Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20190911184542/@comment-5543592-20190911215314

Hammerfell
Elinhir. Stronghold of democracy. Cosmopolitan megalopolis. The bulwark for Hammerfell against the west.

The Hall of the Assembly was the city’s grandest structure, more so than the king’s palace. It was a statement, one that demonstrated where the power really lay. It had meant more when Elinhir was a mayoral republic, but it did stand for ‘’something’’.

Kismet stood on the side of the street, among the criers at the Hall’s grand steps, looking up. Animals were fenced and squares, and carts bounced down the cobblestone street behind him. The foot of the stairway was something a refuge from the chaos around him, where bodies jostled and the primary form of communication was shouting. People kept away from the steps because they respected them, and they gathered here to hawk their wares because everyone in Elinhir knew the importance of this place. What it meant.

“Nice day, huh?” He remarked to the man to his left, an older Nord gentleman screaming about how cheap his squash was.

“What?” The squash merchant had a brow so thick it could’ve been fur, and he turned it upon Kismet. The blademaster smiled at him, not quite eye-level. Kismet wasn’t short, but there were a lot of people taller than he was.

“I said, it’s a nice day.” Kismet said. “No rain.” He pointed to the roofs of the buildings. “Birds are out. It’s pleasant.”

The squash merchant looked him up and down. Kismet smiled back at him and tucked his thumbs into his belt. The leather was worn, ragged, as was the clothing he wore. He didn’t have shoes on. The merchant turned up his chin. “You going to buy something?”

Kismet held up a hand, shook his head. “I’m on a job, sorry.”

“Shuffle off then, I have quotas to make. Squashes! Get your squashes here!”

“It’s a nice day.” Kismet murmured to himself, climbing the assembly stairs. The blocks of stone were wide, cut by ancient magic, and cool beneath his feet. It was a steady climb he made.

The Hall of the Assembly was an old structure, and it loomed the rest of Elinhir. Built into the side of a waterfall, it was a series of smooth stone towers, ascending into magnificence domed hall, where the Assembly was held. The stairs, and Hall itself, were consistently misty as the cliffside the Hall was built into was also home to a large number of waterfalls, that fell down to feed water to the canals of the city below.

The further he climbed, the more Kismet hunched over, until he had reached the front of the Hall’s lower keep, and bent over, holding his stomach.

The guards there, dressed in bright blue robes and chainmail lacquered with indigo, held to their spears tightly and frowned down at Kismet.

“H-help…” Kismet moaned, dropping onto his hands and knees, crawling towards them. “Please…”

He dragged himself up the last few steps to their feet. A long stream of drool began to spill out of his mouth, and he lay still.

The guards exchanged looks. The one on the left shrugged, and the one on the right sighed deeply, then bent down to pick Kismet.

“C’mon, pal.” The guard said, pulling the lithe half-breed upright, onto his feet. Kismet legs were unsteady, and he wobbled.

Kismet took deep, shaking breaths, and rested a hand on the guards shoulder. “T-thank you,” He let his knife fall out of his sleeve, into his hand. “Thank you.”

Kismet moved with sharp, focused intent, and blood sprayed across him.

“Wow!” Kismet shouted, wiping the gore from his face, licked it from his lips. The guard dropped to the ground, gurgling around the knife that was stuck through his trachea.

“Some luck that guy has, eh?” He said, jutting a thumb over his shoulder as he turned to the remaining guard, who was only now getting a handle on his weapon, comically juggling the wooden haft of his spear in his eagerness to point it at Kismet.

The blademaster scooped up the dead man’s spear, clutched it tight in two hands, and swung it at the guard with a whoosh, cracking it over the man’s head. The weapon split in two, wooden splinters flying, and the guard fell, clutching his hands to his helmet. Oh, how his ears must’ve been ringing.

Kismet bent down to tear his knife free, what remained of the trachea making a funny crunching sound as it was completely destroyed.

He paced over to the fallen guard, who was blinking furiously, trying to get his bearings, and dropped a knee onto the man’s throat.

“Bad day to be on guard, friend.” He stuck the point of his knife into the guard’s eye and pushed down. “Sorry about this.” He kept pushing until the screaming and squirming stopped. Then he stood up, and walked inside, leveraging his weight against the heavy door of the Hall to force it open.

He took one last look at Elinhir, sprawled below him in all its glory.

“You’re all in for quite the show.” Kismet said to the city. He slipped inside, and let the door fall shut behind him