Post by Takmaul gro-Largashbur . on Dec 23, 2012 18:06:34 GMT -8
Times were rough, even for Skyrim, the cold usually made growing crops difficult though folks always got by; this year, the frost had been particularly brutal. Leeks were shedding icicle tears while potato plants nearly froze completely over, some farmers took to throwing blankets over the plants that they could in order to keep up their crops. Others, well, they just went without and prayed for some kindness or a sailing ship they could buy from; however, while the brutal cold had been a havoc on the crops, the spring thaw it brought had created some of the most plentiful game that Takmaul and other hunters had seen in a long time.
Elk in particular were everywhere, as if there had been a population explosion when the elk had migrated; wherever the creatures had gone, they had thrived. Now they were back to being preyed upon by the numerous hunters of Skyrim; arrows practically rained from the sky, yet it wasn’t the elk that Takmaul was interested in his particular hunt at the moment. It was a late Tirdas evening, the air was crisp with the faint heat of Sun’s Height still present on the wind. Lifting his head up slowly, the orc could see the back of his current prey.
He stood on the outskirts of Mara’s Eye, currently cleaning his blade after his recent skinning of an Elk that he had managed to pin down in the area. Its blood was still running freely from the carcass nearby, mixing with the water and turning it a dingy red at the intersection. Crouching a little lower into the brush, Takmaul smelled the air for a moment, the scent of thistle, blood and sweat was clear along with the slight odor of leather from the inside of his helmet. Raising up in silence, he exposed his broad chest and lifted himself completely off the ground, bits of dirt and grass dropping softly unto the soil as he stepped forward.
A pair of cloth trousers kept his ‘dangling’ parts from being left hanging in the elements, covering them as he started to push towards his target; whom was blissfully unaware of the hunter who had been tracking him all day. Fur boots touched lightly on the ground, moving with ease through the foliage and upon the target. Takmaul could only chuckle in silence, he was hovering over his target now, a red-guard hunter and his sixth sacrifice to Hircine. Lifting up his Daedric battle axe, he appeared like some misshapen son of the daedra prince; a hulking behemoth of an orc standing over six feet tall with arms like the lowest branches of an ancient oak tree. Each one now poised with the elegant yet destructive weapon in his hands; halting for just a moment, the deer head upon his head jostled in the wind, then the axe fell.
It slid through the back of the Red-guard hunter’s skull as if it were going through a grape fruit, blood splattering backwards in specks across Takmaul’s chest and hands. Retrieving the axe-blade from the hunter’s skull, he pull backwards leaving the entire blade drenched in red before he leaned over and scrubbed it clean. Turning his head from side to side for a moment to ascertain if he was alone or not; he sniffed the air again and let out a deep satisfied sigh. Once done with the cleaning of his weapon, he leaned over the Red-guard peeling away his clothing until the dark-skinned male was laid nude in the moon light. Neatly folding the clothing and what possessions the Hunter had, he placed them onto a rock nearby, leaving them for later as he poured what septiums he found into his own coin purse.
Standing over his victim once again, Takmaul was now crouched next to him, leaning over with skinning dagger, the blade now primed just below the neckline. “Hircine, I have hunted this man who deemed himself a hunter! I took to the winds and found him, a composed man with a reputation of being a sure-shot and a sturdy warrior; the bards in the taverns would sing his praises when he came in and others would do likewise, exclaiming his prowess! Here he lies now, dead from being subjugated to the same game that he did to the animals of the world; a hunter, who did not know himself to be hunted. I apologize that my offering could not be more my lord.”
Once finished with his small dedication to the Daedric prince; the dock-worker set to work, pressing the knife into the neckline of the hunter. Slowly carving away the skin and muscles from the body starting from the collar bone and working over the arms and down the torso. The ground ran red with the victim’s blood, soaking the grass with the bitter red liquid; eventually the skinning would be complete. Takmaul had torn all but the flesh of the neck and head away from the corpse; leaving only a head and a skeleton remaining. Placing the remains of the flesh upon the rock next to the man’s previous belongings, the orc retrieved a flint and tender from his pack; striking it and igniting the clothing which was now laying atop the skin. In time, the tendons, muscles and flesh would catch fire along with the articles of possession.
However, the hunter was not through yet. Grasping the skeletal remains, he maneuvered himself to a nearby tree and set the bones so that the dead man’s head was leaned back and looking blankly towards the sky. “May you find yourself in the eternal hunting grounds; I pray that my lord sees your talents and sacrifices and blesses you.” The prayer done, Takmaul stripped down and stepped into the pond; beginning to wash the blood that now coated his hands, chest and mask away from his body. Carefully withdrawing the helm from his head; he exposed his orcish features and with a satisfied smile, resuming the cleansing of his body after his most recent hunt. Cocking his head back slowly, he thought he felt eyes on the back of his head, a sensation that he had not felt in a long time.
“Few can sneak up on me, yet….I smell something close to my heart. You are a follower of Hircine….no, the scent is too strong for that; you are someone deeply special to Hircine. Who are you?”
Elk in particular were everywhere, as if there had been a population explosion when the elk had migrated; wherever the creatures had gone, they had thrived. Now they were back to being preyed upon by the numerous hunters of Skyrim; arrows practically rained from the sky, yet it wasn’t the elk that Takmaul was interested in his particular hunt at the moment. It was a late Tirdas evening, the air was crisp with the faint heat of Sun’s Height still present on the wind. Lifting his head up slowly, the orc could see the back of his current prey.
He stood on the outskirts of Mara’s Eye, currently cleaning his blade after his recent skinning of an Elk that he had managed to pin down in the area. Its blood was still running freely from the carcass nearby, mixing with the water and turning it a dingy red at the intersection. Crouching a little lower into the brush, Takmaul smelled the air for a moment, the scent of thistle, blood and sweat was clear along with the slight odor of leather from the inside of his helmet. Raising up in silence, he exposed his broad chest and lifted himself completely off the ground, bits of dirt and grass dropping softly unto the soil as he stepped forward.
A pair of cloth trousers kept his ‘dangling’ parts from being left hanging in the elements, covering them as he started to push towards his target; whom was blissfully unaware of the hunter who had been tracking him all day. Fur boots touched lightly on the ground, moving with ease through the foliage and upon the target. Takmaul could only chuckle in silence, he was hovering over his target now, a red-guard hunter and his sixth sacrifice to Hircine. Lifting up his Daedric battle axe, he appeared like some misshapen son of the daedra prince; a hulking behemoth of an orc standing over six feet tall with arms like the lowest branches of an ancient oak tree. Each one now poised with the elegant yet destructive weapon in his hands; halting for just a moment, the deer head upon his head jostled in the wind, then the axe fell.
It slid through the back of the Red-guard hunter’s skull as if it were going through a grape fruit, blood splattering backwards in specks across Takmaul’s chest and hands. Retrieving the axe-blade from the hunter’s skull, he pull backwards leaving the entire blade drenched in red before he leaned over and scrubbed it clean. Turning his head from side to side for a moment to ascertain if he was alone or not; he sniffed the air again and let out a deep satisfied sigh. Once done with the cleaning of his weapon, he leaned over the Red-guard peeling away his clothing until the dark-skinned male was laid nude in the moon light. Neatly folding the clothing and what possessions the Hunter had, he placed them onto a rock nearby, leaving them for later as he poured what septiums he found into his own coin purse.
Standing over his victim once again, Takmaul was now crouched next to him, leaning over with skinning dagger, the blade now primed just below the neckline. “Hircine, I have hunted this man who deemed himself a hunter! I took to the winds and found him, a composed man with a reputation of being a sure-shot and a sturdy warrior; the bards in the taverns would sing his praises when he came in and others would do likewise, exclaiming his prowess! Here he lies now, dead from being subjugated to the same game that he did to the animals of the world; a hunter, who did not know himself to be hunted. I apologize that my offering could not be more my lord.”
Once finished with his small dedication to the Daedric prince; the dock-worker set to work, pressing the knife into the neckline of the hunter. Slowly carving away the skin and muscles from the body starting from the collar bone and working over the arms and down the torso. The ground ran red with the victim’s blood, soaking the grass with the bitter red liquid; eventually the skinning would be complete. Takmaul had torn all but the flesh of the neck and head away from the corpse; leaving only a head and a skeleton remaining. Placing the remains of the flesh upon the rock next to the man’s previous belongings, the orc retrieved a flint and tender from his pack; striking it and igniting the clothing which was now laying atop the skin. In time, the tendons, muscles and flesh would catch fire along with the articles of possession.
However, the hunter was not through yet. Grasping the skeletal remains, he maneuvered himself to a nearby tree and set the bones so that the dead man’s head was leaned back and looking blankly towards the sky. “May you find yourself in the eternal hunting grounds; I pray that my lord sees your talents and sacrifices and blesses you.” The prayer done, Takmaul stripped down and stepped into the pond; beginning to wash the blood that now coated his hands, chest and mask away from his body. Carefully withdrawing the helm from his head; he exposed his orcish features and with a satisfied smile, resuming the cleansing of his body after his most recent hunt. Cocking his head back slowly, he thought he felt eyes on the back of his head, a sensation that he had not felt in a long time.
“Few can sneak up on me, yet….I smell something close to my heart. You are a follower of Hircine….no, the scent is too strong for that; you are someone deeply special to Hircine. Who are you?”
