Hale Loneshadow
Well-Known Member
The lonesome ranger stands at the edge of the balcony in his rented room at the Old Hroldan Inn. A fitting place, he thought, where these two rivers meet. These two unstoppable forces of nature ran for what could seem like eternity until they finally smashed into each other here, finalizing their inevitable approach on each other.
It was this symbolism that drew the pensive ranger to this place, where he had sent out his ravens to the various holds of this land and beyond, a desperate call for friends new and old.
For nearly two hundred years had the ranger been alive, yet for nearly thirty years he had been an exile from his own realm.
The mad wizard Garum and the forces of the wicked, if far off, kingdom of Th'ylehah had finally caught up to him. His old enemy was here, in Tamriel and possibly Skyrim itself! The one who burnt the farms, the villages, the people of Evondale. The one who beheaded his beloved king and queen. The one who imprisoned - and possibly killed - his betrothed.
As jaded and vice-filled as the ranger had been these last few decades, the fact that Garum himself had come both spurred him on as much as it filled him with trepidation, and more questions. The assassins and mages that the ranger had managed to take alive had at least provided him with some useful information before they expired at his hands...
As soon as a party of whatever motley crew would answer his call would arrive, the ranger would set off on his first lead...the location of his old friend and cousin, Prince Pelham.
Hale Loneshadow was going home.
The Ranger reflected on this all, past and future, as he stared into the hearth-fire from his seat at the large table in the middle of the tavern floor of the Old Hroldan Inn.
Hale's own fire in the form of some lit pipeweed gave shadows to his already grizzled, yet still ruggedly handsome features, underneath that well-worn cloak hood of his. The Ranger's dark browned, almost black, curly hair that fell just on both leather and steel pauldrons looked to be as if to be hands reaching out in the darkness, his bearded face reflected strongly in the flames.
Even in the most premium seat of the table he had reserved for the night, Hale Loneshadow still felt a twinge of a dark chill on the airs. The forested road to simply arrive at the Old Hroldan was treacherous in and of itself, but the winds of magick were ever changing, and with the arrival of his oldest foe, and the release of his oldest friend, Hale knew that the winds were now stirring, and the nearly wintered-in Markarth was already home to some disturbing magicks.
The Ranger hoped that his many traps and tricks he had placed within the forest would aid any potential adventuring companions, and to perhaps clear their way and give them some peace of mind tonight.
To better clear their minds and give them time to reflect on what I am about to ask of them, Hale thought grimly to himself. While sobriety isn't an issue, when those accustomed to the road are able to, even for one night, feel that sense of security, nothing else matters for the time being.
That being said, Hale's ranger sense was picking up a druidic message from his warhawk familiar, Soren, and a sign of life came to the Ranger's detection spell on the dark and dreary road...
It was this symbolism that drew the pensive ranger to this place, where he had sent out his ravens to the various holds of this land and beyond, a desperate call for friends new and old.
For nearly two hundred years had the ranger been alive, yet for nearly thirty years he had been an exile from his own realm.
The mad wizard Garum and the forces of the wicked, if far off, kingdom of Th'ylehah had finally caught up to him. His old enemy was here, in Tamriel and possibly Skyrim itself! The one who burnt the farms, the villages, the people of Evondale. The one who beheaded his beloved king and queen. The one who imprisoned - and possibly killed - his betrothed.
As jaded and vice-filled as the ranger had been these last few decades, the fact that Garum himself had come both spurred him on as much as it filled him with trepidation, and more questions. The assassins and mages that the ranger had managed to take alive had at least provided him with some useful information before they expired at his hands...
As soon as a party of whatever motley crew would answer his call would arrive, the ranger would set off on his first lead...the location of his old friend and cousin, Prince Pelham.
Hale Loneshadow was going home.
The Ranger reflected on this all, past and future, as he stared into the hearth-fire from his seat at the large table in the middle of the tavern floor of the Old Hroldan Inn.
Hale's own fire in the form of some lit pipeweed gave shadows to his already grizzled, yet still ruggedly handsome features, underneath that well-worn cloak hood of his. The Ranger's dark browned, almost black, curly hair that fell just on both leather and steel pauldrons looked to be as if to be hands reaching out in the darkness, his bearded face reflected strongly in the flames.
Even in the most premium seat of the table he had reserved for the night, Hale Loneshadow still felt a twinge of a dark chill on the airs. The forested road to simply arrive at the Old Hroldan was treacherous in and of itself, but the winds of magick were ever changing, and with the arrival of his oldest foe, and the release of his oldest friend, Hale knew that the winds were now stirring, and the nearly wintered-in Markarth was already home to some disturbing magicks.
The Ranger hoped that his many traps and tricks he had placed within the forest would aid any potential adventuring companions, and to perhaps clear their way and give them some peace of mind tonight.
To better clear their minds and give them time to reflect on what I am about to ask of them, Hale thought grimly to himself. While sobriety isn't an issue, when those accustomed to the road are able to, even for one night, feel that sense of security, nothing else matters for the time being.
That being said, Hale's ranger sense was picking up a druidic message from his warhawk familiar, Soren, and a sign of life came to the Ranger's detection spell on the dark and dreary road...