it, I amused myself by musing over a pathetically childish metaphor. the wind at my back lessened its grip, and I came upon the entrance to a cavern. the air rushed in as a light breeze, I was curious to enter.... until I saw the great splatter of blood upon a rock.

I had found the Bloated Man's Grotto.

There was nothing to do but enter the stinking pit, where death reeked so strong, it warmed the air around it. I was no longer cold. when I pushed out from the tunnel, stained red by divines-know-what, the ruins of a camp lay before me. the tents remained there, pristine. the fire crackled invitingly, but sitting around it was the dead, the ground decorated with streaks of red. I approached the fire, and one dead, a khajiit, spoke to me, his accent thick, garbled with the fell fluids caught in his throat.
"does the bloodmoon call you, fellow hunter?"
I looked, and kneeled closer to the dying man. "what happened here?"
"the prey is strong.... stronger than the hunters." he coughed, and continued. "but more... will come. and bring him down... for the glories of-"

with that, he coughed up blood, let out a wet, garbled groan, and leaned back, mouth half-open, fur stained and matted, his empty eyes staring at the sky above. I finished his sentence.
"of Lord Hircine."
I had seen dead men before, but the sight had always been distant and vacant to me, as though my brain did not want to believe I was looking at a corpse. no longer, it seemed. I was intimately, innately aware of the horrific, ugly sight before me, and I could see, almost through his eyes, the sort of unrepentant murderer that could have done this.
IMG_2399.jpg
I was afraid.

In a spur of practicality, or perhaps a desire to not think about the visceral nature of killing, I made haste to strip off his armor. If I was to fight such a fell beast, I could not do it with these rags of fur. The Khajiit wore armor, of hardened leather much more suited to fending off the blows of claws. I needed to protect myself. There was no fitting substitute for my pitiful works of metal, so I kept those on. In simple busywork to bide myself some time, and take my mind off the ill task before me, I carefully searched the pockets of the other hunters in the camp, all long dead. I repeated to myself, to get a grip on myself. I was Morna, a Thalmor Justicar, born and raised in Summerset Isle, the direct descendant of the Aedra. I was Altmer, and these who fell are merely Khajiit, and humans. I was stronger than them, and the might of the Aldmeri Dominion would not be made a mockery of. I found on the bodies coin, and more coin, weapons I did not need, and a red potion that I clearly thought was going to be useful, labeled with the near-universal symbol of restoration. When I could sit around idle no longer, I marched out, further into the grotto. it was time for the hunt to begin.

a voice too human to come from the mouth of a wolf beckoned my gaze upwards.
"never thought I'd see you again."

Dreading my too-loud steps, berating myself for being so easily seen, I gazed up at Sinding. He sat perched upon a rocky ledge, that jutted out like a great finger. Behind him was Masser, bright red, almost burning, giving all the land the color of fire. He looked down to me as though he was lord of this domain, and I was merely his vassal. I addressed him frankly.

"I am told to kill you for your crimes, Sinding."

he did not leap down in fury. "and I would deserve it, wouldn't I?"
I did not draw my sword, and gave him leave to speak. "I cannot stop you if that is what you aim to do. Hircine is too powerful. But... if you spare me."
"And why would I spare you? This is my chance to end my own curse, and be rid of the blasted ring. The wants of some filthy dog have no hold on me."
"Then so be it."
IMG_2400.jpg
he spoke those words with resignation, and turned away then, slinking back into the woods as Masser stared down. Thus, I was to follow the word of a daedra, and slay this wolf in return for a curse released on a ring. something stirred, and I called for him.

"wait."

Sinding climbed back up, wolfish face regarding me curiously.

"what are your terms?"
"I can be a powerful ally. I will vow to never again return to civilized life."
"And on those terms..." I ventured, "I defy the will of Hircine."
"Yes. I know now that I can't live among people..."

The bloodmoon stares down, and I was torn. I realized then that my position was one where I could not make any choice to redeem myself in the eyes of my superiors, I realized that such a goal was impossible from the moment I touched the pavestones of Helgen. I was a fugitive of the Thalmor, forever a fugitive. I was Angi, I was Sinding. My duty was failed, and I would defy the Thalmor forevermore. My very life was a defiance of the Dominion.

So why obey anyone, I thought. Give in to this affliction, give in to the powers of the Ring of Hircine, and be cursed forever. The bloodmoon hung high in the night sky, and painted the twisted, blasted forest a crimson red. I was, and am, and always will be chained. I can no longer return to civilization. Skyrim is my new home.
--

"I spare your life, Sinding."
"Good. then let us deal with these other men. we hunt together!"

He climbed down, and I walked forward, trying not to think of the horrific thing that I had done, trying not to hear the steps of clawed feet behind me, trying not to look back at the monster I was leading. Then we found the hunters.

distracted by the werewolf, they did not expect me to strike them, nor did they expect me to throw down my useless sword, tear them apart even as the werewolf's claws and teeth tore at them. I struggled with them, and tore in just the same way as a werewolf would, even in my elven body. I do not know if the strength came from me, or from the ring.

I do not wish to go into detail. I could see them more clearly. my mind did not work to filter the gruesome reality of my task. I saw and heard it all.

they struck more true with their swords, and when I could taste my own blood, I fled, seeking the shelter of plants, and uttering a spell of healing. my magic grew stronger, my skin tougher. I learned to use my affliction, wield it as a weapon. eventually, all the hunters were dead. with that, Sinding thanked me. the red tint of the sky faded with my rage, and I realized I dropped my sword.

I picked up two daggers then, hoping that perhaps these would be more light and quick, and I would not be so quick to drop them. with that, I wandered out of Bloated Man's Grotto, prepared to face the judgement of an angered daedra, or whatever curse this ring bore.

--

Alas, such was not to be. Hircine is a curious one, who congratulated me for being so unexpected, and turning the chase inside-out. I amused him, and he bade me permission to leave, with his blessing.
The ring remained in my possession. It was no longer cursed. I will not question this gift.

I only wonder what to do with the rest of my life.
 
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