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Ancient Black Sacrament Note: based off Nightingale.
Lustmord Vampire
Forsworn - Vanilla
Forsworn - CNHF male to female
Fur - A
Fur - B
Fur - C
Fur - D
Hide
Studded
Regal Huntsman Note: similar to the robes the main characters of the Assassins Creed games wear.
Imperial Light
Imperial Studded
Dawnguard - A
Dawnguard - B
Dawnguard - C
Scaled
Scaled Horn
Leather
Vampire - Ordinary
Vampire - Royal
Vampire - Royal CNHF male to female
Ancient Falmer
Elven - Vanilla male to female
Elven - CNHF V1.0
Blood Witch
Glass - Vanilla male to female
Dragonscale - CNHF
Thieves Guild - Linwe Variant
Chitin
Chitin - Morag Tong
Stalhrim Light

Ulfric Stormcloak’s ill temper is exacerbated by a recent injury to his person. He is also in need of a wife. Both of these problems have contributed to the recent outbursts around the Palace.

Just last night he was dreaming of a girl. He remembers she had hair as black as ebony, eyes as blue and bright as a summer sky. They were in the woods hunting sabercats. Ulfric was just a boy in the dream. He and his companion were in their toughest fur armor and ready for anything. Ulfric felt invincible in her presence.

A sabercat was spotted in the distance. The two hunters were about to make the first shot with their bows, then suddenly another sabercat jumped them from behind. The girl was down. Ulfric pulled his dagger with the jeweled hilt, and leapt on the cat. He buried it with all his might. The cat reared back and fell sideways. The girl rolled away and grabbed her sword. She was wounded but able to fight. Both hunters worked to down the cat. Slashing and stabbing it.

The other cat from down below the hill ran at them. The cat leapt at Ulfric and bit his rear end!

Ulfric sits upright in his warm bed. The dream is over and Ulfric wakes with a sharp pain in the leg. His leg and right testicle are swollen well beyond anything he has ever seen on a human.

Ulfric yelps for his confidant Jorleif. “Come quickly Jorleif, you must find a healer for me. They have to be discreet, someone loyal to our cause. Damn it I am hurting, be quick!” Jorleif runs out of the Palace to find a messenger.

News of his new weakness cannot get out. Ulfric needs a healer NOW.

Had Ulfric been married as the family had arranged he would not have to embarrass himself in front of Jorleif. His wife would normally tend to him, he is pretty sure that came with the marriage arrangement.

Ursula manages to thwart those plans but good. To be fair she has no idea that she is being groomed to be his wife. Ulfric knows he could still make that happen, but he likes Vorstag and approved of Ursula’s choice to marry him when the opportunity had arisen.

This is, I believe, page 5?

Ulfric had been so preoccupied with his own agendas, he had not noticed the day when Ursula had blossomed.

Ursula left to visit Markarth on business for Ulfric. It was his own plans that had put her in the vicinity of the willing Nord. So Ulfric could only blame himself for his lack of companionship now, and feel a twinge whenever he saw them together.





Page 5 con’t.

Through narrowed eyes the huntress spotted her prey. It didn't hear the small snap of the twig the huntress's clunky companion cracked underfoot -- something that both relieved and annoyed Froa, the hawk-eyed predator whose claws were made of steel. Sea-blue eyes gave the heavily armored woman behind her a warning -- stay silent. . or else we both die. It was crucial that they stayed covered. One loud noise or wrong move would alert their victims . . . prey that was cunning, prey that could fight back -- prey that had venom coursing through its veins. She didn't want to give the black-cloaked women a chance to sting her.

They were closer to the witch than she would have liked, but the fair-haired Breton had come out of nowhere as Lydia and she made their way up to the witch's mistress's perch on Orphan Rock. She didn't see them, thankfully, and Froa was able to usher her housecarl into a group of trees that provided them with both shade and cover. The morning was crisp but sunny -- undoubtedly, the witch would have seen them were they out in the open.

The woman crouched down to examine a cluster of mountain flowers in the clearing. The sight almost made Froa feel bad for what she had to do -- but then she remembered what witches were capable of. The arrow whizzed from her hunting bow with ease, soundless and silent as its wielder. The vile woman looked up from her flowers just a split second before she found a wooden shaft lodged in her stomach. Her stomach. That wasn't good enough -- if she had any brains she'd call for help while she took her last breaths. She should have been hit in the throat. It would have been quicker that way. Less messy. With a sideways glance from her Thane, Lydia knew that she had no time to spare.

As the raven-haired warrior raced from hiding, the Breton managed to yank the blood-covered shaft of wood from her belly. The face she made when she looked at it made Froa's heart wrench. The ranger didn't like killing -- even the evil didn't deserve to die in pain. Stendarr forgive me. The witch's fingers twitched, and yellow sparks danced about her fingers -- it looked like she was attempting to form a healing spell, but she couldn't muster the strength. Her pale eyes were almost thankful when Lydia reached her and stuck a sword through her. Froa looked away for a moment. When her gaze returned, she noticed the bald Dunmer woman emerging from the woods. Lydia noticed her too -- she raised her shield in time to catch the blast of ice that game from the gray-skinned elf's fingertips.

Froa was as quick as the dark elf. An arrow flew -- but the woman moved away, the arrow grazing her sleeve rather than pinning her shoulder. It was enough to cease the witch's icy blast. Lydia charged the black-robed elf, using her shield to push her into a tree. She held the woman there for a few seconds. Froa waited for the killing blow with her sword, but Lydia seemed to freeze up. She dropped her sword. The ranger peered closer -- the Dunmer was talking to Lydia, eyes glowing with a bold pink light that seemed to drift around Lydia's head and then into the air. Illusion magic. She's manipulating Lydia's mind.. Froa cursed, revealing herself to the witch as she shot an arrow above her head - it lodged into the tree and the woman's spell on Lydia broke. Her scarlet eyes looked at Froa with genuine fear as Lydia drew the witch's own dagger and stabbed her.

The warrior pulled her shield away and allowed the dark elf to slump to the ground. She wrenched the arrow from the tree and exchanged it with the sword her Thane picked up for her. She nodded in thanks.

"Ready?" Froa asked, and Lydia's response was wordless but nonetheless meaningful. The women continued deeper into the woods.

After what seemed like forever, they could finally see the massive rock that housed the Hagraven of Orphan Rock -- Froa could just barely make out her hunched, twisted form. She could also see a collection of rather archaic tents towards the side of the mountain. Two figures stood next to a fire, warming their hands and speaking together. It made sense that they wouldn't want to live in the same area as their leader, but Froa couldn't help but wonder what went through these women's minds.

Why join these vile crones? She decided that some people's lives must be so empty and they must feel so helpless to change that they sought power anywhere they could find it. Even in evil. The hags did, she knew, promise great arcane power, longevity and the favor of whatever Daedric Prince the particular coven revered -- but Froa, at least, wouldn't trade her life for any of those witches. They were lost souls. She clutched her amulet of Kynareth that hung about her neck, thanking the gods that she hadn't fallen to dark magic or tempting pacts. Perhaps it would be freeing to take their lives. She thought of her aunt -- all of her beauty, talent, potential -- wasted when she joined a coven of Mephala worshipers. She didn't worship a hagraven, but the leader of her coven was just as bad; a cruel, glassy-eyed woman that demanded Malene to make a sacrifice to prove her worth.

But she couldn't think of that now. Clouding her judgment with emotion was never wise, especially not when in battle. She remembered what Aela told her when they first met: "We women know how to keep our heads." Staying focused, she turned to Lydia.

"I'll go after the hagraven," she explained as quietly as she was sure Lydia could hear.

"I'll handle the witches?" Lydia asked, her voice an octave louder than Froa's. The auburn-haired Nord shushed her housecarl.

"No -- go that way," she pointed. "Hide until I distract them, and then wait for my signal." Lydia complied, sneaking her way to a group of trees near the path that led to the rock. Froa could see the traps laid around the center of the rock -- bear traps. And. . yes, she saw the carving in the ground that signified one of the witches must have planted runes around the base. She could use this. From the shadows, she shot an arrow into a trap, causing it to snap shut. The hagraven on the rock didn't seem to notice, but the women at the fire did.

"Did you hear that?" A dark-haired Nord woman asked her companion. She looked in the direction of the sound.

"Hear what?" An Altmer with a heavy accent asked, cocking her head as she warmed her hands by a fire. The Nord was already approaching the sound -- Froa quickly shot another arrow, this time barely hitting another bear trap. A single trap laid on either side of a rune. Hopefully the Nord falls for this. The witch studied the area, looking from bear trap to bear trap. "Arrows. . . ?" She whispered looking off into the woods. Her foot was that close to touching the rune -- Froa looked on in suspense. By Kynareth, come on. She willed. A simple sidestep to look in Lydia's direction was all it took -- in a loud blast, the rune's magic was released and the Nord's leg froze to the thigh. She screamed.

Both the Altmer witch and the hagraven heard that. Lydia charged the high elf, and the Nord's agony was ended when Froa shot her with an arrow. The hagraven looked around at the woods -- fire crackled around her talons, and Lydia and the Altmer (who, despite being on the crone's side, was target of the hagraven's fireball as well) barely dodged the blast's radius. Froa had to move quickly, and she raced up the mountainside to get to the rock, passing both her housecarl and the witch. The crackle of lightning behind her meant the high elf had recovered and was assaulting Lydia -- she didn't stop to check on the warrior. Lydia was tough . . . no witch was going to take her out.

The hagraven hissed as Froa ran across the makeshift bridge to the boulder, barely managing to dodge another fireball as she dived out of its way and onto the rock. A few arrows scattered on the ground. She picked one up, running behind the hag's tent. She could hear the wicked thing's heavy breathing and the click of her talons against hard, cold stone, but she didn't panic. No abomination of dark magic was going to destroy her -- she was a champion of Kynareth, steadfast in the Divines. . she was certain they would guide her. And she was a good shot.

She came out the other side of the tent, and the hag turned towards her. The arrow zoomed out of the bow quickly, and it grazed the crone's thigh, sending matted black feathers flying and the hag screeching in pain. Her bow still in her left hand, she drew her dagger and charged the hag, using her bow to push the creature back -- talons wrapped around wood as the two struggled.

Snap! went Froa's bow when the hagraven's strength proved too much. The witch slapped her dagger out of her hand as well, leaving her defenseless. The hag was about to strike, she could see it -- she dodged the beast's claws and grabbed the sharp black dagger that hung from the witch's ragged robes. Nettlebane cut her hand, but she quickly gripped its handle and stabbed it into the witch's side. Wrenching it free and getting an ear full of hagraven screeching, she stabbed again, this time into her neck. The creature plopped to the ground with a sickening crunch.

Lydia crossed the bridge to the hagraven's camp, a burn on her exposed arm and blood on her steel, but otherwise fine. Froa gave her her best smile and held up Nettlebane in her left hand, blood still dripping from her dominant one thanks to the cursed dirk's blade.

Vicente dismounted frost when he arrived at the small clearing where in the shroud of night he could barely make out the the scrawny, balding Imperial stood. When the man saw Vicente his dark eyes widened and he cracked a grin baring his yellow crooked teeth. He said "You actually made it, you've done well here's your coin" and tossed Vicente a what seemed to be a rather light pouch of gold, considering the job he had just done. Vicente scowled at the man, and watched as a grin crept over the Imperials ugly face. Vicente spat with fury in his voice "This is what you pay meh eh? You washed up old [&@%!], you think im stupid I just stole from the Black-Briars from what I've heard there not the kind of people you steal from I should be getting another pouch about the same in weight?".

The balding Imperials grinning face darkened, he said "Who in Oblivion do you think you are huh? Your just some Imperial gutter [&@%!] you should thank the gods you got that much coin you ungrateful.." Vicente buried his hatchet in his skull before he could finish blood from the gash in head streamed down his face. As he tried to pry the hatchet from his skull he cursed under his breath. When he finally managed to pull it out blood got all over his new boots he said "[&@%!] I just got these" and then he took a seat on a nearby boulder and stared at the body as he thought about how he could fix this mess he got himself into. When three vicious looking dogs of none of the likes he had ever laid eyes on came running down the hill towards him. He hopped up and knocked an arrow sending it flying to its destination right in a dogs snout but it kept running "[&@%!] what are these things they have red eyes what in Oblivion" he thought as he readied his bloodied hatchet.

The first dog jumped at him mouth wide open bearing it's razor sharp teeth that clasped on to Vicente's left arm with such force he cried out, he shook his arm frantically trying to escape its jaws to no avail while he fought of the other two with his hatchet. He managed to kick one of the dogs in its head sending it flying backwards and buried his hatchet in the other ones throat giving him enough time to rip the hatchet from the throat of the beast and bring it down onto the neck of the one that was clasped onto his forearm with such force that he almost severed its head. He flung the dead dog off his arm sending it flying into the one recovering from his kick. The body of the dog made a meaty thump as it slammed into the dog making it fall back to the ground and in an instant Vicente threw his hatchet catching the dog right between the eyes.

"What in Oblivion where those things" Vicente said through heavy panting as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve not realizing in the darkness that his sleeve was soaked in blood, "[&@%!] now I got blood on me forehead too" he said as he took a seat on the boulder again. After he calmed down he looked at the scene that lay before him three dead vicious looking dogs and the dead Imperial, "Yes that's it" he said aloud. "This couldn't have went any better" he said with a wide grin "It looks like the old Imperial stole the horse then got attacked by these rabid dogs or whatever they are and was killed trying to fight them off that leaves only one thing for me to do" he mumbled. Vicente walked up to the horse and fed it a carrot then said "Forgive me" as he slit it's throat. Vicente looked over the carnage admiring his work, it was so believable he took a swig of skooma and grinned as he walked off into the cold night.