Those who wish to join the RP please apply here
http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1370403-rp-idea-hircines-hunting-grounds/

If you have something out of context to say make sure it says OOC: before the message or use the OOC thread above.

(Yes I know this is a hunger games rip-off)

The games will start when I feel an appropriate amount of people have joined. So post a character application and then when it's accepted post here. Make sure the post dictates whether you are in the Freedom games to gain freedom or for sport.



Hircine


"Hunters and prey! The time has come"!

And with that those words carried themselves across the realm, hunters and prey alike stopped all what they were doing and the realm was united in silence. The realm then shrank in size almost immediately and all the souls in the realm were now gathered around the lord of the hunt, and the realm, Hircine. The silence was broken by Hircine's mighty voice.

"Welcome Souls of the hunting grounds! Today shall be the beginning of The freedom games! Are you prepared for the greatest test of skill in the realms history?!"

A deafening cheer filled the realm, those who despised life in the Hunting Grounds stayed silent.

"Then I present to you all the freedom games! I understand there are those who wish to leave the hunting grounds and there are those who relish in the challenge of the hunt"!

The cheering continued.

"I have come up with a contest - an ultimate test of skill that shall satisfy everyone! Those who wish to leave shall have to survive the skill of the entire realm. Only one shall leave, so I suggest all who wish to leave please step forward and compete or you will have to wait another thousand years for this opportunity again".

Sid Perlon - Morning

Snapping the neck of his latest victim - a werevulture he thought. It's friends quickly scattered away in fear of the man that destroyed one of them with little to no effort. Sid then tore a finger from the man and kept it as a trophy. He stood still, he loved this realm. The crimson sun shined down into the hunting grounds almost reacting to his recent kill. With that a mighty booming voice filled his head.

"Hunters and prey! The time has come"!

The whole realm shifted and turned and was compressed into something much smaller. He was about to panic but then knew everything was all right when he saw the lord of the realm, Hircine.

"Welcome Souls of the hunting grounds! Today shall be the beginning of The freedom games! Are you prepared for the greatest test of skill in the realms history?

Sid let out a mighty cheer that drowned most others out.

"Then I present to you all the freedom games! I understand there are those who wish to leave the hunting grounds and there are those who relish in the challenge of the hunt"!

Sid continued to cheer.

"I have come up with a contest - an ultimate test of skill that shall satisfy everyone! Those who wish to leave shall have to survive the skill of the entire realm. Only one shall leave, so I suggest all who wish to leave please step forward and compete or you will have to wait another thousand years for this opportunity again".


Sid, who was currently in human form was eager to hunt down those who wished to leave and destroy there chances of freedom. He craved a chance to show Hircine how fearsome he was. He looked around, was this really everyone in the entire realm? He was shocked by how many actually lived in the hunting grounds.

"Better look out more for possible hiding places they will use". he mumbled to himself.

He looked to his right and saw a rather tall Dark Elf but never payed much attention to him. He played a Mini-battle in his head to see what one of us would win in a fight. Sid would win of course, he always wins in his mind.

He then turned his attention back to Hircine, inpatiently waiting for his future victims to reveal themselves.

Vera the Huntress, The Hunting Grounds.

In another location of the Realm, horns blared and creatures roared and bellowed, sounding off their eternal hunger and pains. While Vera the Huntress heard these things, she was far more focused on her current prey. One of the countless mortals who were fated to die at her hands. Her intense and wide sulfuric eyes, the feral tensing of her jaw, and the speed in which she ran bespoke her desperation and hunger to make another kill. Crimson light infiltrated through the towering trees, casting the forest floor in a red haze.

Vera sprinted with the enhanced speed of a Lycanthrope. Her feet carrying her over stones, overturned moss-encrusted logs and branches, the skulls bouncing. Through the large forest, she accelerated her pace behind her fleeing quarry. It was another woman, an unfortunate soul who made it’s way to the Hunting Grounds. Just like all this others that she had saw, she immediately claimed this one as her own. I saw it first, therefore it is mine, she thought selfishly.

Her prey was lithe, fast and durable, but she was more agile and far more dangerous. The woman before her could have been anyone; a woman killed in sacrifice to Hircine, or one who dabbled in forgotten arcane arts and somehow got lost in this realm. It did not matter. She was prey, and that alone sufficed. There was a time where she was interested in who this person was or what they had done and why they were in her path. But that was lifetimes ago, in the world of the living. A world where she has no place, not any longer.

The Nordic prey fled from the forest, bounding over into an open savannah. Though her back was turned at the huntress, she obviously was frightened for her life. The shaking of her legs and the quivering of her body told Vera many times over that she was drowning in her own despair. And while this can be dangerous to the hunters, it could be a potential flaw in the prey’s plans for escape as well.

Sure enough, that was the case with the woman. Her sudden freeze at the landscape gave Vera a chance to retrieve the bow that hung behind her back. She loaded a single arrow from her quiver, placing it on the string right before pulling it back. It took strength, balance and a good eye to make the shot. Her balance was great, her draw length superb, and her concentration excellent. Biting her lip and aiming steadily, she finally fired her weapon.

The bony projectile flew soared through the tall wind, cutting through air, the tall grass, through flesh and finally through bone. The doomed prey fell to her knees, hand clawing at her back as she twisted to remove the arrow lodged in her spine. Gotcha! And yet, her other hand tried to grab hold of something else which was obscured by the grass. Vera allowed herself a slight smile as she ran forth to claim her kill.

The moment she arrived at the scene, she frowned angrily, biting down on her bottom lip ever so slightly. Stuck at the bloodied hips of the woman was a wooden javelin, embedded deep inside her body. The hoarse gasps and breaths of the wounded creature went ignored while her injuries were more of a concern to the huntress. Vera leaned on a single knee, angrily pulling the wooden spear from the body. She spared a contemptuous stare at the dying prey, her gaze averting to the moving foliage before her.

Materializing from the tall grass was a man, or at least he carried himself as one. Tall, strong and befitting of the definition of savage barbarian. Muscles lined his abdominals and thorax, mixing in with a few minor scars and chest hair. Long hair fell down to his neck, filled with dirt and debris and random pieces of rogue twigs. His face bearing the facial stubble of a bedraggled hunter. His face was neutral as he stood over the huntress.

“Must you always stalk the ones I run after? It ruins the chase! Your spear may have caught her flesh, but my arrow dealt the final blow.” Vera explained as she reclaimed her arrow.

The man leaned down, inspecting the dead woman. His hand gripping the side of her face, moving it from once side to another. He then probed the wound with his hand, shaking his head slightly. “This one died at the end of my spear. She was struck seconds before your arrow was fired.”

“Perhaps next time you should urinate all over the carcass, claim it your own.“ She jested with mild frustration.
It was hard to decide who killed the woman first. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, but Vera was peeved to argue. She simple pulled out the sharp stone knife from the sheathe on her belt, running the blade through the forehead of the dead woman. Her index finger picked up the warm spilled blood right after. She graced the side of her cheek with a single wipe. Two red streaks marked the right side of her cheek, signifying that her kill count that afternoon was double.

Grabbing the hair of her prey and viciously angling it to the side, she brought the tip of the sharp blade at the neck of her dead game, in consideration of decapitating the woman to collect her skull later on. But she struck against the thought. No, I would be cheating myself, she thought. She simply released her grip, proceeding to stand on her feet.

Just then, she had heard a voice call out. A command, no, it was more of an announcement. The words spoken by her Lord caused her to eyes to move side to side, trying to make use of what was being said. A tournament?
　

OOC: A bit overboard, but I like it

Rydek, Hunting Grounds Cave

Red eyes gazed out across the lavender and orange tinted sky, scanning the canopy of the deciduous forest below, where a small, almost invisible wisp of smoke lazily worked its way free from the imprisoning branches. The crimson eyes had been fixated upon this far too obvious campfire for the majority of the day, waiting for the sun to slink below the horizon.

Rydek, the mortal who was the sole owner of said eyes had been tracking the creators of the fire through the forested valley for several days, keeping tabs on their behaviors, movements, and numbers. At first there were five of them- Khajits, fanatical hunters and worshipers of the Prince of the Hunt. Or were they orcs? No, no, Kahjits; the Dunmer could recall the unmistakable taste of feline when he made the first kill the night he began to track them.

Rydek sighed, and rose from his rocky outcropping on the side of the mountain. They wouldn’t be moving until sunset, where they would move onto higher ground on the greatest of alert, waiting for any hunter, bestial or otherwise, to strike. It’s what they had done the past four nights, and it was probable that they would do it once again.

The Dunmer called Rydek shuffled into his cave, his shoulders hunched ever so slightly. The small pocket of nothingness inside the mountain was serving as the Dark Elf’s base of operations, housing a small, ragged bedroll, some dried meats, a few animal furs, and some rudimentary weapons. He had been in this cave for the past few days- no, weeks? No, he was pretty sure that he was in the cave for a few days. Yes, that made sense, since they prey had only been in this particular valley for a few days, and was slowly making their way out of it.

Moving over to a small lump of smoldering coals, Rydek outstretched his hands, hoping to absorb whatever warmth he could. He didn’t care to make a larger fire, not due to a fear of alerting his prey, but an utter lack of will. Almost mindlessly, the Dunmer sat down on his bedroll, and procured an old leather-bound volume from his makeshift pack- one of the few that he still had in his possession. He had picked this particular volume from the corpse of one of his most recent kills, something that was done as often as possible.

Books were fragile things, falling prey to all things, such as water, fire, abuse, and time. Time. How long have I been here? Asked Rydek as he held the book in his hands. The leather bounding was unfamiliar, but the title The Anticipations that was imbedded into the cover was exactly the opposite. Something about it was tugging at his memory, or at least whatever was left of it. How long? He asked again as he opened the book. How many centuries have I been stuck here? Centuries? Decades? Eons?.

Rydek’s eyes scanned the page, but the information contained within did little to ease the nagging sensation of familiarity. If anything, it made the sensation worse, to the point of sheer anxietal panic, causing the Dunmer to slam the book shut, and quick fling it across the room, his heart hammering within his chest. While his heart was working hard, so was his mind, processing the information about The Four Corners, The Tribunal (this one having a particularly aggressive pang of distant memories), and other strange names that sounded vaguely normal, with distant emotions attached to them. The worst thing was how he couldn’t recall any of it. The information was right there, beyond his grasp.

Despite the books distance from Rydek, the horrible thoughts wouldn’t stop flooding into his head. The damage had been done. How long have I been in here? He asked again, hopeless. How long?! Who am I?!. His hands were moving before he realized he was acting, digging though his battered pack, pulling out another packet of parchment.

It was bound in hardened wood, and full of parchment whose contents must have been recopied dozens upon dozens of times over the ages. Rydek nearly ripped its wooden cover off, franticly sifting through its pages; his breathing filling the cavern with such audibility that it was a surprise the group of Khajits in the lower valley couldn’t hear him. His crimson eyes studied the pages with hysterical intensity, trying to decipher what he had written years ago in an attempt to preserve his sanity. Sketches of strange objects- what looked like a mechanical man who rolled on a sphere, and a ziggurat-like structure with a rock floating above it; random notes about fighting techniques; poems with references long forgotten; entire pages with the name “Hircine” angrily scrawled upon them- all these floated past his eyes as he searched for something- anything that would make the memories come back, something that would make the nagging stop.

All of these things that Rydek once knew and studied- now forgotten. Completely and utterly forgotten, only the nagging sense of familiarity left in the wake of the Dunmer’s desecrated memory. His hysteria reached a point where he could no long absorb what was on each page, and so overcome by rage, he refused to read, choosing instead to curl up on the cavern floor and weep to himself. Yes, grown men cry. Especially three-thousand year old grown men who have been alive for so long that their minds can no longer support their memories and it all faded away. All of his honor, pride, faith, history. Nearly gone.

He didn’t know how long he lay on the cavern floor. It could have been years, but when Rydek rose, the small wisp of smoke was still peeking through the canopy of the forest. The sight of the smoke pushed the nagging sense of failure out of his mind, and brought him back to reality- or at least whatever was left of it. The memories, or lack thereof, didn’t change the situation. It didn’t change what he was.

It didn’t change the fact that his blood ran with a primal thirst for blood, a power so ancient and so supreme that Rydek himself was surprised that it had yet to overcome him. But overcome him it eventually would, and lead him to become feral, like the rest of Hircine’s hounds. Truly, Rydek hated what he was, unlike the others. Those fallen lycanthropes who hunted merrily through the forests, jungles, and tundra, killing any and all mortals who dare test their mettle. Rydek was still a mortal being, trapped in the realm, though he was treated more like a hunter and not prey (especially after an incident when he slew several lycanthropes who attempted to treat him as something to be hunted). This was their afterlife, but not Rydek’s. He craved the spiritual peace of… somewhere? he was no longer sure of his religion or faith, but he knew his afterlife was not here, and that’s all that mattered.

A voice suddenly boomed through the skies, echoing across the forest canopy. “Hunters and prey! The time has come!”. Hircine.

The ground moved. No, the whole world moved. In a surreal motion, Rydek found himself among several others, many others, in fact. Before him stood the being he hated most, hated more than anything else in the whole world. Standing atop a mount of blackened stones and skulls was Hircine, Deadric Prince of the hunt.

“Welcome Souls of the hunting grounds! Today shall be the beginning of The Freedom Games! Are you prepared for the greatest test of skill in the realms history?!"

The crowd cheered, but Rydek stayed silent, trying to take it all in.

“Then I present to you all the freedom games! I understand there are those who wish to leave the hunting grounds and there are those who relish in the challenge of the hunt! I have come up with a contest - an ultimate test of skill that shall satisfy everyone! Those who wish to leave shall have to survive the skill of the entire realm. Only one shall leave, so I suggest all who wish to leave please step forward and compete or you will have to wait another thousand years for this opportunity again"

Freedom, escape, victory. Elation exploded within Rydek. A chance to escape! A chance to return to Nirn, and leave this hell behind. Rydek stepped forward before the Great Hunter, his presence sending an unholy chill down the Dunmer’s spine. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but only one would be making it out. And by whatever gods that forgot to look over Rydek on that fateful day, he swore to win. He had to, for all other options led back to this place, and that was unacceptable.

Hircine

Hircine gazed down at Rydek, his expressions not clear under his skull mask.

"Aha! We have a challenger!"

The crowd cheered and at the same time looking at the Dark Elf. Many members of the crowd played there chances of killing him in there head, many came to a satisfying conclusion.

"Why do you wish for your freedom my hunter! ... or are you prey"?

OOC: slight change to backstory, she was killed by a magical backfire while attempting to go to the Hunting Grounds, but being a werewolf, was taken to the Hunting grounds on death (so, instead of teleporting there, she dies and her soul is sent there, just like all werewolves). therefore, she is both there for the sport, and to win her life back. Just to add a motive, and a better backstory

The College of Winterhold,Skyrim, Tamriel
Erissa Shadowclaw I carved the last rune into place. after a quick glance to ensure i was alone, i stepped away from the totem. my knowldege of the realms of Oblivion was limited to one realm, Hircine's Hunting Grounds. but with what i had learned from the Greybeards, and my knowwledge of ancient Elfish and Daedric runes, i could reach the Hunt. the beast in my veins yearned for fresh blood, and i marvelled the runes. i would visit Hircine's Realm, and prove that i had what it takes to be a true warrior. the Nords mock me for using a combination of blade and magic, but i know better. as i reached over to touch a rune with my finger, i slipped, and my finger jabbed the wrong one. Streams of magic enveloped everything in the room, and i realised what would happen next. " Fei-" i was cut short as the magic tore me to shreds, and i faded to nothingness
Hircine's Hunting Grounds, Oblivion
I woke up in a clearing, ravaged by pain. i was dead. if my plan had suceeded, i would be in Hircine's Realm as a spirit, and by body safe on Tamriel. now, i was a spirit, with the body that hosted me splattered all over the room that i died in. "-m Zii Grom!" i finished, too late. i became a ghostly apparation, and became aware of a nearby crowd.
"-time has come"! i knew who this was before i even opened my eyes. Hircine, the Lord of the Hunt. i smiled, and got up
"Welcome Souls of the hunting grounds! Today shall be the beginning of The freedom games! Are you prepared for the greatest test of skill in the realms history?!"
A deafening cheer filled the realm, those who despised life in the Hunting Grounds stayed silent.
"Then I present to you all the freedom games! I understand there are those who wish to leave the hunting grounds and there are those who relish in the challenge of the hunt"! The cheering continued.
"I have come up with a contest - an ultimate test of skill that shall satisfy everyone! Those who wish to leave shall have to survive the skill of the entire realm. Only one shall leave, so I suggest all who wish to leave please step forward and compete or you will have to wait another thousand years for this opportunity again". i walked over to a cheering crowd, and saw Hircine himself was talking to a Dunmer. when he finished, i stepped forward, and everyone looked at me. my ghostly form restabilised into flesh (like all of the Realms inhabitanbts, ghosts became fkesh again in here, for otherwise the Hunt would prove impossible). this would be my one chance to reclaim my life, and i would not let it pass. nor would i become one of Hircine's [censored]es without a fight.
The Beast inside me yearned to be unleashed, but i refused to let it out, as i may need to call on my Beast Blood later.

Rydek, Hunting Grounds

“Aha! We have a challenger!” roared Hircine, his menacing voice echoing through Rydek’s very bones. “Why do you wish for your freedom, my hunter? Or are you prey?”

Rydek opened his mouth, but no words came out. It finally dawned on him that it was his turn to speak, and that everyone’s attention was on him. “You know very well why I wish for freedom” hissed the Dunmer. It wasn’t much of a response, but it served its purpose.

Hircine, Father of Manbeasts, Daedric Prince of Sacrifice and Hunt, stood in all of his glory. The Hunt is eternal. It's hunger is eternal. For generations the Hounds hunted the night while Nirn twisted and changed. The Prince is forever there. His fierce eyes keen. His spear ready to strike. His mouth aches for the taste of flesh and blood. His expression a mystery behind his fearsome countenance. The stars above flee like sheep from Him, at the full time of His power he rules the nocturnal sky. When Hircine is present, the hunt begins. The Hunt will always be. Eternally starving. Eternally hunting.

He held his spear next to him. His head turned to the Dark Elf, his horns still branched out before him.

“You know very well why I wish for freedom," said the Dunmer. Hircine refused to laugh or to cackle, instead he kept his ground, standing in his same statue-like position. He looked about around him, seeing his prized hunters and his fated dissapointments. Individuals of all different calibers. Both dead and alive.

He held his spear high, his voice loud and clear. A voice that could strike fear into the heart of the unworthy, and one who earned the praise of those who respected him.

"It is time for my Hunt, and you are to take part. Only the most worthy have been chosen to participate in my game," he explained again. "The survivors will be granted the freedom they crave. And my hunters shall be bestowed a deserved glory. The prey are to find their way in these Hunting Grounds. My Hounds and my chosen champions shall be appointed as my hunters, harbingers of the quarry's fate."

Kraven Desselius stood beside his wife, Vera. He leaned against a rock formation, with arms folded at his chest, studying the men before him. When has there ever been an event like this? He never recalled. Not since his death many years ago. Or perhaps, it did. This was the Wild Hunt. A hunt that was called upon his Lord to punish those that defy him, or simply could be announced for his amusemant. The Hare, as the hunters called them, was the prey. The doomed victim to be chased and killed in a game between predator and prey. But like all of Hircine's games, this was entertainment as well as survival. It wasn't sport if the prey could not escape, and so freedom was offered to those who would rather return to Nirn than to spend their everlasting days and nights in Oblivion.

From the ones that cheered and the ones who held their tongue, Kraven already predicted which ones were his enemies. Those who sought to leave this eternity behind were his enemy. They were also his prey. Do they even deserve to stand among the hunters? Those who toiled and suffered under the harshness of life to be granted position and glory alongside the greates hunters of Hircine's sphere? How can they even sit and sulk about the beauty and danger of this never ending struggle? The thought made him curl his fingers around his spear. And so he awaited to see what would happen.