Tagged : WATCHTOWER GROUP | Words : 775 | Notes : I enjoyed writing this so much.

Fjoldir could easily claim that he’d never felt before in his life how he felt as he rushed along the paths between Whiterun and her Western Watchtower.

The typically stalwart, calm tower of a Nord shifted his hands endlessly on the warhammer that he carried, and though he normally would have brought up the back of a group of runners, his long gait carried him ahead of many of his comrades as they approached the watchtower in the distance. Fjoldir’s eyes searched the skies above, looking for any sign of a massive pair of wings fitted on a scaled body, but thus far he’d found no signs of such a creature save for the flames lapping off the top of the watchtower up ahead, illuminating it eerily and signaling to anyone that something very wrong had happened to leave the tower in such a state. Anxiousness clung like Skyrim’s ice to every muscle, and Fjoldir could understand why he felt such a way. All through his youth, dragons had simply been the bedtime story to get him and his sisters to finally fall asleep for the night. Now he was rushing towards a potential fight with one of those bedtime stories.

He’d received word just before starting his shift after sundown. The jarl had received word of a dragon attack, and the housecarls were gathering troops to go after it. Already in Dragonsreach, Fjoldir had been one of the first guards gathered to join the unit that was going to the watchtower to either inspect the damage or fight the dragon if it was still presence. His heart had felt as if it was going to burst even then, but once he’d seen some Companions preparing themselves to head out in search of the dragon themselves – including the very nice Alana from a few days previous – Fjoldir didn’t know how he kept from harming someone to express his anticipation. The few minutes it had taken him and his fellow guards to prepare and receive their motivational speech – and it disappointed Fjoldir greatly that some of the guards had needed movitation – had seen Fjoldir pacing endlessly to expend his energy before the group had left to a great gathering of the city’s civilians, the death of a dragon on everyone’s minds.

Now they came upon the watchtower, and as the group dispersed to do their own exploring of the area, Fjoldir dropped his warhammer to his side and simply marveled at the remains, eyes still turning regularly to the starry skies. ”You there! Are you alright!?”, someone called to a form that Fjoldir could see was tucked away inside of the watchtower, looking terrified and sounding worse. Returning his warhammer to his shoulder, Fjoldir slowly trudged closer so he could hear the guard inside speaking. ”I…I d-don’t know! It…I…two of us! There were only…t-two of us! She…my…she didn’t… It…I think it shout- shouted at us!” Fjoldir wet his drying lips upon hearing the words, and shared a glance with the other guards in the area. If any of them had doubted the truth of the reports, they certainly had no reason to now. ”Where did it go?”, Fjoldir asked the man, only receiving a long chorus of different ways to say I don’t know before the guard actually said anything of note. ”It…was…it must have been waiting! For more!”

His words were capped by a screech from the sky, and Fjoldir almost thought he could hear every guard in the area – including himself – gulping in unison. Every eye shifted to the sky and every hand moved to grip a weapon of choice. Fjoldir returned his hammer to both hands. In the distance, he heard the shuffling of armor, probably the approaching Companions, but for all intents he had blocked any other sounds out as he searched for the beating of wings and for another screech. An almost serene stillness settled into the night winds, and Fjoldir thought for a few moments that their collective expectation would end listlessly.

Then, he spotted it. ”Look to the south!”, he called, triggering every armored form to shift their gaze in the direction of Riverwood simultaneously. The activity immediately picked up, shifting the scene from its previous stillness to what Fjoldir would have to imagine would be the closest thing to a live battle he’d ever experienced. ”Get ready, men!”, he heard someone yell, but he didn’t need them to say it. As the dragon screeched again and swept down towards them from the sky, arrows already starting to search for its scaly, gray skin, Fjoldir was as ready as he would ever be for any event in his life.

I HAVE BECOME A LIONHEARTED GIRL

The bright smile was gone from her face. She had been reluctant to pull her armour on, but not because she was scared. Alana did not know fear. She only knew reckless bravery. It was her duty to protect Whiterun, so she would fight. Even though she didn't want to. She was too soft when it came to animals. She was soft to the point of weakness. She didn't want to kill a dragon. She wanted to compromise with it, or even make friends with it. Alana knew that she shouldn't think like that. She had to protect her home. She had to protect the people that couldn't protect themselves. This happened every time she went every where. It didn't matter what type of animal it was. She always felt a sharp pang of guilt for even just defending herself or anyone else. Even spiders were included in this rule. At Jorrvaskr she saved the spiders and insects that found themselves trapped inside the mead hall. She tried to take care of the majority of the spiders when she was questing with Farkas, but really, she always felt so guilty for harming animal, bird, insect, or in this case, reptile.

Alana had done her very best to forget about all of this. It was a very silly thing to worry about, and it was a good way to get herself killed. Leaving her room she closed the door behind her, and barred it shut. That got her a couple of indignant reactions. There was a very distinctive growling, with a wee bit of whine coming from her room. There had also been a rather unpleasant squawk. She usually didn't make Miro come inside, but today she had grabbed him. He hadn't been happy about it, but he had been patient. He was probably under the assumption that she would release him back outside. She hated keeping him in, but it was better than him being snatched up by a dragon, or a stray arrow piercing him. The same went for Fenris. This was one fight that she was not going to let him help her with. Frost was going to be bad enough to deal with. He was more aggressive than any other horse she had seen. When most horses would be spooking at the dragon, Frost would no doubt be wanting to kill the thing for her. That was why she left just a bit earlier than the other companions.

Nodding to the grouping of fighters in the mead hall, Alana excused herself outside to Whiterun, and marched down to the stables. Whiterun was quiet. It was eerie to see the normally bustling city so still. No doubt they had announced the impending dragon attack to the citizens, and everyone had been advised to stay indoors. Alana nodded to a couple of nervous looking guards before leaving the city. "Easy, boys. This thing won't get past the Companions." As she said it she felt reluctant once more. It seemed a shame to kill them all when they were only just making a comeback. Then again maybe dragons fully coming back to Skyrim wasn't a good thing. It was better to take care of them now before they became an epidemic. At least she was sure that she was supposed to feel that way. Huffing and puffing, not out of exhaustion, she made her way down the hill. She could see the watchtower in the distance, flames making it even more marked against the landscape around it. Alana took a breath, and headed into the barn. She only had enough time to give Frost a pat, but she needed to make sure he was secure in his stall, and wouldn't be trying to help.

The door to the house opened, and Skulvar poked his head out. "They're sending you to fight the dragon?" He had obviously noticed that she was fully armed, and packing heat. "Yes." He glanced at the sky, and approached Alana, who was considering her options. "I need you to do me a favor." She asked the man once he was by her. "I need you to make sure that Frost stays here. He isn't like most horses. He likes to fight. It's a pain in the arse when you're not looking for a fight." At first Skulvar seemed confused. "How am I supposed to do that?" Alana shrugged, and glanced back at the watchtower. "Stay here with him. He'll be antsy, but I don't think he'll try to break the door down try to jump it with you standing there. He'll be loud and annoying, but I don't want him hurt." Skulvar's eyes widened. "You want me to stay outside during a dragon attack?" Alana offered a weak smile. "The dragon will have too much pressure from us to turn its back, I hope. You'll be safer out of the house anyway. The dragon could burn the house to a crisp. If you're out here you can let the horses out in time to save them if it does come this way." Clearly Skulvar wasn't convinced that she had her priorities in the right order, but he eventually sighed. "Fine. Send Jervar out. I might need some extra help."

Alana had just filled a very annoyed Jervar in on the plan when she heard the dragon. She risked one last glance back to make sure that everything was in order, then ran out to the watchtower. She could hear Frost's angry bellows behind her. He knew good and well what was going on, and he wasn't happy about being left behind. Hopefully they could keep him inside, and out of the way. Thankful for the beast blood, Alana was able to run the distance in her armour without becoming tired. She arrived right as the dragon was spotted. After some mental convincing that she did have to kill this dragon, she reached for her bow. She wasn't the best shot, but she would do what she could. Her brows were drawn together in a mix of disappointment and reluctance, but she nocked an arrow, took a deep breath, and fired at the giant that was soaring toward them. She didn't wait to see if her arrow hit. She reached for another, and then another. Soon she had fired four or five, but the dragon was closing in, and her usefulness as an arched had run its course. Alana drew her sword, and pulled her shield to her front. She wasn't sure what good the shield would do, but if it got in her way she would just drop it and go back for it later. Alana clearly had a very developed plan. If you considered forcing yourself to remain in a fight that you wanted no part of, and just winging it a plan. She had never fought a dragon before, so she was forming tactics as she went. If the thing landed then they could put a good hurting on it, but first they needed to find the right way way to bring the creature down.

WORDS 1,201 TAGGED WHITERUN DRAGON ATTACK NOTES ALANA LIKES TO WHINE WHEN SHE HAS TO KILL CREATURES.

TEMPLATE BY WE WERE INFINITE ! OF CAUTIO 2.0

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background-image:url(http://i51.tinypic.com/2nbr3oi.jpg) ] one, two! one, two! And through and through, the vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead and with its head he went galumphing back!. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Since they were children, Vilkas had always teased Farkas that he would sleep through anything, be it hell or high water. Farkas had an inkling that a dragon was most decidedly more 'hell' than 'high water'. They were not aquatic creatures which ruled out 'high water' (which was fine with Farkas as he was not particularly buoyant), and they breathed fire. There was fire in hell. Ergo, Dragons = Hell. Not that it was either here nor there which end of the danger spectrum dragons happened to be sitting upon. What mattered is that there was, in fact, a dragon. And even moreso that Farkas had, indeed, woken up for it. He would most pointedly mention this to Vilkas later. In any case, said dragon had interrupted the first long bout of sleep Farkas had been gifted in quite some time. Several days ago, he and Alana had been down in the crypts beneath the ground. Draugr and spiders lurked behind almost every corner and thanks to the eight-legged annoyances, Farkas hadn't a full night's sleep in a week. This dragon was going to get it for interrupting him. Several moments ago, he had been comfortable in bed when the footsteps began outside his room. At some point, someone (probably Aela) had come to the doors, trying to pry them open. Unable to do so, there had been a banging and yelling at the door that Farkas promptly ignored, pulling his pillow over his head. But the thundering of what sounded like every single Companion's footsteps on the floors above finally roused him into sitting up. Though he was unsure what was causing all of this ruckus, he could tell by the rushing that it was important. Quickly, the Nord strapped himself into his heavy plates and took up a bow and quiver upon his back and a greatsword in his hands, unsure of what he would be felling today. Nevertheless, what was an enemy of his Shield-Siblings was an enemy of his and he would fight to the death to defend any single one of them at a single call. The tromping of feet seemed to be that call. Flinging open the door to his room, Farkas took of at a sprint to the stairs and vaulted his way up to the upper levels of Jorrvaskr before pushing through the doors, preparing himself for the carnage that awaited. It took very little time out in the open air to realize what was going on. The screams about the dragon hit Farkas' ears long before the image of the dragon did, though he could tell simply by the noise which direction to go. Barreling off ahead, the Nord Companion was met with the scene with heightened arousal. Just seeing the beast before him had his blood pumping and his hands changing out his sword for his bow. Although he had the greatsword, he wasn't feeling like chancing the flaming breath right at this moment. Not until he could get in closer unseen – and once the dragon actually dropped onto the ground. Then he might have a chance. But for now... For now arrows would have to do. Nocking an arrow, he fired it at the dragon, followed closely by several more. Bows and arrows were not Farkas' strong suit and as such, he did place arrows into the dragon, but all managed to pin nonvital target points and likely did not make it far through the thick of the hide. It was not long before Farkas felt his quiver beginning to lighten as the arrows soared upwards. Soon he would need to put this back and move to a shorter range weapon – hopefully the dragon would descend soon (without tearing up any farms, homes or crops as it did so, though that kind of luck was unlikely) so he could use them. Still, he rushed forward into the masses, tracking the shape across the sky. Being on lower ground put them at a huge disadvantage. The dragon had much more powerful long-range assault than many in Whiterun and could easily eyeball all of them from the sky while moving quickly to remain out of targeting position. This was going to be tricky. Yet as he was nocking another arrow, tricky became an understatement. A flash of blonde hit his vision and immediately Farkas zeroed in on it. Even from this far away with her back turned, Farkas knew who that was, bumrushing with a sword and shield. One of his Shield-Siblings. A Shield-Sister. His closest one. With a low growl, he replaced his arrow into the quiver and secured his bow to his back, taking up a sword instead. Though he did not make himself known to her (this was her moment and her battle – Farkas knew how hard it would be for her to even consider slaying a dragon as it was a living creature), his footsteps followed hers several meters back, keeping her safe in his field of vision. In this moment, Farkas became obscenely jealous of horses: Binocular vision. With that, he could be able to keep one eye on Alana and the other on the dragon without taking a sight off both. For now, he simply juggled his vision between them while keeping tabs on the dragon's movements and movements of the other citizens.

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whoever is skanking around whiterun. who cares how many words. you people and your posting templates...
TEMPLATE BY OH SO COOPERNATURAL ! @ CAUTION.

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The road back to Whiterun was growing ever shorter for Stellan, and he was growing tired, but it wasn't the usual kind of tired, not the kind brought about from long hours of manual labor, toiling away at some menial, tedious chore in order to maintain a banal existence. For people like that, sleep was a temporary, short-lived escape from the routine of their lives, where, if only in their dreams, ordinary men could fight as the heros of the past. Stellan didn't think of himself as a hero, at least not with the fame that Talos and Ysgramor were remembered. He had saved kidnapped citizens and recovered items that held great value to the various noble families of Skyrim, but he had never done anything that would be deserving of mention in the eras to come. He didn't think of himself as a hero, but he figured this must have been what they had felt after accomplishing something particularly heroic.

What Stellan was feeling was more peace than exhaustion, peace that was brought to him by knowing that he'd honored the memory of his parents by hunting down the bastards who killed them. Stellan may not have saved Tamriel, or even Skyrim, but he removed evil men from the realm of the living, and that, coupled with sense of accomplishment he received from avenging his parents, made him feel like a hero, well, as much like one as he had ever felt. He was at peace and ready to take a long rest, the kind of rest that only came after a mead binge that would rival that of the celebrations that were held after the Oblivion Crisis was resolved. As the image of Whiterun grew on the horizon before him, the peace that Stellan found in him grew. He had made it as far as the cross road in front of the city before he heard the dragon's roar.

Stellan turned toward the watchtower in awe at the sight of beating wings and fire illuminating the night sky. It took him a few seconds to process what he was seeing. There hadn't been dragons in Skyrim since before the start of the First Era. He fondly remembered the times his parents and the various bards that had frequented Whiterun and Riften had dazzled him with tales of the winged reptiles and the battles that were waged between them and the people of Mundus when he was but a boy, but he never, even for a second, thought that the dragons would ever return. He began his walk toward the beast and the guards that were battling it, his muscles tightening and loosening, preparing themselves for the battle to come. Yes, he was tired. Yes, he was hungry. Yes, he had just seen an arduous quest to its completion, but Whiterun and Jorrvaskr were both in danger. As a Companion and a citizen of Whiterun, Stellan felt obligated to protect his home and the people who resided there. He wondered if the people of Whiterun were even worried at all. Surely, they must be one of the most well protected communities in Skyrim, perhaps, even, the whole of Tamriel. There were very few things in Mundus that could face the full wrath of Jorrvaskr and live to tell about it.

His walk toward the battle swiftly became a run that would lapse between jogs and sprints, depending on the level of the terrain. He drew his mace when got close enough to the battle, looking around to see all of the archers firing their arrows at the dragon, now circling above them. This was going to be a rather difficult battle for Stellan, if the dragon didn't descend to the ground bellow. This didn't worry him, though. The stories had always said that dragons were proud creatures that would never turn down a challenge. Stellan was sure that there wouldn't be a dragon that would be so cowardly as to deny an opponent a fair fight.

Until that happened, however, Stellan had to find a way to make himself useful. He was a lousy shot and didn't keep a bow with him, preferring only to hunt in his beast form. Since he had no weapon or spells capable of harming the dragon, still circling above the battlefield, Stellan decided to use his talents for restoration to act as a medic and heal any injured fighters he found. He followed the first impulse he had and started off toward the watchtower, figuring that there would be at least a few wounded inside seeking shelter. He avoided streams of flame and missed arrows as he made a break as fast as he could for the watchtower. As he suspected, there was a group of at least five men and women who had all sustained severe burns.

As he crossed the threshold of the watchtower the guards gave him fearful and angered responses, mistaking his fur armor for that of a bandit's, looking to loot what he could from the dead and the injured. Some of them flinched and cowered, a few barked threats. He chuckled in admiration at the sight of one brave guard who was pointing the business end of a great sword right at him, despite having most of her arms and torso covered in burns. "Come now, you could barely fend off a mud-crab, let alone a Companion." The expressions of the group were transformed to a mix of newfound hope and respect as Stellan pushed the blade away from him after putting down his mace and healing the woman's burns. He stuck out his hand and helped her to her feet. "That's more like it. Now, go defend our home." The woman thanked Stellan and rejoined the battle. One by one, Stellan healed his allies and sent them all back to the battle. When the last left the tower, he picked his mace back up and stepped outside him self.

It was at that moment that he recognized one of the faces in the chaos, his shield-brother, Farkas. Stellan easily distinguished him from his twin by his longer hair and preference of steel armor over the Companions' standard wolf armor. He made his way straight toward his old friend, taking great care not run in the path of any flames, arrows, or other protectors while he did so. It wasn't long before he caught up with his fellow Companion. "Some day for me to return, eh? How is everyone, Farkas?" He asked his shield-brother, matching his pace and keeping his eyes on the dragon.

((Didn't know if it was a frost dragon or not. I'll change my post if I'm wrong.))