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  1. 5 points
    Good episode. I liked how they finally ended the plot of Winterfell. However I think it was brought down by the poor setup in the earlier episodes. It seems like the writers wanted to fool the viewers so much that they made too many leaps of logic for it to happen. I think not showing Arya and Sansa interact when no one was around and maybe show one of them going to visit Bran would have helped. As for Cersei I at first felt like they've ruined her to "Yep, that's Cersei." Jaime seems to be moving forward which is nice to see. Overall I like that they managed to remain consistent with their characters throughout. Also like Doc's theory about Tyrion as that would explain a lot and would mean his look at the end is not a setup for some contrived conflict between him and Jon. Was a little disappointed that Theon didn't return the groin kick as I think that would have been fitting. But as with Jaime at least he's moving forward and may actually achieve something of worth. Was a little disappointed how fast The Wall came down. I had hoped it would be more resilient and that the episode would end with the undead laying siege. It made The Wall feel rather useless and I would have liked an undead siege to see how the White Walkers first plan for getting past The Wall was. The dragon felt too convenient.
  2. 5 points
  3. 4 points
    Her Majesty, Empress Dales Draconus I, Holder of the Ruby Throne, former Countess of Sutch, Head of the Motierre family, and Defender of Cyrodiil. By Erika Tan
  4. 4 points
    Kyne's Watch “Admiral Red Snow.” Rebec looked up from her ledgers. She had rented an office at the Kyne’s Watch customs office, out of which she ran her commercial shipping business. Before her was a golden-robed priestess, the one she had brawled with in a grudge match back in Whiterun. “Danica. What are you doing here?” “I heard about your project here. The town. Should I not come to see a settlement devoted to Kynareth?” “Don’t know anyone by that name. You might try Solitude.” The priestess laughed. “Let’s not start that fight again. I can still feel your left hook on my jaw on rainy nights. By whatever name, the goddess can be proud of such a thriving town made in her honor. There’s something missing, however.” “A whorehouse. Yes, I know. I hear it all the time, and you wouldn’t believe the things people say to my mother-in-law when Baldur’s not around to hear.” “A temple! There’s not even a shrine to the town’s namesake. I’m here to change that.” Danica produced a burlap sack, out of which grew a small sapling tree. “This will be the first step. We need a town square in which to plant the Gildergreen tree. I have some Elder sap left, heavily diluted, but it should get the tree growing even in your sandy soil and salt air.” Rebec sat back in her chair. She was about to call the whole thing a fool’s errand, but there had actually been talk about the village needing a square. Kyne’s Watch had sprawled haphazardly out from the harbor and fort. The Stormcloak builders had done a decent job of keeping structures orderly and storm-hardy, but the town still didn’t feel like a town so much as a jumble of longhouses. A temple would also bring in money from gullible pilgrims. “Alright. Let’s go talk to Ysana. She’s the mayor, so she gets the final say.” *** Some houses had to be moved and land leveled, but a week later, there was already the semblance of a market square. They had decided to lay it out on the far side of the existing town, so that visitors had to travel past the inn and shops to get to it, and so that the town could grow past it on the other side. Some benches had been set out, and Danica’s sapling stood at the center in a raised bed frame. “It looks pathetic,” Rebec said to Mazoga, who sat next to her on one of the new benches. “How is Kyne supposed to be honored by that? She doesn’t grow trees, she rips them up. This Kynareth is some elven impostor.” “It’s a tree. It’s not going to turn anybody elven or weak.” Rebec shot her a look. “You never know.” The orc rolled her eyes. She was nursing a bottle of mead, but had no opinion on gods or goddesses, so Rebec sighed and went on, “I’m the one who’s pathetic. Baldur is off saving Tamriel or some shit. I’m stuck here like this toothpick of a tree. It’s not that I don’t like being a mother...” “So don’t.” “Too late for that. Can’t keep my hands off Baldur, gods help me.” “I mean, don’t get stuck here. Come out sailing with us. Bring Ragna. She ought to be learning anyway. Or let’s go somewhere else. There was a place I meant to tell you about, up in the mountains, Volskygge. I sheltered there one night during the Trials. It was a dragon priest temple, I think, but the Dragonborn killed the priest’s ghost. Now there are just a few shufflers and skeevers to worry about, but there’s a wall in there that has something to do with a shout. You’re a Tongue now, right? So maybe you can learn something from the wall?” Rebec thought that dubious, but this sounded like a harmless enough adventure, so the next morning she, Mazoga and a few of their crew set off into the mountains to seek out the temple. Ragna stayed behind in her grandmother’s care, with a Nord wetnurse they occasionally hired when she was busy. The women took point and behind them trailed Bjol Waverunner and Sidano, the Black Wisp's Khajiit assassin. As they walked, Rebec glanced over at her former first mate. “You’re wearing the Nordic Carved today. Normally see you in the Stormcloak captain gear still.” “The others can sink like a stone if they want, when we’re sailing. I don’t plan to. But I can’t deny this stuff is good gear on land.” Like all the Grim Ones, Mazoga had earned the heavily enchanted suit after surviving her Trials. She had taken to keeping her hair permanently in thick plaits that could fit under a helmet and didn’t need to be combed. Her other souvenirs were frostbite and wound scars that made her look grim indeed. Orc or not, no one questioned her right to be captain of Skyrim’s flagship and a member of Baldur’s elite any longer. Not to her face, certainly. Bjol Waverunner came up alongside them. "You heard what they're saying about the moot, cap? Jarl Brund Hammerfang is going to challenge Baldur's claim." Rebec had indeed heard, and the thought of it made her blood run cold. There was the challenge that came from clever talk and politics, and there was the kind of challenge by which Ulfric had claimed the throne, and by which Baldur was now claiming it, though that fact wasn't known. Rebec had seen enough of Brund to know he wasn't likely to back down at a lot of talk by what he considered lesser men. "You're not to bring it up with Ysana, clear? She's got a lot on her mind already." "I'm no fool. That would put her right out of the mood." "Uh huh. Priorities." The temple reared up above them as they turned a corner in the path. Some shambling skeletons drew Rebec back to her own task. They were easily dispatched. Inside, Mazoga lit torches and passed them around. The place smelled of blood upon blood. Rebec continued in, pushing open the inner doors, then turned around to wait for the others. As she did, she noticed Bjol stepping up onto the side platform to inspect a chair. “FUS!” Waverunner flew back against the far wall at Rebec’s shout and came up cursing, but he wasn’t so angry when she pointed out the pressure plate he had been about to step on. “Right,” she declared. “The ancestors left some presents for tourists. Everyone keep a sharp eye on the floor, for blood and squiggly lines. Sidano, best keep your tail tucked in.” The group maneuvered more traps, helpfully marked out for them by the rotting corpses of adventurers and bandits who had come before. There was a puzzle room that Mazoga and Rebec managed to work through together, Rebec cursing all the while about how much time the ancient Nords had on their hands. At least the small barrier had seemed to keep out most of the rabble, because there were more artifacts in the next rooms. This slowed them down as they paused to search. Rebec turned off into a side chamber, and was stopped short as she was bathed in a greenish light and a chill like a foggy night on the Sea of Ghosts. An ethereal female figure hovered before the far wall inscribed with totems. Around it danced two glowing orbs, the mother's sentinel wisps. As the ghost woman turned Rebec lifted her axe to throw, but she stopped herself since the wisp mother only regarded her with curiosity rather than alarm. It glided nearer, and reached out a hand slowly towards the amulet on Rebec’s chest. Glancing down, Rebec saw that her Kyne totem was glowing. Instinctively she clutched at it and stepped back to keep the thing from touching her. The wisp mother hovered, face expressionless. At least it didn't shriek like the sea harpy for which Rebec's ships were named, but otherwise she appeared similar. Like the harpy, she was flanked by globes of spectral green fire that danced and swooped. One of them passed Rebec and glided out of the chamber. Rebec was brought out of her stunned silence as she realized what was about to happen. "Maz, don’t attack it!” It was too late. There was shouting, then wisp mother let out an angry hiss. She turned on Rebec, who dove behind a pillar just as a blast of frost magic sliced through the air towards her. Before the wisp mother could let out another, she was out and charging at it, both axes swinging. The shade tried to glide back but was prevented by the wall behind her, so she slid around Rebec's side. As she prepared another frost blast, the admiral likewise turned and did a quick roll right under the witch’s legless body, coming up behind her and slashing again. Mazoga and the others came rushing in to join the attack, and then chaos broke loose. A half dozen identical shades appeared, one right next to Rebec. They were more easily put down than their mother, but by the time Rebec had killed one another took its place. Even as a Nord, her joints were aching from their chill attacks. When she noticed one of the shades slipping through a back door out of the chamber, she gave chase, shouting “Oh no you don’t!” It was the original wisp mother, weakened but far from dead. She turned when she heard Rebec’s pursuit, preparing to attack. Wisps careened out towards Rebec’s face, seeking to blind and harass her. “Fus RO!” The thu’um was directed not at the wisp mother herself, but at the ancient hanging braziers that still burned above her head. They swung wildly and then their chains snapped, dropping onto the wisp mother and spilling out their dragon fire crystals. There was an unearthly, wailing scream and the wisp mother disappeared into green smoke, her wisps dropping with a thud. The sore and weary adventurers recouped back in the hall with a bottle of healing potion they passed around. Mazoga was better off than most due to her enchanted armor, but still had some chill burns. As Rebec put salve on them, she kept her voice low so only the orc could hear. “That thing. Before you all attacked her wisp, the mother wasn’t hostile to me. I thought those were always hostile. She reached out for my amulet. It reminded me of..." "The harpy. She wasn't hostile, either." “I don't understand what it means." After a pause Mazoga answered, “You know what some of the crew used to say? They’d see you out there looking at the thing as it followed us, and sometimes it looked like you were talking to her, or she to you. After Jala, they thought... well...” Rebec started at her daughter's name, then frowned. “The wisp mothers are just ghosts of women taken by frost. What does that have to do with Jala?" “One story is that wisp mothers are ghosts of women wailing for their dead children. You know how sailors are. A couple left the crew because of it. I didn’t have the heart to tell you the real reason they left.” Rebec's eyes burned with fury. “What do they call the ghosts of sailors wailing for their shriveled balls?” Even hours later after they made camp, Rebec was muttering to herself, irked by what Mazoga had told her and by the wisp mother’s behavior. Unable to sleep, she got up and took a torch, going into the side hall. She half expected to see the wisp mother again, and almost hoped she would, but the chamber was empty. Rebec approached the wall the wisp mother had been facing. It was a frieze of ritual totems such as one always found in the old Nord temples and tombs. Rebec’s eyes rested on the Kyne totem. Her eyes widened when she noticed the two globes that seemed to float next to the goddess’ head... Women bound in fog and frost for all time, testing those who ventured too far into sea or frozen waste. If you lived, you got to sail or fight on. If you died at Kyne's hand, did the goddess extract another form of service? Favored of Kyne, people called Rebec. She shook a fist at the winged carving. “Spare me your favors, you soggy bitch. You been trying to kill me for years. I’m still here, and when I die I'm going to Sovngarde." The next day, the party made it into the vast hall that used to be the dragon priest’s lair. The crypt was empty, though the blue-eyed corpses of the priest and his deathlord minions were still there, robbed of their most valuable trinkets. Rebec then stepped up to the word wall. She waited, then Mazoga asked, "Anything happening?" "My feet are sore, that's what's happening. I have no idea what this giant chicken scratch means." "Let's make a copy. Maybe Baldur can read it, or we'll find a book." *** A few days later, Rebec and Mazoga met for a midday meal at the inn. Ragna lay sleeping on a chair next to her mother, wrapped in furs and unperturbed at the ruckus around her. Danica Pure-Spring entered, carrying a bundle on her back, and crossed over to them. “So, admiral. What do you think of my Gildergreen?” “A very impressive twig. Still don’t see what it has to do with Kyne.” “Maybe you will, someday. She will show you.” “She’s been showing me a quite a lot, and I don’t appreciate it.” The priestess smiled. “The lady’s blessings are sometimes strange. I didn’t appreciate having to tend so many war dead, but it made me a better healer. You will be a better warrior for having a spiritual purpose.” “I haven’t got any such thing and I’ll thank you not to talk such rot if you’re going to eat with us. Sit and tell me what’s going on in Whiterun. Do you hear any news of Carlotta or Mila Iron-Brow?” Danica’s face darkened as she sat. “I actually did hear a rumor. Apparently Carlotta died in the fighting down there. There’s no word about Mila, but they say Boldir escaped to Cyrodiil. Your husband sent a company of Grim Ones after him, to bring him back to face justice.” Rebec let out a string of muttered curses. “This is all wrong somehow. Boldir wouldn’t just murder a whole town.” A thought nagged at her. How many towns would Baldur raze if he thought it could save her and Ragna? Or to avenge their deaths? Danica spoke up again. “It will soon be time for me to go back to Whiterun myself. The Stormcloak builders will make a temple on the mountain above the town, but there's one more task the lady set out for me. A temple is no good without a priestess.” Rebec nodded blankly, her thoughts still caught up with worrying what had become of Mila. It took a moment for Danica’s words to register, and to notice that the priestess was looking intently at her. “Now see here. You asking for another beatdown? I want none of this.” The priestess chuckled. "I asked around the town about who would be suited, and I only heard one name. You’re Kyne’s favored, they hear you shouting in the mountains. The builders said the plot I chose for the temple was already set aside for a new home for you and Baldur. In the old days, a temple of Kyne used to be the priestess' home. You see, I know a bit about the old ways, too. Maybe you’re right that Kynareth wants her other aspects to be known in this time. You already have plenty of healers at the fort. The people here want to know their goddess will fight for them.” Rebec glanced at Mazoga helplessly, but the orc just lifted her eyebrows and shrugged, grinning. “I’m going to war with Baldur. If he ever gets home.” “By then another may step up to the task.” “I have no idea how to be a priestess!” “I’ll stay for a few weeks longer. We’ll hold a festival to celebrate the new temple’s founding, and ask the goddess’ blessing on the moot of jarls. You can begin your duties then. Oh, and I brought you something. Forged by Eorlund Grey-Mane from the rarest dragonscale.” The priestess produced a ceremonial breastplate and a midnight blue robe. Rebec held up the breastplate and saw that it was inscribed with the same totem she had seen in Volskygge, the winged woman flanked by orbs. Sighing, she rested the piece back down. “The bitch can’t kill me, but she’s sure enough getting her revenge.”
  5. 4 points
    Just wanted to let y'all know, I am trying to get caught up on everything. It's a major project, so I've been skipping around some, concentrating on those things that affected the scenes I was going to write. Also catching up on my girl Arya Mila, who's now a full fledged Prisoner, which means she's got to save the rest of our characters' sorry asses. And I do believe she's up to it. You've all done an amazing job. We've come a long way from chapter 1. Now that I have a handle on some basics, I'm looking forward to going back and filling in the rest. As far as criticisms go, Colonel touched on some things I noticed, too. I tend to think "less is more" though gods know Rebbabo and KroMagjun have had a lot of lengthy posts, too. Especially the former. And I did mention to Colonel that I thought some of his posts could use a little more scene setting, to make transitions less confusing. I've noticed that Balrog has gone from yuri anime to Lovecraftian anime, lol, which I think is an improvement. I find the Roscrean stuff intriguing though the archaic language is not to my taste, I tend to want a relaxing read here.
  6. 4 points
    Part 2, Two Hours later, “The deeper we get, the stranger this...sensation is.”The Empress muttered, the dreary haze of sleep returning. This is so...otherworldly. The dark blue lights. The pale stone. The strange noises coming from the depths. Something about this place...felt wrong. The duo had found the small exit lead up back to the other side of the bridge, and allowed them to proceed deeper into the ruin. As most his kind, the Dremora Dregas rarely spoke, his terrifying oni-mask remaining stone faced as he walked forward methodically, taking point. Dales neglected to inform him, her normal power, even when amplified by Krojun’s considerable magic shouldn’t be strong enough to summon him (As she didn’t want to reenact A Tragedy in Black). She kept that little detail to herself, as the lapiz-lazuli hallways endlessly went forward, the Ayleid ruin refusing to diminish in the slightest. Dales's wounds ached, and festered under the wholesome blue light, but she continued onward, undaunted, and unhelped by her summoned bodyguard. After facing over a dozen of other traps with her minion, the Empress was beginning to wonder something foul. What was the reason purpose of this place? Was it guarding something? What did this place function as to the heartland elves? Dales banished those thoughts from her mind, as she feverishly squinted her eyes, analyzing the path for any signs of traps. She had done well to get herself to that accursed bog, but she glad to have the company. Even if he was usually as silent as a statue. Dales suddenly stopped, as the heavily armored Daedra lifted his hand into the sky, yelling, "Halt meatbag." The Empress freezed. A chill lay on her spine. Well....on a normal day she wouldn't be afraid of door, but she hadn't seen a door for essentially two hours. Meaning this lead somewhere important. And in a dungeon, important usually meant a nasty trap room. The injured Empress swallowed hard, as she lagged behind the plate-clad Dremora, who had brought up his legendary glaive into a fighting stance, right as he slammed open the stone door with a kick. Among the dust...revealed another large room. This one wasn’t too big in width. But it was really long, and the corridor itself was strange in that, several, large gates lay beyond, intersected. Made from rusty gold, they glimmered among the Welkynd stones, giving the normally rusted color a radiant color. Strangely, they faced the other way, and Dales and Drevos came up, from the door, behind them. Small ramparts lay above the first gate, a set of stairs leading up to them, seemingly allowing warriors and archers to man them in defense. Strange, brassy scorpions lay on the mini battlements, thought there were no ballista bolts scattered about. Dales went closer, as the Dremora, nonchalantly readied his weapon, using his time to look for anything dangerous. This is...certainly strange. The room was unlike anything she had seen before, being more like a fortified gatehouse, then the hallway of an ancient ruin. Her Dremora guardian spoke, his voice raspy and raw, “Something...is just beyond this fortification. Something...ancient, and very powerful.” The presence Dales felt… was the same power she drew from in her darkest hour, and it lay behind these golden gates. Whoever had summoned her, here, lay beyond through the darkness. Dales strode forward, onward, undaunted. You face shadow and death…. The gibbering voice from before, suddenly entered her mind, as Dales jumped in surprise at a loud, clanking noise behind her. She turned around, drawing her wraith dagger, to reveal her dark-plate clad Dremora guarding against something monstrous, which had seemingly appeared out of thin air. A being of shadow and death. This...thing was a Minotaur. A minotaur of unimaginable horror. It was...undead. While every other minotaur the Empress had seen bore itself with a wild, yet pure pride, a chosen son of Kynareth, this...abomination slouched walking with a hunch, and carried its body in loathing disgust. Rotten flesh clung at it's decayed grey skeletal frame, the remains of black armor, covered in nameless runes, stuck on it's shoulder and stomach, made from some Obsidian metal, with jagged spikes jutting from its massive pauldrons. The Bovian monster itself was massive, even for a minotaur, measuring out to be about ten or eleven feet tall. The remains of it's runeplate, which were disgustingly well-crafted, we’re littered with baubles, charms, and iconography made from the bones of various animals. Skulls, ancient trophies of forgotten kills, lingered on the jagged spikes on it's shoulder pads, having been impaled in place. That small bits of rotten fur that clung to its remaining flesh we’re a sickly grey, and patchy. The minotaurs hooves we’re blackened soot stained, and reinforced with crudely made metal plating, with its right leg being so decayed it was practically stripped to the bone, and devoid of all flesh. It’s claws, giant and meaty, held two massive handaxes, which we’re practically the size of human great axes, and made from dark iron, having jagged spikes behind the large blood-soaked black blades. On his back, he carried an even larger greataxe, the size of a small tree, scattered upon the blade we’re dozens of shadowy runes. The Minotaur's head...had only half its face covered in rotting flesh, the other half in which held nothing but bones. A bull’s skull. A metal helm was grated around it's half ripped up face, made from dark iron. Massive fangs stood outside it's mouth, like boar tusks, and inside it's mouth lined dozens of dagger sized teeth, perfect for ripping apart red flesh. For eyes it had glowing blue orbs that hung in its otherwise empty eye sockets, which starred inside the Empress’s soul. Upon it's head, massive bull-esque hoods stood, cable of skewering and impaling any man that tried to resist it's charge. A thick fog of shadow hung on it's back, almost as if the horror was producing an aura of darkness. It breathed out a miasma of pure darkness, snorting like a bull, roaring an earsplitting noise of utter fury, as it prepared to charge, bringing up it's dual war axes. The Dremora Lord held his ground, as he brought up his crescent blade in a primal war stance, the blade suddenly bursting in black fire, just in time to catch the Minotaurs war axes with his greatblade. The Dremora's teeth clenched underneath his oni-war mask, as he broke his blade lock, and brought up his flaming greatsword to strike the undead Minotaur side, only to be thrown to the side, by the strength of the Minotaur's second blow. Crashing into the white wall of the Ayleid ruin, The Lord quickly picked himself up out of a pile of rubble, just having barely enough time too, as he deflected another strike, holding his blade in a downward block. The thing moved deceptively fast for its massive size, being practically a blur amongst the shadows. Sweat formed underneath his black war mask, as the minotaurs glowing blue orbs nonchalantly stared into the Dremora's black eyes, gazing at them. It showed no signs of tiring, as it snorted, just as it lifted its second axe into the air, bringing it downward in an extreme display of force, intent on cutting the Dremora in half. Lord Dregas abandoned his position, throwing himself backwards, as he unleashed a torrent of black fire with his gauntleted hand of black daedric armor. The war-axe landed with a heavy thunk, the strength used behind the swing causing a brief shockwave to erupted around the landing zone. The black fire coarsed forward, but did little to injure the now enraged beast, the darkness around it seemingly consuming the flames. The Minotaur silently pressed forward, it’s huge body illuminated by the lapis light, going down the dark hallway, with nothing but the lapis lazuli Welkynd stones to illuminate these two warriors deadly duel. Dregas tried slashing to the left, but the Minotaur simply brought up it's colossal axe, before countering with another strike. It was a practically a dance, and the speeds these two warriors thought at made them practically invisible to the naked eye. The Dremora felt a euphoria he had never felt before. He felt...truly alive in this moment. As as the fear stabbed into him, this was one of the most glorious moments of his life. A worthy opponent. He was taken back to the present, when he noticed the small girl just beyond him, who was staring at the horror before them with pure terror visible in her cold eyes. He’d forgotten he had a charge with him. The Daedra screamed in his raspy roar, taking a moment to glance at Dales, “Flee this foe is beyond you!” That was a near-fatal mistake. The Undead minotaur had sharp eyes, as it saw Dregas moment of distraction. It switched to a sideslash midway, and the axe’s blade nearly bite into the Dremora’s flesh, his great glaive blocking the strike at the last second, holding it downward from the Dremora’s temple. A mere human, or any of the mortal races really, would be crushed by the mere size of the axe, but the Dremora was inhumanly strong, and wielded a magical, timeless blade forged in the fiery pits of the Deadlands. It would not bend, even to the abominable strength of this monster. “We killed a ******* hydra! How can this overgrown cow compare?!” Dales called out, just as she conjured a ball of ice magic in her small fist. Even as she said those words, a pit of horror had grown inside her stomach. Dales screamed, terror plainly present in her curt voice. Dales felt afraid. So afraid. Even more afraid of this...thing, then her father when he beat her. She shivered, as memories filled her head, in the form of plastered, crimson images depicting the worst minutes of her life. What is this? What is this darkness? The floor around the Bovian abomination darkened, as it became infested with shadowy miasma. Tendrils of pure shadow formed, and began to hug the Empresses leg, filling her with pure dread and terror. It was now clear to the Empress, the horror before her controlled terrible black magic Struggling to avoid being crushed by its axes, The Dremora fought against the juggernaut, with a flashing display of inhuman swordsmanship and close range flame spells raining blow after blow, but...the abomination countered with much greater strength, speed, and...even skill. To the Dremora’s horror, this thing knew how to fight. It wielded it's axes with extreme dexterity, and skill, being clearly a master with the axe. Every strike it made, has equal pure force, and conscious intent behind it. It’s bestial power only gave it more opportunities to do just that. Behind its veneer of savagery, a clever, animalistic mind laid beneath.The Dremora slashed, and stabbed, as if he was in a dance, but for his finesse was being countered by a more basic, yet no one less effective fighting style. “This thing is...cursed. Cursed by ancient, dark magic! No...not cursed...” Underneath his war-mask, the Dremora spat, “It’s using it! It’s bringing this darkness upon itself! Some kind of black magic!” The Dremora lord ducked to the left, avoiding a downward slash from the Minotaur axes, struggling against its advance. "Run Meat Bag! Run!" Dales fled in terror at her guardians urging, turning heel, and running deeper down the long hallway. She didn’t care if she triggered another trap, she knew she couldn’t face this...thing. Metaphoric tendrils, along with literal tendrils, hung on her, trying to drag her into an inner darkness she couldn’t escape from. She couldn’t fight in this condition. She was as helpless now, as she was...when he beat her. Reaching the first gate, the Empress, almost out of breath already, plunged forward reaching the lever. She hesitated for a moment, as she turned to face her companion who was struggling to hold this wrecking ball of nature back. That hesitation left her, when she realised even if her companion lost, he would simply return to the Deadlands, after being slain in the mortal realm. That mere fact caused any guilt to be swept away, and she pushed the lever forward without remorse, causing the rusty metal gate to come crashing forward with a heavy thud, and the rattling of chains. Separating Dales and the two clashing demons from each other. Being safe for a moment the Empress relaxed, turning around to glance at the ensuring battle and the thing chasing after her. Only for her horror to grow. She would had fled deeper into the hallway, beyond the gate, but her body was completely paralyzed by fear. The thing...hauntingly stared at her, his blue orbs gazing into her blue fear filled eyes. It snort shady breaths of darkness, as the pale blue light illuminated their surroundings, the two warriors looked at each other. Inside his great claws, he lifted the severed head of Dremora Lord, the ancient oni-mask starring hauntingly at her. The Dremora's body had already began to dissipate, spectral lines of purple magic materializing all around the Dremora's body, fading in and out of existence. He was returning to the waters of Oblivion. With a roar, the Bovian beast slowly advanced, rearing it’s hind legs, this time, his target the young Empress. Dales launched a roaring bolt of ice forward, towards the brass contraption, causing enough force to knock the level back, causing the gate to slam back down with the reeling of chains. Dales was safe for the moment. The cursed Minotaur strode forward, lifting it's massive arm into the air, revealing bare muscle and sinewy flesh, and struck the metal gate with one of it's battle axes. A large dent formed as the metal axe collided into the reinforced gate, the screeching, cold sound of iron crushing steel echoing all across the room. Then another formed as the Minotaur repeated the same strike, this time with his other axe. And then again. And then again. And then again. The golden gate would soon fall to the Minotaurs strikes. Dales panicked, screaming, "Shit! ****! Crap! Holy tomatoes!" The young Breton girl ran as fast as her tiny feet could carry her. Just as she pushed the next lever, the golden gate fell. Dales quickly ran through it. As she turned around to cast it down once more, she quickly began to pick up pace. Dales barely managed to get the gate to fall, before the Minotaur was upon her. It was fast. Faster then that dog Lorgar. Angrily snarling, and spitting out giant droplets of spit, it salivated, hungrily gazing at the Empress, almost as if it wanted to devour her. It began to strike the gate once more. Dales, her body feeling like she was going to have a heart attack from fear, ran like a mad woman, getting through the various gates, trying to finish this dreadful gauntlet as soon as possible, the Bovian nightmare just behind her, and getting closer to passing through the gate before Dales could conjure magic, every second. This chase continued for another five, gates, until...she came upon a platinum one. The gate itself gleamed silver, and like the walls in the grand entrance of the ruin, below that decrepit crypt, it was covered in glowing blue runes. A bright...blue light lay shone beyond it. Something...something drew her towards it, piercing through the overhearing darkness that came within the...shadow cow. But to Dales horror, no lever lay within her sight. She frantically searched around for any kind of brass object, but to her terror, she found none. In desperation, at being so close to an escape, Daes gripped the plantium bars tightly, and began to scream, "Help! Help! Help! HELPPPPP!" She tried to force them upon, channeling all of her magicka reserves into an alternation strength spell, but did nothing. Her enhanced strength was nothing to the gate, and it's magic runes. Tears formed within her eyes, as she felt heavy breathing behind her. Mustering her inner courage, the young Empress turned around. Only to see the Dark Minotaur a few feet away. His blue orbs however, held something this time. Fear. The creature refused to approach the gate, feverishly, reeving its horn, and hind legs, as it roared just by the second to last gate, which he had just breached. Dales tears dried, as she catched herself on the gate, breathing heavily. The only thing keeping her from falling down was her adrenaline, and the magic that coursed through her. The beast of Shadow, threw down one of it's axes, pushing forward its dark claws, and....began to make strange gestures. It pulled through the stale underground air. Was it...beckoning to the Empress? Asking her to come to it? For the first time it spoke, a hoarse voice, like the grinding of steel. It vibrated with a hint of power "Ari indz yerekha ... petk’ e veradarrnas yerazneri tiruyt’nerits’: Minch’ gazany kul e talis dzez!" Dales in her delirium, heard nothing, for whatever language it spoke was ancient, and long dead. The young Empress leaned on the silvery gate, and sat down. Inhaling a large mouthful the Empress closed her eyes... "You are close. Let Lord Auriel wreath you in light...''' The voice from before. Dales opened her blue eyes, expecting to see the Bolvian horror from before. She found herself...beyond the silver gate. Half unbelieving, Dales turned around to gaze beyond the gate. The Minotaur looked....sad. As it sulked, it's skeletal, rotting face downcast. Shaking it's head, the beast body...dissipated. A cloud of pure shadow formed around it, like a sinister miasma, and the physical flesh and skeleton of the undead abomination...vanished. Not even a trace of its bleeding shadow remained. Dales, without looking back advanced forward, and towards the blue light, going down the corridor, refusing to looking back at that strange hallway. Her surroundings became...weirder. The walls of white-stone turning...pure blue. As if she was walking down a corridor of the ocean. A figure stood, in the middle of the room. She squinted her eyes, who had just gotten adjusted to the blue light. What awaited her was...a knight. The knight, or what she assumed was a knight, just stood there, holding his bronze bastard sword by it's pommel, pointing the blade toward the ground. She almost thought him to be a statue, but his perfect watch was marred by slight movement. Inscribed on the sword's pommel itself was the drawing of a bright phoenix, and the hilt was adorned with a single white gem, along with gold, feathery wings. The sword’s blade faintly, a weak silvery light. He sat in the middle of the wonderful, blue hallway. The runes carved on his armor was indecipherable, and foreign, the Empress could only guess what they meant. The armor itself was so...alien. She had seen images of the former Imperial province of Morrowind, and the intense feeling of unfamiliarity, and downright fantasy she received we’re just like back then. Highly ornate, it vaguely looked like the plate that Thalmor Justicars wore, gold armor made from moonstone, but something...was off about it. [[http://www.nexusmods.com/Images/110/1123080-1407311990.jpg For one thing, the helmet looked like somewhat similar to a locust’s head, with bright blue gems covering the eye sockets, and a visor of glass]]. Behind the helmet, a ponytail of braided white hair, stuck out. The material itself seemed to be gold moonstone, but it was adorned with deep green glass. His gauntlets ended in gold talons, razor sharp, and tipped with diamonds. Similar claws we’re present on his armored boots, like wolf paws. A crimson red tabard, dyed the sanguine of blood, sat on his lower half, like an apron. Was this a fabled heartland elf? An Ayleid in the flesh? He was also covered head to toe in layers and layers of dust, almost as if he was part of the ancient ruins that dotted this passage. Dales might have mistaken him as a statue, if she didn't see him breathing in and out. He had clearly been standing still there for centuries. A stalwart guardian. As Dales approached the silent watcher, she noticed her surroundings in more detail. Carved on the white-stone, we’re bas reliefs, depicting bloodshed, magic, ancient battles, and unknowable monstrosities. The vibrant, almost ear burning, blue light emerging behind the massive stone door, drew her closer and closer, almost as if it was magical, unlike the braisers of blue flame which lit the dark tunnel. The pillars that held up the hallway were of excellent craftsmanship, quite similar to the imperial palace, but embroidered with silvery vines, taking a more naturalistic look. [[https://vncg.org/f16538.jpg The entire wall was made of whatever substance was found in Wekyland stones actually adorned the walls, all of breath-taking blue colors, shining like the deep ocean, a backdrop of watery gems.]] It went down, in an lengthy tunnel, all the way to a gate of shimmering, pure, blue ight. “Halt.” A deep voice, almost a growl erupted from the figure, heavily starling Dales who had just gotten used to the pure silence. In an instant, the dust on him had blown off, as he moved for the first time in centuries. The voice was...really deep for an elf. If he was an elf, which the Empress could only assume. His accent, however, was the strangest part. It was so distinct, yet the Empress had never heard anything like it before. His hand reached for his blade, as he prepared to draw it. His claw gauntlet lingered there, as he growled, “What Nede dares approach the Well?” Quick and straight to the point then. Refreshing. Dales thought. Clearing her voice, the Empress of Tamriel spoke with both pride and conviction, “I am Dales Draconus. Empress of Tamriel, holder of the Ruby Throne, and Guardian of Cyrodiil.” Dales voice rose, a symphony in the darkened ruins, “I was summoned here. And I am no Nede.” She stopped herself, before she uttered, with both purpose, and truth in her tongue, “I am an Imperial.” “By that thing. Yes, I see.” He paused. His helmet up this close, was really unsettling. Upon closer analysis, Dales now thought, instead of locust-like, it was more avian. Like the face of a hawk. The figure’s hand has softened, but he still gripped the hilt of his sword, Following a hunch, Dales brought up her sigit ring, showing the silvery bull ring she wore on her index finger to him. “You are a follower of Lady Alessia then.” The Ayeleid Knight said, as he leaned in to get a close look at Dales sigit ring. After taking her features in, the Knight let out a throaty chuckle, “You are short for a dragon, milady.” He finally fully sheathed his blade. “I am no ones lady, knight.” Dales said, with little amusement in her voice, “Who are you?” “My name would mean nothing to you, but if you must call me something, call me Averdani, the Lord of Mazes. And to answer your question, human, I am no guardian. More like a warden. This tomb is...a prison, and I am it’s prison-keeper. Well one of them.” He paused for a second, “It seems you’ve already met my compatriot. And lived to tell the tale. Impressive.” He saluted her with a flourish of his blade. It...cut through her vision, a faint purplish outline carving through the space. As if it passed through the fabric of reality itself...The Knight stepped aside, as he motioned for the young girl to pass, "You remind me of her." His stone voice became warm, like the summer itself. Underneath his strange helmet, the figure frowned, "You seek the spring then..." Dales nodded her small head, the many bruises and cuts showing the man how difficult it had been to come this far. Averdani sighed, "Normally, I would be honorbound to cut you down we're you stand, Dales Draconus. Most people cannot pass this point. For there own good..." He sadly sad, muttering underneath his breath. " But you bear Lady Alessia's ring. You are not just another thrall that...thing has enslaved. You we're meant to be here." He stepped aside, letting the Empress pass. His hands began to glow bright white, and the grand gate, he guarded, slowly...faded away. After a few seconds, it had completely disappeared, the blue light fully unleashed on the dark tunnel. He spoke, "As warden of the spring, I grant thee permission to enter, Dales Draconous." Nodding to him, the Empress stepped forward, and went down the hallway. She was, however, stopped, by an armored clad hand, grabbing her shoulder. The avian-masked elf spoke, “Beware. That...thing deceives with half truths, and flattery." Dales nodded, acknowledging the warning, as she pressed forward. She went through the bright, blue light, passing beyond the guardians hallway. The vision she had experienced before prepared her for nothing. “Dales Motierre, Empress of Cyrodiil, I welcome thee to the Spring.” A soft voice echoed across the cavern. The place was....massive. The walls we're of the same quality as the Lord of Mazes hallway, being the same glowing blue mineral that was lost to the ages., and unkown to the Empress. Carved onto them, we're thousands if not tens of thousands of the same runes that scattered the ruin, glowing deep shades of blue. Most of the cavern was submerged in low water, which glowed the same faint light as the cavern walls. As if it was a legendary blue palace that lurked underneath the watery depths of the ocean. In the midst of underground spring was a large, monolithic monument. On it's top, on the left side, a single stone wing jutted out. Dales approached the strange waters edge, before she submerged herself into it. ... ... .... In a single instant, the dozens of wounds on her flesh healed, becoming whole once more. The fiery pain on her stomach had dissipated, the Hyrdra's wounds leaving as if they had never happened at all. She felt...a euphoria. She...had never been exposed to this much power. Her mind reeled, and the Empress began to drool like a child. Such power...was imitating through the waves. This kind of power...would give her the strength to set entire armies ablaze, move entire mountains of stone. It was vast, infinite. Dales, with her ragged leather armor, tried to push herself through the glowing, shallow water, but she could barely stay at conscious, at this exposure of energy. By now, the water was deep enough to got to Dales waist, but she continued through the vast spring How has this place remained hidden? "The runes on the walls our of ancient, forbidden rites, my lady. They mask the magical presence of this place, which is deep, deep underneath the grounds of the Imperial City itself." The same voice that had been whispering to her, all the way back from her dream, to the gate hallway spoke. A tall figure stood, in the middle of the water, a good way away from Dales. “Approach.” Her corpse-like skin barely betrayed a sense of life, as her purse purple lips curved into a savage snarl, A dark, whispery voice, wrapped with ardous wraith, loathsome hate, and envious longing. Like an angelic trumpet, mixed with the gnashing of teeth. While Dales had very unhealthy skin, which she felt, from her own feelings, was a side effect of her mentors magic, it at least looked semi-alive. The woman's parlor was deathly, the skin damp and lifeless, as if she had been submerged in a lake for a long period of time. She had the look of a fresh corpse. Dales could scarcely contain the way she felt about her. Despite the deathly look she was...beautiful. And so horrible at the same time. Her magnificent brown hair, the color of an ancient oak tree, was done in a complex pattern, as if she was a well-groomed highborn lady of Court. Her startling eyes. Oh her eyes. They we’re….terrifying to gaze into it, so inhuman, and otherworldly. Magnificent piercing gold stood on the outside, while black, shadowy orbs, sat on the inside, both surrounded by a circle of gorgeous amber. In shape, the only way to describe them we’re owl-like. The dark craters around her eyes, however, we’re pitch black, as if she used soot for eyeshadow. Her teeth we’re pitch white, with not a single blemish of yellow to stain them. For clothing, she wore a grand dress of white, which went from the upper half of her neck, which had a large choker of fabric, all the way down to her feet. The only skin Dales could see was the skin on her face, the rest of her body was covered up, including her hands and feet, which we’re wrapped up in thick , padded, cloth. It looked like a cross between a wedding dress, and the wrappings of a corpse. It was tight, tighter than a corset, going by how thickly the cloth was holding against the skin. It must have been agony to wear it. Now that she could see it more clearly, it sort of reminded her of an asylum straightjacket. The pale white dress was decked out in the same blue elvish ruins that lingered all over the walls of the previous parts of the ruins, but these ones disappeared, and reappeared at will, as if they were constantly being phased in and out of existence. The woman left the strange statue or idol, before her feet landed into the glowing, lapis lazuli water, her facial expression unchanged as she approached the Empress, moving menacingly forward. Something was...odd. It was as if her face was…”jerking?” The Empress couldn’t find the right word for it. It was like she was having constant spasms every few seconds, but the Empress could catch barely a glimpse of it. Maybe her eyes we’re just playing tricks on her. She was striking. Beautiful. And horrifying all at once. “It is customary to kneel.” “I kneel for no one,.” The Empresses voice resounded with power, and conviction. It was swift, and no other words needed to be spoken,. The cur snarl, twisted into a disturbing grin, as the woman spoke once more, “Indeed you don’t, my Lady Motierre.” The she-elf placed her left hand to her right shoulder, and vice versa, in a strange gesture before lowering her legs, and submerging her body halfway into the glowing, watery depths of the spring. Her perfect hair, despite being done in a white bow, was still so long part of it got drenched in the water. The woman knelt before Dales, her yellow eyes staring directly into her soul. She said nothing more. At a complete lost for words, Dales managed to stutter out, “Who are you?” The horrific grin, soon melted, replaced by a warm smile, “Who are you?” The she-elf repeated Dales question to her. Dales frowned, annoyance filling inside her. The only one who talked back to her was Krojun, “I am Empress Dales Draconus.” “Are you now?” She looked amused, she spoke coyly, “Are you not Dales Motierre, daughter of Emperor Amaund Motierre, first of his name.” She practically spat in defiance to her father's name, "I no longer go by that name. I left it." “Did you now?” The she-elf muttered, her bored expression unchanged. “You always refer to yourself as Dales Motierre, not Dales Draconus, in your mind. I’m afraid changing your name, won't change who you are Lady Motierre. You are you’re father's daughter, both in body and mind. You may decry you’re family name, but you know it to be true. You even wear his signet ring, why?” “To remind me of what I shall never be!” The Empress yelled, her voice trembling with rage. She yelled, with fury, changing the subject, “I answered you’re question, mer, now answer mine! “Dunmaor. High priestess of Auriel.” Dunmaor? "You are...a high priestess of Auriel?" Dales blue eyes narrowed, as she practically spat the name, "What presumption does a high priestess of Auriel summon the holder of the Ruby Throne with? What does your lord want with me?" "To give you a gift." She said simply, smiling. Lifting her bound hand into the air, the one known as Dunmaor, began to draw, magical lines into the air, that sparkled bright gold. After a few seconds, the thing she drew in the underground sky was clear to the Empress. She drew the symbol of ultimate imperial power. The Red Dragon of the Septims. Dales eyes became manic, as she shouted, "That should be impossible!" "Time has no meaning here, in the Spring, Lady Motierre. Time does not flow in the same way as it does on the outside. The covenant of Akatosh, whose breaking, denies the use of this symbol, is not held here." Dales remained silent, still not believing it. She let the she-elf speak. “ Hear me, young lady. Though I am infinite, and have an eternity to spend, you must be on you're way to Skyrim at the dawn. You have little time, and I shall waste no more of it with pleasantries, and frizzle amusement. The abomination you know as Krojun is powerful. More powerful than my...keeper, who was known in his time as the “Ruination of Cities". You would need both a weapon, and a symbol to be free of him. If you do not free yourself from his control, you will be his pet for all eternity. A favored pet, but a pet nonetheless. You have always been a broken bird in a gilded cage, Lady Motierre, but Skyrim is your chance to break free. You must go to the peaks of High Hrothgar. You will find both a way to break the icy chains that wrap around your soul, and a weapon of unimaginable power.” Dales blinked, and in a single instant, Dunmaor now stood infront of her. The piercing, eyes of amber starring into her soul. Dunmaor leaned in, her cold breath freezing Dales flushed cheeks, she whispered, a sentence that caused Dales mind to go blank, and her face to drain of all color. It can’t be. After she finished, Dunmaor voice became soft, as if she was talking to a lover, which contrasted her words, and said “Ask this question to the Ash-King at the Throat of the World. And you shall have your ultimate weapon wreathed in flame." “Who is the Ash-King? Why is having this weapon so important?” Dales asked, her voice emotive. “Baldur Red-Snow, betrayer, and Jarl of Windhelm. The gods are fickle, and we are their playthings. Even my Lord Auriel considers me nothing more than a tool to be wielded. The coming months will be a war, a proxy war waged by powerful champions of the gods. A champion of Hircine stalks the forests of Valenwood. A minion of Boethia haunts the path of the Ash-King. A Dragon-Lord of yore festers in the heart of Cyrodiil, intent on ruling her people. Do you think it's coincidence that such powerful figures have gathered at the same time? Some kind of abomination powered by dark magic tries to make himself High King of Skyrim. Unseen power manifests itself in the hands of the Thalmor and the Aldmeri Dominion. The Empire needs something more than you, her Empress, more than a competent general, and more then her red legions to survive.” Her sickly eyes shone for a moment, as a bell rang in the distance, "Ït needs a champion, one who the Ash-King shall provide.” She paused for a moment, “This is the gift my Lord Auriel give you, my Lady Moitre. Words. A set of words that will endow you with a weapon of ancient power, unseen since the days of Tiber Septim. It is both a symbol for your people to rally behind, and a weapon of destruction. There is no binding contract. No double crossing. I already gave you the question you must ask of the Ash-King to receive it. It is free.” She laughed, a cold, dark laugh, “It is no covenant as the Dragon-Lord Akatosh ordained with…”She paused for a moment before she muttered darkly her eyes betraying an unknown emotion for a mere second, “Al-Esh but it is a very rare boon. My lord offers little in comparison to it to most of his favored. Dales bite down on her tongue, as she whispered, “Why? Why...does Auriel favor me? I hate the gods. I curse the gods. He is no exception.” “I cannot say.” Dales eyes fell downcast, as she asked, annoyance brewing inside her, “You cannot say?! But you-” Dunmaor terrible eyes trembled with fury, as her voice became like thunder, her face for a split second seemed...rotten.“I do not presume to know what my lord wants, Dales Moitre.” Dales recoiled back in both shock and terror. As if the storm clouds had instantly been swept away by a wind, the Ayelid’s normal voice had returned, she smiled gently at the Empress, the switch of emotion honestly leaving the Empress numb “It may because of your heart, my lady. You’re rage and hatred...is so pure.” A chill fell down her spine, as Dales couldn’t speak. Instead, the loathsome she-elf continued, as her black eyelids relentless tore into Dales, “The undying hatred you feel for the Thalmor is contained to them. With your vast power, you could lay waste to innocent mer all across Cyrodiil, to sate the dark hole of vengeance in your heart, but you don’t. You stay thy blade, and shelter them for people more ignorant than you. You love them as your own people. As any human- Dales quietly added, “Their good too **** to.” The Mer just stared at her, as her eyes narrowed in a scowl. Dales shrugged her shoulders muttering, “What?” Rolling her eyes. Dales blinked, and she, once more, reappeared somewhere else. A few feet away from the Empress. the elf continued, “Perhaps Lord Auriel has taken to you for you are a protector to Imperial-Elves.” She shrugged her bound shoulders, “Perhaps not. As I said, it’s not my place to interpret why my lord does what he does, only obey what he whispers to me.” “Whispers?” Dales asked, unconvinced Ä grim smile appeared on Dunmaor’s face as she muttered, “Are you so faithless to refute my words even now, Dales Motierre? If you are accusing me of being “off in the head”as you would label it, perhaps you should look at yourself and you’re own struggles with the demons of your mind. I'm afraid mentally healthy people don’t bring glass to there wrists, my dear lady.” Dales face went dark, as she cast her face downward, and into the lapis lazuli depths of the glowing water. She barely managed to mutter, “How do you know that…” “I see all from the spring. Gazing into it’s depths, I see everything.” Those horrible yellow orbs...softened. And deformed. Turning soft brown...brown, as the hazelnut tree. Lady Dunmaors eyes...changed, as Dales looked into them Brown eyes of infinite kindness....eyes she longingly gazed into that she knew. Those eyes belong to someone else. Someone who lay, rotting in the earth. The sickly being smiled, saying, "Is everything alright my fair lady?” Her voice changed, to a familiar voice, “ Is something the matter, my sweet Empress?" Dales eyes narrowed as she began to stutter, her hands trembled with pure terror, and the pits of her stomach contorted to actual pain. Dales managed to stutter out, "I-I think-I think I know now." The eyes she shouldn't have had remained there, as the creature smiled, a soft, but clearly malicious smile, "And what do you know, Dales Motierre?" “That…” The Empress swallowed, and mustered her courage, remembering the words of bravery Lorgar, Baldur, Rebec, Gracchus, and Maggie had told her over the years. She steeled herself, as her usual cold face of melancholy returned. She brought forth the fury of the dragon, driving away the pathetic girl she was before, throwing it back to the shadowy depths of her mind. Her piercing cold gaze fell over the thing before her, as she finished, “That this place wasn’t just built to keep people out. It was also made to keep someone in.” Dales, began to slowly withdraw, backing away from the siren in the shimmering lapis lazuli water. Dunmaor’s smile remained unchanged, as she made no move to advance, “There are things man, beast, and mer were never meant to know, Lady Moietrree.” Her brilliant white teeth, in a mere instant, began to wither and rot, underneath her veneer, and grimace, “I am one of those things.” Dales stopped, the fear leaving her. She stood her ground, and asked, “What are you? Are you even an elf?” “Once.” The grinned stretched forth, And with that, the Empress turned around, ready to speak no more, and leave this accursed prison. Only to be stopped by a soothing voice, “Wait, my lady.” Dales turned around, and despite her newfound courage from earlier, yelped, startled and surprised. The...thing stood before her, having materialized right in her face.. It’s face, right in front of Dales. Gazing longingly into her eyes. The sinister orbs of amber had reformed, moving in an infinite sphere. Dales was spellbound, she couldn’t move. The thing moved it’s moist, tightly bound hands from Dales neck, all the way to her stomach, before it brought up an object, and held it in front of Dales. A shimmering amulet of platinum, in the shape of a six pronged star. The chain that held it however, was colored a vibrant gold. A symbol of white-gold. The star itself wasn’t really a star, being much thicker, and wider than the normal shape, but that was the only thing Dales could associate it with. Each arm of the star, held a gorgeous sapphire within it’s tendril, and in the middle, was a large, blue gem. A gem of Lapis Lazuli. The same thing inside a Welkynd stone, condensed in a pure mineral. The she-elf placed the amulet briefly to her bound heart, and placed it in the fear-struck Empress’s small, pale hands, which we’re now opened. She spoke, in a gentle, calming voice, as melodic as the early breeze of the sea. “In the ancient days of yore, under the vermilion sky of twilight, Ayleid flower maidens gave their amulets of Lord Auriel to favored knights who went off to war, in the dreams of them returning it to them, under the breeze of spring.”Her eyes softened, as her purple lips became warm, “I offer you this token of my affection, in the hopes of you returning to me." She paused, her eyes reflecting the glowing blue light of the watery depths, "My knight..." Dales felt...vast magic flowing forth from the amulet. This...thing was an artifact of power. Great power. And it was being offered freely to her. Dales made...no move to turn it down. The warm smiled remained, as the maiden grasped Dales palm, and closed it. Dales held the amulet of Auriel within her cold hands, coiled like a sleeping serpent. The Lady of the Spring gently went forward, and whispered into her ear, "Call upon me, at you're own peril, my knight. I am here for you. I shall be here when you're bones are festering with maggots beneath the dark earth. I am here when the Great Destroyer devours, and restarts the kalpa. I am here for eternity. Now... " Her amber eyes closed, as she mouthed, snapping her fingers "Awaken." ****
  7. 4 points
    Theo- Lord Manderly Gracchus- Baristan Selmy Tacitus- Victarian Morane- Maybe one of the sand snakes? Idk for this one Also, I've very anti Nordic Empire, and anti Brund (the character), and anti Broond (the pronunciation). Second rate Baldur the size of Boldir more like it
  8. 4 points
  9. 4 points
    I'm on bus to Fort Benning. Got 1 hour and 45 minutes. I'll catch y'all in 3 months.
  10. 4 points
    I agree. Between it being an obscure topic, most lore fans being shit writers, and Bethesda not having much good on Shadow Magic themselves, BT may legitimately be the best author on TES Shadow Magic in the world.
  11. 4 points
    Thanks Colonel! I know I've spent a lot of time reading around to try and get a grasp on shadow magic, since the games themselves don't have much. I'm glad it's paying off. And I'm glad you like Morane as well. My next post will be another one of hers and I'm excited about it. As for your posts...
  12. 4 points
    I edited out "all at once" at the end since I repeated it lol, hate that. Anyway. Proofread as best I could before posting, but now my eyes and head hurts and that's a wrap. I apologize for any remaining errors or funny sounding phrases but I need to rest. Been a while. Btw BTCollins, I've read a few more of your shadow mage posts and I gotta say I don't think I've seen anyone write about Shadow magic better than you have. Not me, not people on the lore forums and reddit theorizing about it, nobody. Very good, and I love your character and her dynamic with her tutor. And, lol she seems pretty hot with her seductive murderous smile. You're too good at this man, keep it up.
  13. 4 points
    I think where Witchie is coming from is that a good personality and attentive leader only goes so far. Witchie gets the results, Dales tends to the people and soldiers personally which in my eyes makes them good partners. If we're to explain their loyalty to her specifically though, I think it should be mentioned that part of the loyalty to her is due to Witch, and that she gives them a needed and familiar friendly face, so it doesn't exclude Witch entirely.
  14. 4 points
    The Colovian Highlands Boldir stood at the edge of a hill, a short man on his left, and a scruffy black dog on his right. The land before them glowed as fires spread as far as the eye could see. Their heat nipped at him as it had in Riften, and the smell of death filled his nostrils. "You had best wake up," said the man in the all-too-memorable voice of Clavicus Vile. "Snooze too long and the flames will reach you." "You don't want that," yapped the dog. "Not if you plan on getting her soul back." I don't know how, were the words Boldir wanted to say, but for some reason his mouth could not open. How do I wake up? "I don't know Barbas, he doesn't seem to be trying all that hard. Perhaps I put too much faith in my latest champion. No matter. I will find someone else if he dies." "Maybe we should help him. Fellow hasn't even gotten a chance to try." Without warning, the dog bit Boldir's hand. What are you doing?! He reared away from the mutt while Vile watched, laughing. Barbas snapped again, forcing Boldir to jerk away. *** "Stop!" The single word uttered by Boldir startled Mila so much that she jerked her wrist, spilling most of the medicine that she had been lowering to his lips. The green liquid dribbled down his chin and was lost in his beard. "Damnit!" Mila set the half-empty vial aside and grabbed a rag. "Well at least you spoke. This stuff must really be working." She lowered the rag to his chin, and as she did, Boldir's left arm lashed out and struck the larger jar containing the rest of the potion. It shattered against the fireplace, spilling all over the wooden floor. "What the- No-no-no!" Mila went over to the spill and tried to use the rag soak up as much of the potion as she could manage, which was precious little. She glared back at her father, who despite the single thrash, appeared to still be sound asleep. "What is wrong with you?! Don't you know this stuff is saving your life?!" As usual, Boldir did not respond in any way. She sighed and went to wring the liquid she'd saved into a bowl. It only amounted to a few drops, which she poured into the half-empty vial. "Good going. Now instead of a week's worth, you don't even have enough for today!" Mila tilted Boldir's head back and made damn sure that he swallowed the potion. "There. Now I'm going to have to go all the way back to Dewridge. Tolvo won't be happy about that." She placed a hand on his forehead. "At least your fever seems to be gone. Wounds are doing better, too. And now that you're saying words and being stubborn again, maybe you'll be waking up soon as well." She waited, as if just saying the words out loud would force him awake. "You know, Tolvo said there are trolls out there, and I'm going to have to travel through their lands alone. Got any thoughts on that?" Boldir didn't answer, so she leaned in a little closer, weary of the possibility that he would lash out again. "Come on, you said 'stop'. Do you have anything else for me? Anything at all?" Mila gave him a light tap on the cheek, then another, though this time more of a slap. Boldir did not respond with even as much as a grunt. "Figures." Mila got up and started gathering her things into a pack. "Well since you refuse to wake up for me, hopefully you can go another day without doing it while I'm gone." She knew damn well that if he did, Boldir's first course of action would be to limp outside and start scouring the hills for her. To avoid that, she went ahead and wrote him a note using a blank page from the back of poor Haval's journal. Next, she fed Boldir some soup made from tomatoes Tolvo had brought them, placed a new wet rag on his forehead, and donned what remained of her tattered traveling cloak. "I'll be back tonight," she promised as she made her way to the door. "And I'll have some more medicine. Please don't get worse while I'm gone." *** Though they came to Cyrodiil as a group of fifteen men, the Grim Ones preferred to travel in packs of three. From the stories Trevis had heard and a few of the Nords' own boasts, three of them were apparently more than a match for ten of any 'southern' foe. They rode to Dewridge with nine. Nine Grim Ones alongside Trevis and four of his own men, all to apprehend a foe who was purportedly stuck in a drug-induced slumber. It seemed excessive, but neither he nor the Nords were willing to take any chances with this. "Aye," Thorald Gray-Mane had said as they set out from Chorrol. "He was a great warrior back in the day. Felled many an elf. And a turncloak he may be, but that only makes him more dangerous." "Do you think he could possibly take on three of your men?" Trevis asked. "Three of my men? Of course not. That's why I'm bringing nine." Now they rode on towards what looked to be a rather anticlimactic end to the months-long hunt that had nearly cost Trevis his career. And he was perfectly okay with that. He was content to leave glory-seeking to the Generals and adventurers. His job was to serve the Empire, not himself. It was midday of their second day on the road when the horses started acting up. Trevis' was the first. The stallion twitched, sending tremors down its body to warn him well before his human senses could have detected a threat. His hand dropped to his sword and he ordered the procession to be silent. Naturally, the Nords only obeyed when Gray-Mane echoed his command. Their horses were not trained the way his was, but they still bucked and whinnied something awful. One of the Nords almost fell out of the saddle, but managed to balance himself at the last moment. Then they heard a roar. "Troll," said one of the Stormcloaks. Two more roars followed in unison. "Aye," Gray-Mane said. "Lots of 'em." Their informer -an herbalist's son named Hekel- spoke with a surprising calmness. "There are lots of them in these parts. But they won't attack a group our size." Everyone remained quiet for a few moments, listening for more troll calls, and then a Grim One broke out in laughter. "Even the trolls down here are milk-drinkers!" The Nords got a kick out of that. They laughed for a bit, no doubt to hide the relief that they were not about to get ambushed by a pack of monsters twice their size. Though he did not join in, Trevis was relieved too. The last thing they needed right now was to lose someone to injuries. "So Inspector," one of the Grim Ones rode up beside him. A younger man named Luthmar. Like his comrades, Luthmar was a large Nord clad in the peculiar bearish armor, but where all the others were bearded, he stood out by only sporting thick red whiskers along the sides of his face. "What're your thoughts on your Empress, eh?" Trevis did not like the tone the Nord spoke with. "She is a just woman, and strong. I'm proud to serve her." "That's not what I meant. I got a glimpse of her in Falkreath, you know. Chest as flat as my shield, but by the gods that face..." "Hold your tongue," demanded Bentrius, Trevis' second-in-command. "You speak of the Empress as a guest in her lands." The Nord snorted. "Little man, I'd speak the same of your ma as a guest in her bedroom." "Bentrius-" Trevis started, but before he could get another word out, the man who was supposed to be a professional of the Oculatus leapt from his saddle, tackling the larger Grim One from his own with a ferocious scream. "Bentrius!" Trevis barked, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of the other Nords shouting. They drew their horses away to avoid trampling one of their own. The fall winded Luthmar, that much was clear. Otherwise the Grim One might have reacted more quickly to Bentrius' fist crashing against his nose. Instead, he took four solid blows before finally grabbing the smaller man by his shoulders and hurling him off. The tides changed then, as the two clambered to their feet and the Nord's superior size came into play. Bentrius was quick enough to dodge the first punch thrown at him, but Luthmar proved even faster, following up with a second swing that busted his lip and dazed him just long enough for the Nord to grab him under the armpits, lift him into the air, and throw him back down onto the rocky earth. By this point, Trevis, Gray-Mane, and several others had all dismounted and were closing in on the combatants. Luthmar got pulled back by his own men. Blood was visibly dripping from his broken nose, but to Trevis' surprise, the man was grinning. Bentrius, on the other hand, was still struggling to catch his breath. "Bloody Nords," he muttered as Trevis helped him up. His lip was busted and at least one of his teeth had been lost. "You gonna patch yourself up with your magic, Imperial?" Luthmar taunted. Bentrius grunted, straightened, and then turned to face the Nord. "Patch what up? You don't hit half as hard as my ma." The Nord threw back his head and laughed, joining the choir of his friends. "Perhaps I would be wise to hold my tongue around her after all!" He wrenched free of his comrades and returned to his horse. "What a brawl!" he shouted. "That was exactly what this ride needed." Trevis returned his gaze to Bentrius. "You're lucky that turned out well. Are you okay?" "Yeah," he second said. "Look, Trevis, I didn't-" "Shut up." The agent's mouth closed. "If you ever ignore me again, getting your arse kicked by a Nord will be the least of your worries. Understood?" "Yes sir." "Good. Get back on your horse." Trevis went to do the same, and found Gray-Mane waiting beside the beast with his arms crossed. "You'll have to forgive Luthmar. Despite our name, we ain't all grim." "You seem to be." "Aye, and so do you. And your friend with the bloody lip is mouthy and stupid, same as Luthmar." "He's not stupid." Trevis pulled himself up onto his horse, and as Gray-Mane did the same, he continued, "He has a better head for the arcane than the rest of us combined." "To survive the Grim Trials, the stupid ones have to be extra tough." Gray-Mane jerked a thumb back at Bentrius, who was now chatting away with several of the Nords as though they were close as kin. "He ain't any different. He's just got his magic to compensate with instead. I've met enough wizards to know that magic doesn't make you smart. It's a skill, same as any." Trevis couldn't say he fully disagreed. He had never met a mage who wasn't well read, but that did not stop them from acting like fools. They were still human, after all. Bentrius was a clever man, and a very skilled tracker, but after his display just now, it was hard to say that the Nord was completely wrong about him. Losing his temper consequences be damned was very stupid of him, and Trevis would keep that trait in mind going forward. It was not appropriate for an inspector. Turning his thoughts to other matters, Trevis asked, "Your Grim Trials, what do they entail?" "I'm not sure if Jarl Baldur would want me sharing that information," Gray-Mane replied. "And you would not believe me if I told you." So you say. Trevis thought back to the culmination of his own training. The Dunmer woman had not seen nor heard him as he'd approached. She had thought herself alone atop that wall right up until the moment his hand pressed against her back, but by then there was nothing she could do to save herself from falling. "Congratulations, Inspector," they had said afterwards. She had lost her life, and he had gained a title. Somehow, Trevis doubted that the Grim Ones' recruitment process had anything like that, but he was in no greater hurry to give Gray-Mane those details than the Nords were to give theirs. "You have said before that Boldir was a Grim One. But to my understanding, Red-Snow did not found Kyne's Watch until after his retirement." "Aye, it's true. The Grim Ones existed before the trials. We were the Nords who guarded Pale Pass and hunted traitors in Falkreath." "Say what you mean. By traitors, you mean Imperials." "Yes, Inspector. That is what I mean." Gray-Mane's face grew serious. "I have little love for your country and less for its people. But the Imperials I truly despise are the ones in my homeland. The ones who supported your last two Emperors even as they tried to steal our god. The ones who put us in chains and gave us to the Thalmor." The Grim One hesitated for a moment, and then said, "I will not forgive your people for what they did to us, Inspector. No more than I will stop hating the elves. But I do appreciate that you would not have me mince words about it. It's refreshing down here where honesty is so rare." Trevis kept a tight lip. He did not care to argue with Gray-Mane, or to defend the Empire's actions. The Nord's experiences, his losses, his opinions, meant meant nothing to him. But despite being hailed as honest, that was the kind of information that he would keep to himself. Not out of fear, but pragmatism. They needed to cooperate, and that would be a lot harder if the Grim Ones hated him. So Trevis decided to lie. "I lost loved ones to the Thalmor, myself. I promise you, I hate them and the White Gold Concordat as much as any Nord." The Nord made a sound that was a cross between a grunt and a huff. But he did not speak again for some time. Not until hours later, when Trevis rode close and addressed him. "Do you think that the herbalist could be lying?" "I know that he could be," answered the Grim One. "And that's enough to make me weary. The Stormcloak soldiers of the Rift were wiped out nearly to the man because they underestimated Boldir, and Riften burned for it." Trevis nodded. He agreed. If he was being hunted, his first effort would be to eliminate the hunters, not escape them. The easiest way to do that would be to make them think they're safe and slip up. "You and I have spoken at length about him many times, but have said little about the girl. What should we expect from her?" Gray-Mane shrugged dismissively. "She used to sell fruit in the Whiterun market, not far from where my own ma set up. I wouldn't worry about the lass. She's just a child. Probably not strong enough to hold a weapon properly, let alone hurt us with it." "If Boldir truly is asleep, then that child may be the only opposition we face." "Aye, and if that is the case, we have an easy task ahead of us. Baldur wants her alive, and so do I. The hardest part will be putting up with the tears after we explain to her that papa is going to lose his head." *** It was late in the afternoon when Mila reached Dewridge and came upon Tolvo's front door. The herbalist looked surprised to see her, but he invited her inside nonetheless. "I told you not to come back by yourself," he said. "Dangerous to be alone in the wilds. There are-" "Trolls and wolves, I know." Mila took a seat on a wooden chair next to an empty fireplace. "But I didn't have a choice. Boldir spilled all his medicine." The herbalist's eyes went wider than she'd ever seen. "You mean he is awake?" "No," she shook her head. "He did it in his sleep. Started thrashing and the next thing I knew, he'd flung the jar across the room!" Tolvo seemed to relax a bit. "A shame. But a bigger shame that you had to put yourself in such danger. You may sleep here tonight, and tomorrow I will make the journey with you to give him the medicine. Safer that way." She was already shaking her head. "No no, I need to go back as soon as possible. Tonight. If he dies because we took too long-" "The worst is past. Your father will not die." "Well what if he wakes up? I left a note that said I would be back tonight." "He won't wake up," Tolvo said, his brow lowering. "Why wouldn't he?" Mila was starting to get angry. "He's looking better, he's moving more, and you even said that it could be any day!" The herbalist hesitated, and then said, "Thrashing... is an early sign that it's working. Folk don't usually wake up from fevers like this until a few days after it starts." "You're lying..." Mila accused. She folded her arms. "Why are you lying to me?" "Damnit, child I'm not! And I'm also not about to let you go traipsing through the wilds alone in the middle of the gods damned night!" She had never heard Tolvo yell before, or even raise his voice. It was surprisingly powerful, like an officer in the army. But as she recoiled, the herbalist looked guilty and settled back down. "I promise you, I will be awake before dawn mixing up some more for him. After that, we can leave as early as you like." She glared at him long and hard, and then finally nodded. "Fine. I want to leave before the sun comes up." "Fine." Tolvo looked around, and said in a completely reverted tone, "Now, how about some dinner? Bought some deer cuts from Yagna today. Animal was walking around this morning." Mila had been in such a hurry to get here that she'd skipped every meal since breakfast. "Deer sounds good... thanks." "Think nothing of it." *** "Wake up." There was a time when Boldir might have heard the words in Carlotta's voice. But that time was sadly over. Instead, it was the string-pulling Prince of Pacts who spoke to him now, and it was all too real. His eyes flicked open. No longer was Boldir standing on a hill in the Colovian Highlands. He was on a mattress, staring at the thatch ceiling of a little house. A single window allowed in the dull orange light of an evening sun. Boldir groaned and sat up. "Where am I?" His voice sounded almost as raspy as his body was stiff. He closed his eyes and opened them, wiggled his fingers and toes. After the fog in his head started to clear, Boldir tried looking around. "Mila?" He was alone, but somehow he'd ended up back in the farmhouse that they had stopped in. Boldir remembered leaving it, but not returning. His armor had been removed and stacked in the corner, and the wounds on his chest and arms were coated in some earthy-smelling cream. Gods, what happened? He struggled to recall his last memories. He and Mila had left the house together. He had been very sick, which was noteworthy considering that he felt fine now besides in the ankle, which throbbed something fierce. So I've been down for a while. Long enough to heal without magic. Boldir slowly stood up and found that walking would still very much be an issue. Though luckily, his walking stick was leaning against the door. He grabbed it, and noticed that a note had been pinned next to it with a kitchen knife. Mila's handwriting. It read: Boldir, I doubt you will wake before I get back, but if you do, do not worry. I have not been gone long. I will be back early tonight. Went to Dewridge to get more medicine. It is a little village several hours west of here. Easy to find if you cross the creek and keep to high ground. I am telling you this in case something happens and you need to come. Otherwise please please please wait for me to return. These wilds are not safe to travel alone. Especially in your condition. Mila He frowned. 'These wilds are not safe to travel alone', she says, right before she goes out to travel them alone! Boldir looked out the window, figuring that there were still a couple hours of daylight left. If Mila was right, she would be back before too long. Using his walking stick, he limped over to a chair by the mantle and took a seat. She's been taking care of me. Gods be good, it's as if I'm some old man. There was a level of shame in that. For all his efforts to find and save Mila, it ended up being her who kept him alive. But greater than the shame was the pride, because he could not imagine the lengths she must have gone through to bring him in here and discover a village. A glance over at the table revealed that they even had food now! She is strong, and too smart by half. She'll be fine another few hours without me slowing her down. All of that was true, so why did Boldir still feel so worried? It suddenly hit him. It's the dream. A great flame had been closing in on him, a flame that he only avoided by waking up. Vile woke me. I heard his voice. But that had just been a dream. She would be on her way by now, and it would be awful if he missed her by setting off before she made it back, especially if he failed to find this Dewridge place. Have some faith in her, he told himself. Give her a little more time. Boldir did exactly that, though it was hard. He waited until the sun went down, and then waited some more, well past what most would consider "early tonight". The longer he sat there, tapping his hands and thumbing through the dead farmer's journal, the more anxious he became, and the more his dream nagged at him. "Snooze too long and the flames will reach you." That was what Vile had said. Could daedra speak through dreams? Gods damn it! Boldir got up and crossed over to his armor. She had taken much too long. By Shor, he didn't even know if that letter had been written today! If something was going on, if Mila was in trouble, he would not sit here idly and wait for her to deal with it herself. It seemed that he'd done enough of that already. After his half-ruined set of armor was on, Boldir grabbed his stick and made for the door, pausing only to grab the note she'd left for him. He thought about leaving a reply, but then decided that Mila would know where he'd gone if she found him and the letter missing. He stuffed it into his pouch and set off into the night. *** Unable to sleep, Mila opened her eyes and climbed out of bed. The room she stayed in belonged to Tolvo's son, who the herbalist claimed was down in Chorrol to purchase supplies. Apparently, the path leading away from Dewridge met with a larger one some miles to the southeast, which then proceeded on all the way down to the Orange Road and a near straight shot to the city. She was eager to put that information to use some day. But first Boldir needed to awaken and then spend some time healing and recuperating. Tolvo had already promised to introduce her to the innkeep, who he claimed was a generous soul, unlikely to turn them away even if they did not have the gold for a standard fee. It would be a suitable place for them to live these next few months. I wonder if the moons are out. Mila glanced down at her dagger. It had been cloudy the night before, and Masser and Secunda had hidden from her when she'd gone too greet them. But today the clouds had come and gone sporadically. She strapped on her dagger, put on her boots, and crept out to the main hall, where she found Tolvo sitting awake, staring out his window. "Hello Mila," the Colovian said. He motioned to a seat across from him. "Join me?" She crossed over and sat down. It was then she noticed some sort of ornament in the herbalist's hands, made of twigs and twisted grass, shaped so strangely that she couldn't make out what it was meant to be. "What's that?" "A totem. I made it for Shor." "I didn't know Imperials worshipped Shor." "Some do. They just don't know it. Recognize him by the name Shezzar instead. But out here we still keep to the old ways." That made her feel oddly excited. Perhaps there was a chance for non-Nords to enter those Halls of Valor. "Does that mean you will go to Sovngarde, then?" He cocked his head. "What was that?." "Sovngarde." Mila was amazed by the look of puzzlement that Tolvo wore. "You mean to tell me that you worship Shor but you ain't heard of Sovngarde? It's his home. It's where the great Nord heroes go when they fall in battle, to drink and sing and fight forever." The Colovian shook his head, so she continued, "How can you worship Shor without meaning to go to Sovngarde?" "Nords and Cyrods," Tolvo muttered. Guess we're more different than I thought. No, it is the mysteries of Aetherius that await me when I die, and all godly folk." It was as if her excitement had been thrown off a cliff. Of course the Colovians don't know about Sovngarde! Stupid Imperials. Why would Shor let us in when most of us don't really know him? "You alright, girl?" "I'm fine. It doesn't matter anyway." And it didn't. Her soul would belong to Vile until Boldir's contract was fulfilled. Sovngarde wouldn't be an option even if Shor didn't deny her people entry. I'm moping about the wrong problem. Mila straightened a bit and asked, "How long is it from here to Chorrol?" The herbalist frowned and glanced out the window. "Few days. Depends on if you're walking or riding." "What's the city like?" "Big walls. Big buildings. Stone streets... Uh... big trees." Aside perhaps from the trees, that sounded like most cities. "And what about around the city, the people who live outside it in their villages and esates? Do you know anything about them?" "No," Tolvo said. That was all that he said. He looked out the window again, and stood up. "Excuse me, Mila. We have some guests." It's the middle of the night. She shifted in her chair, suddenly uneasy. The Imperial who Tolvo let in was clad in dark leathers and wore a sword at his belt. When his gray eyes landed on Mila, she felt as though she were being stared at by a hungry wolf. "Thank you for sending for us," he said, and then stepped aside to let in a big Nord clad in armor just like Boldir's. The armor of the Grim Ones. The Imperial looked from the Nord to Mila. "Is this her?" Mila ran. Her chair clattered behind her as Tolvo tried to grab her by the arm. He missed, and Mila dashed into the son's bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. They're gonna find Boldir, she realized. I've gotta get to him first. The window across the room was closed, but it slid open easily. She was halfway out when the door came crashing inward and the Grim One stepped inside. "Mila." The Nord raised his hands. "It's Thorald from Whiterun. Don't you recognize me?" "Get back!" She slashed at him with her dagger. It's pale light flashed through the darkness like sparks from an anvil. And then Mila dropped outside and kept running. Around the house, she saw more armored Nords in the street, and a couple Imperials as well. Several of them saw her and gave chase. She quickly rounded the corner of another house, and then another, trying to lose her pursuers by breaking their line of sight. But this was not the Imperial City with its thousands of nooks and crannies. Every time she fled from one hiding place, there seemed to be another Nord or Imperial close enough to see her reach the next. Eventually, Mila came round a corner and found herself face-to-face with one of the Nords. "She's over here!" Mila spun and started to run back, but the Nord's hand grasped her by the collar. She snarled like some wild beast caught in a trap and sliced at the man's wrist. The dagger struck metal instead of flesh, but its magical light was enough to get him to recoil and let go. Quickly, she took off once more in the only direction that she could, which ended up with Mila out in the street with soldiers approaching from all sides. With them stood Tolvo, his face as flat and unreadable as the day she had met him. "Liar," she shouted, still turning, looking for a direction she could run. There wasn't one. "Traitor!" "He is not a traitor." To Mila's right, the very first Imperial she'd seen came into view. His left hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and in his right, he held a fat bag that clinked with the sound of coins. "He did his duty as a citizen of the Empire." The man tossed Tolvo the bag. "There will be more when Boldir is in chains." Mila could do nothing but stare at Tolvo in disgust. "Did you even help him?! Was that even medicine?!" "It was," Tolvo said. "Mostly. I'm sorry for tricking you, but I know what your father did." "You don't know shit!" Mila screamed. If not for all the soldiers, she'd have tried to kill him then and there. "None of you do!" "I'm sure we know more than you think," said the dark-clothed Imperial. "That dagger, for instance. It was the weapon used to kill Sibbi Black-Briar, was it not?" "Save your interrogations, Inspector," thundered the voice of Thorald Grey-Mane. The Grim One walked up and took a knee just outside striking range. "Mila... we know where Boldir is. Where is your mother?" "Dead," Mila spat. "The Black-Briars killed her." That seemed to surprise everyone. Thorald, most of all. The Nord hesitated for a few seconds and then nodded. "I believe you. But there is still much to explain. We are here to take you back to Baldur. We can sort everything out in Windhelm, but first I need you to hand me your dagger." Not one of the men surrounding her had their weapons drawn, but Mila knew that could change in an instant. She glanced at Tolvo again and wondered if they would be fast enough to stop her from gutting him. Definitely. Shaking from both fear and rage, Mila at last made up her mind and handed Thorald the weapon. His expression softened just a bit. "Thank you." "Eat shit." The Nord frowned, stood, and handed her dagger to the Inspector, muttering some words to him that Mila could not understand. The Imperial nodded and turned to Tolvo. "You know how to reach Boldir, correct?" The herbalist nodded. "Yes, I do. But it is a long from here, and the poison should keep him from waking until tomorrow." "Poison? You made me poison him?!" Mila went after Tolvo at a dead sprint, but was immediately grabbed and pulled back by one of the Nords. "You bastard! You craven son of a bitch! This is why Shor hates Imperials!" Mila continued to let out a string of curses and obscenities, but the men ignored her. "Nevertheless, you will take these men tonight," the Inspector said. He and Thorald gave a few orders. Mila's hands were tied, and the soldiers started off with Tolvo to gather their horses. All that remained were herself, the Inspector, two of the Imperials, and a Grim One, which was still far more than she could hope to escape from. She was led to the village inn and forced to sit in a windowless corner. The Imperials waited by the entrance and spoke in hushed tones, but the Grim One took a seat across from her. He was big like all of them, with a square jaw and thick red sideburns running down his cheeks. His nose looked like it had very recently been broken. "You might not feel like it," he said, "but you're actually lucky. Baldur Red-Snow himself ordered that no harm should come to you. Whatever your papa's done, you're still like family. I would wager that this ends well for you." Mila glared at the Nord for a few seconds, and then asked, "Baldur said you're not to hurt me?" "Aye, he was very clear about that." "I see." Mila spat in the man's face, and enjoyed watching as it changed from friendly to furious. She would have done it again, had he not shoved his chair back and stood up. "You're real funny, girl. Just remember it's us that're gonna keep that Inspector from tossing you in some black dungeon." Mila raised her bound hands. "How will I ever repay you?" "You could start by not being an annoying bitch," he growled. In response, Mila spat on him again, though the famous armor of the Grim Ones held up against the spittle. He shook his head. "The Breton, the elf, and now this. Where in Oblivion does Baldur find you people?" He started to walk away, but Mila called after him. "You haven't heard? It's Oblivion that I've come from." The Nord looked as confused as she'd expected. "Why do you think me'n Boldir are out here in the middle of nowhere?" She smiled, hoping it looked as sinister as she intended. "We're hunting for souls." The Nord glared at her for a few seconds, blinked, and then walked away. He said a few words to the Imperials and then went over to the counter to order a drink. Shortly after, the Inspector himself approached Mila and took a seat where he'd been. "This is the first time I've seen someone get Luthmar to shut up," he said. It seemed like a joke, but the man's tone and expression came across as completely serious. "I haven't told you who I am yet. Do you want to know?" "It'd be better than calling you Inspector Milk-Drinker." The corner of his lip twitched upward, just a bit. "You people of Skyrim have a very consistent sense of humor. My name is Trevis Hayne. I'm an agent of the Penitus Oculatus." Mila had heard that name during her time with the Thieves Guild. To her understanding, there were few groups in the Empire that were worse to have on your tail. Trevis might not have been as large or powerful as the Nords, but he also was under no orders not to harm her. And honestly, Mila could not tell if he intended to or not. In fact, she couldn't tell anything about the man at all, save that he was dangerous. His face gave nothing away. "What are you going to do with us?" "If the Nords had it their way, you would return to Skyrim and live happily ever after while Boldir gets his head cut off. That doesn't sound so bad to me, but I've got orders to find out exactly what happened in the Imperial City." Trevis produced Mila's dagger and held it up for her to see. "You didn't answer me earlier. Was this dagger used to kill Sibbi Black-Briar?" "Aye." What was the point in lying? He already knew the answer. "He was an evil man and he deserved what he got." "Maybe. Can't ask him now." His voice lowered, and his eyes left the dagger to lock with hers. "It wasn't Boldir, was it? It was you." Mila didn't know what would be safest to say, so she remained silent. "You want some advice?" Trevis asked, after a few moments, "Silence is always an option, but it's rarely a good one. If you'd lied and blamed someone else, I might've believed you. But silence only tells me that I'm right, that it was one of you and you're still deciding who makes more sense to blame. You don't want to be a bad daughter and pin it on Boldir, but with the slew of crimes he's committed, you're wondering if it would even make a difference if this one were added to the pile. Am I close?" "Piss off." "From what we know of the man, it seems likely that Boldir will take the blame for Sibbi no matter what you say, so your honest answer matters." She knew he was right. Boldir would say that he was responsible for Sibbi or any other deaths she had caused or crimes she had committed. No matter how absurd it stood to look, he would take the blame for all of them. He would do anything for her. *** The riders traveled single file atop the ridge. Every next man held a torch, which lit them up in the night like torchbugs, illuminating the gray Nordic armor that most of them wore. Boldir wasn't a fool. He knew what the armor meant. They've found me. Well, they hadn't found him yet. He'd spotted the torches long before they could have possibly seen him, and scrambled for a place to hide as they approached. The Grim Ones were fifty yards away now, plodding over the hills on the backs of their shaggy Skyrim mounts. At their current pace it would take several hours to reach the farmhouse and discover that he wasn't there. Boldir had to pray that it would give him enough time to reach Dewridge and find Mila first. Did they find her? Is that why she did not return? If so, he could only hope that they didn't leave as many men to guard her as they had sent to capture him. The horses drummed closer, their hooves flattening the same grass that Boldir had been walking on twenty minutes prior. He kept low, and watched them pass, and then waited a full two minutes before emerging from his hiding place. His bad ankle protested, but Boldir ignored it and started to hobble again at twice the speed he had before, forgetting caution as it was a luxury that neither he nor Mila could afford anymore. It caused him pain, but this was not nearly as severe as that which he'd felt after exiting Oblivion. Better still, his other wounds were all mostly scars and scabs now, and his bruising seemed to be gone. Combined with the drive to find Mila and escape this area, Boldir found it easier to travel now than he had in a very long time. His path took him back to the higher ground, and onward in the direction that the riders had come from. It was a long way for a wounded man to travel, with nothing to see but the earth in front of him and the moons and stars above. He wasn't alone, though. Occasionally, a wolf would howl or an owl would hoot. Once Boldir even froze up at the sound of two trolls grunting at one another somewhere to his right. He never saw the beasts though, and he thanked the gods for that. But eventually, Boldir's efforts rewarded him with the distant sight of a dozen lantern lights. He tensed up briefly, knowing that there was a very good chance that there would soon be a fight. They don't know you're coming, he told himself. You have that advantage, at least. Boldir limped the rest of the way to the village and climbed over the little stone wall that surrounded it. There were no guards, and it was so late that nobody was out in the streets. Most of the houses were dark, though there was one slightly larger building towards the center that had lit windows. Boldir made his way toward it, making sure to stick close to the shadows in case someone stepped outside. About halfway there, he heard a horse whinny somewhere to his right. He glanced around the house he stood by and spotted a three-walled stable with seven horses in it. Three of them were large and well-groomed and one was of the Skyrim breed. He figured that those must've belonged to the soldiers and that the rest were the villagers'. An idea formed in his head. Boldir started for the stable. "Hello?" Damnit. He turned and saw the shadow of a woman sanding outside her home. He cleared his throat. "Go back inside, lady. Haven't you heard that there's a killer in the area?" "Oh yes, I'd thought you lot caught him already, what with all that ruckus earlier tonight." "We'll have him soon. In the meantime, stay indoors and don't come out until morning. This man is dangerous." "Alright, sir. Thank you, sir." The woman returned to her home and Boldir breathed a sigh of relief. Had it been daytime, she probably would have screamed for help provided she knew what he looked like. Now the horses. He reached the stable. A few horses turned their heads and watched him blankly, but it was the one from Skyrim that he was interested in. They would need a sturdy mount to carry them through the hills while riding double. Boldir would have stolen a horse for himself and Mila, but they would be riding hard, and it would be safer if they stayed together. Fortunately, it was already saddled, so he just took the reins and guided the animal back out into the street. He led it down the hill and to the entrance of the village, where he tied its reins to a lantern post. The horse nuzzled him on the shoulder and he whispered. "I'll be right back." Next, Boldir returned to the stable and the other horses. Four horses for four soldiers. He did not try to kid himself. Four was too many. And he was only armed with a stick and a dagger. I'll have to be smart about this. He noted the bales of hay that were piled in one corner, and started to make his plan. *** Trevis, Mila, and the entire population of of Dewridge were startled when the screaming started. In one moment, the town had been asleep, Luthmar had been mingling with the innkeep's daughter, the Imperials had been talking quietly, and Mila had been drowsily trying to hold her eyes open. In the next, the bloodcurdling cries of a half dozen horses pierced the night and drowned out all thoughts of rest or comfort. Children cried to their parents, who peered out their windows while gripping weapons and praying that the "man who'd burned down a city" had not come for them next. Meanwhile at the inn, Mila stood still, grinning like an idiot while the soldiers sprung to action. "The stables," shouted Ruven, Trevis's chief tracker. "They're on fire!" The lead Inspector turned to his other man, Cadmir. "Stay with the girl. Do not let her leave this building." Luthmar already had his shield and axe at the ready. His grin was made ugly by the broken nose. "I've been waiting a long time for this! You Milk-Drinkers with me?" In answer, Trevis drew both his sword and the enchanted dagger. "Be on your guard." He, Luthmar, and Ruven hurried outside, leaving Mila alone to be watched by a single agent. The man positioned himself so he could see both her and the door. "Try anything and you'll bleed for it, girl. I can't afford to take chances with you right now." Cadmir looked over at the frightened innkeep and his daughter. "You two, stand outside. Warn me if anyone comes this way." The horses were still screaming. It grew shriller and more desperate by the second. By the time Trevis and the others had reached the stable, there was nothing they could do. The roof had partially collapsed and fire blazed within and without. At least three of the beasts were already dead, and Trevis' own trusty stallion was helplessly smashing its body against the walls as its hair burned. He had never seen a more frightened creature in his life. "Damnit Boldir!" Luthmar screamed. He started off down the street. "You thrice-damned coward! Come out and face us!" Trevis and Ruven turned to find a small gathering of frightened citizens rushing the stable with pales of water. "We can't let him use one as a hostage," the Inspector declared. He cleared his throat and barked, "Return to your homes! You are interfering with Imperial business!" From down the street, Luthmar thundered, "Go back inside!" The crowd broke up as people started running for their homes. Trevis nodded to the inn. "He's here for Mila. We should go back to her." Ruven agreed, and they started back. As they neared it, Luthmar glanced back at them and his eyes went wide. "Imp! Behind you!" Trevis spun, sword ready just in time to see a giant of a man leap from the shadows and jam a blade into Ruven's neck. The agent didn't even have time to drop his sword before Boldir wrenched it from his hand and swung at Trevis in a motion so swift and smooth that it had to have been planned out. Trevis barely managed to raise his own blade in time to parry, but by then Boldir had whipped around a long stick and cracked it against his head. The Inspector fell down next to his bleeding comrade, and Boldir quickly went after the Grim One while the fight's momentum was on his side. Unlike the Imperials, Luthmar had time to prepare, and had his shield up in time to easily catch Boldir's first swing. He followed up with a swipe from his axe that chopped the walking stick in two. Boldir staggered a bit on his bad foot but managed to stabilize himself. The Grim One smiled. "Wounded eh? Shame. I'd have preferred to face you whole." As the two Nords clashed, Trevis regained himself and saw that Ruven was watching him with pleading eyes, trying to mouth the word "help" but failing on account of the blood in his throat. He crawled over and pressed his hands against his friend's wound. He mustered up a healing spell, but restoration had never been his specialty and the wound continued to bleed. "HEALER!" Trevis roared. "I NEED A HEALER!" Inside the inn, Mila watched as Cadmir's face turned pale. They could hear the Inspector outside, screaming desperately for aid. The agent looked from Mila to the door, and then back to Mila, and finally to the innkeep and his daughter, who were wildly trying to tell him that his friend was bleeding on the ground. "He's bleedin' sir! And the big ones're fighting! He had a stick and a knife and a sword and a-" "Shut up!" the agent barked. His fist was wrapped so tightly around the hilt of his sword that it was shaking. "Alright, you two watch the girl. I've got to help them!" As he addressed the terrified citizens, Mila's hands darted for the dagger at his belt. The flabbergasted innkeep's cries mingled so much with the ones he'd already been giving that Cadmir failed to understand it until his own weapon was planted in the back of his spine. Now the daughter's scream was almost as loud as the horses' had been. Her father held her tightly as Mila cut her bindings and picked up the Imperial's sword. "Get back!" she shouted, approaching the door. They obeyed without question. When Mila rushed outside, she saw three things: First was Trevis, desperately clutching Ruven's bloody neck as he shouted for a healer. Second were Boldir and Luthmar battling it out in the middle of the street. Boldir was clearly the stronger of the two, as each of his blows forced his foe to retreat, but with his bad leg he was also the slower and more haggard in his movements. He was struggling to keep his balance, and the skillful Grim One capitalized on that perfectly, whipping around Boldir, taking safe swipes that would clip his armor and throw him off even more. The third thing Mila saw was her dagger, dropped not far from where the Imperials had fallen. Seeing it made her focus, it urged her to act. She ran over and picked it up, and then made a bee-line for the Nords. Trevis saw her and tried to stop her, but just removing one hand from Ruven's neck was enough to allow more blood to push through. He watched as the girl sprinted behind Luthmar, leapt onto his back, and began stabbing him relentlessly. The Nord howled in pain as blood and smoke emerged from his neck in equal measures. He tried to throw Mila off, but Boldir forced him to the ground then picked up his axe. "I'm sorry," he said, and then he finished off the Grim One with his own weapon. He took Mila's shaky hand and helped her up. The girl was covered in blood. "Come on!" They raced for the horse Boldir had stowed away, leaving Trevis alone and in shock as he continued to call for help. After far too long, a few villagers approached him. "You told us to stay indoors-" "I don't care," he shouted. "Where is a healer?!" "We don't have a healer," a woman answered. "A priest then!" "No priests either. All we've got is an herbalist." *** "Shor's bones..." Thorald Gray-Mane and his men had been in no great hurry to reach the farmhouse, where they'd hoped to find Boldir fast asleep. But they damn sure hurried back. They pushed their horses as hard as they could, and even then only arrived an hour after dawn. The scene that awaited was the stuff of nightmares. Gray smoke billowed from a ruined stable, carrying with it the fresh smell of burnt horse. Outside the inn, a group of peasants had gathered and were arguing with a bloodstained Inspector Trevis over the bodies of Luthmar and Ruven. Thorald dismounted and shoved them aside until he reached the body of his fallen shield brother. "What happened?" he snarled. "What does it look like?" the Inspector asked. "They got away! Boldir wasn't in some shack. He was here." The crowd began to disperse as the other soldiers pushed through their ranks. The mage, Bentrius stepped to the front. "Cadmir?" "Dead too," Trevis replied. "His body is still inside." He looked Thorald in the eyes. "It was the girl. She killed Cadmir and dropped Luthmar." "How does a child manage-" "By jumping on his godsdamned back and stabbing him in the neck!" Trevis shouted. None of the Nords had ever seen him so angry. "Where is the herbalist?" "I'm here." Tolvo pushed to the front of them, looking as shocked as anyone. "I swear, I didn't know that he-" "You lied to us," Trevis said. "Got good men killed. You could've even been working with him." The Colovian's eyes went wide. "Working with him? No sir, I was trying to help! I-" "Because of you, Boldir now has a horse and could be anywhere, while two of the Empress's best are dead." He looked at Bentrius. "Find a rope and hang this man. The son too." Tolvo started to plead, but Trevis wouldn't hear it. He walked over to where the crowd had reformed a little further back. "I don't know who or how, but your village has aided and harbored a traitor." He pointed to where the herbalist was being hauled off. "This is the price for treason. Remember that. Now go back to your homes." As the Inspector started to walk, Thorald joined him. "You blame the herbalist, but you had Luthmar and two of your own to make sure that this did not happen." "It wasn't enough," Trevis said. "I thought the girl might've been capable, I didn't expect her to be completely bloody deranged! I've seen soldiers struggle to take a life more than she did.... And Boldir ambushed us. Didn't give Ruven a chance to fight. I was too busy trying to keep him alive to try and stop the man. But even with a crippled leg he managed to hold off Luthmar until the girl arrived." "Gods be good." Thorald shook his head. "I've fought with Boldir. I knew what he could do... but Mila... our mothers uses to run stalls in the Whiterun market not a stone's toss apart. I bought fruit from the girl many times. She was a sweet kid." "Lots of killers were sweet kids once." Trevis knew that this changed things. Mila's other crimes might have fallen on her father's shoulders, but the deaths of two of his men had to be answered for. "We won't underestimate them again." *** Neither Boldir nor Mila had ever ridden so hard in their lives. Every night, their sturdy Skyrim mount would graze for only a short while before laying down to sleep, not wasting a moment. But it was all worth it when the highlands became low, and the trees became thick. The Great Forest masked their travels for several days as they passed from village to uninterested village, never stopping or speaking to anyone. It was only when they came upon a small monetary of the Nine that they decided it would be worth the risk to take shelter. Weynon Priory, the monks called it. They said it was once the home of the legendary Blade named Jauffre. But more importantly now, it was home to several healers. "Stendarr have mercy," declared the man who brought them into the chapel. "You two look like you tried to fight a troll. Don't worry, you're safe here. We'll do everything we can."
  15. 4 points
    Neskonungr was disqualified from the voting after being found out that he's been sending people into space illegally. Also his slogan was too hard for most to understand.
  16. 4 points
    Omg guys I'm gonna cry I found a pic that perfectly represents Baldur and Rebec's relationship:
  17. 4 points
  18. 4 points
    Now you only need to get Motierre right. And learn to use "were", "we're" and "where" correctly.
  19. 4 points
    Neskonungr - "The nose of kings." This is just a joke on how the name sounds for me as a Swede.
  20. 3 points
    Just trying to debate between 2% or whole
  21. 3 points
    On all the new posts (Czar, Celan, and Doc)
  22. 3 points
    I think Brund's summoned army might be able to mass Krojun, possibly after Brund knocks him down with his earth shaking abilities. You guys are exaggerating the K man's godlikeness. Witchie's done a pretty good job of showing his limitations. Anyone who's played a mage knows you need to fear a ) the lucky projectile or b ) the trash mob that can get in close if you're somehow otherwise incapacitated or slowed down.
  23. 3 points
  24. 3 points
    I forgot that I was supposed to tell you guys my vote for the next vote. Well, I vote for (drumroll)
  25. 3 points
    Well, Brund can now. Four of them plus Maori. And he did it ******* casually. Mila had to rely on that sneak attack bonus. Every time you kill off or **** up a character I love, I do something to make the Baldur x Iron-Brow eventual reunion more bitter and depressing. I'll have to get especially creative after this last freakin' post.
  26. 3 points
  27. 3 points
    Second parts up That'll be the last of my pre moot posts I think. Alls left is the Jarls to arrive.
  28. 3 points
    I mean more that whenever Dales is mentioned, it's never as much as mentioned that she's married. Though now that I think about it, there's a lot of things that's never mentioned about Dales. Everyone's loyal to her but no one says why. No one ever mentions her past with her father or the Thalmor. Almost all that's ever really mentioned is her sexuality like that's her only defining trait. Something that should play less of a role now that's both married and have a child. Though this is less of a criticism towards you and instead to people in general as you've had relatively few mentions of Dales. It's just something that bothers me and you just happened to make me think about it some more with your post.
  29. 3 points
  30. 3 points
    I know I said that the Josey post would be my next one, and I meant it at the time, but I really wanted to put out this last one in the TES RP before Centurion left, so I started working on it again. I might still have the Fallout one done in the next couple of days though, depending on how busy I end up being. It's pretty close to being finished. Just gotta finish the final segment and then do my proofing.
  31. 3 points
    Two of the candidates came to power by betraying their own kings. Funny how neither is the one that eats souls.
  32. 3 points
    So we've got: -A psychologically unstable wolfman. -A guy who doesn't know the concept of separating church and state. -A butter elf. -An experienced politician. They all sound so horrific. I'm gonna give it to the type of bloodsucker that I'm used to.
  33. 3 points
    I don't understand where she got the scars from. She should either have been able to heal the wounds when she got them, or have someone remove them soon after she got them. I also don't understand how she could have gotten rounder when you've stated she trains a lot. She however got a job where she's not expected fight or get shot at that much or at all. I also don't understand why she has to be a hardline soldier like most of your other characters. Her being higher nobility and having to balance her two roles would make her more unique and interesting.
  34. 3 points
    http://thevaultfalloutwiki.tumblr.com/post/123148065890/i-will-admit-one-bit-of-trickery-i-did-was They limited Obsidian's recorded voice lines so bad they only made Christine mute to help stay below the limit... And Fallout New Vegas STILL shat all over Fallout 4. This is just... ******* sad. She alone has more personality than the first ******* human named characters you meet in the game.
  35. 3 points
  36. 3 points
  37. 3 points
    This is exactly why I discard it. They people who made the cards don't seem to know anything about TES and manage to contradict it even when it should be blatant that they're wrong. Agreed on creatures that haven't been shown before. There's no reason why you couldn't use their version of the swamp leviathan and things like it. Though in general, I disregard anything to do with Legends when talking about canon.
  38. 3 points
  39. 3 points
    just remebered the joke about Boldir "blowing" Jodun this whole time
  40. 3 points
    I found this out from a co worker too. I asked her about it and she said, "Why, are you afraid?" I don't know if I can handle this chick
  41. 3 points
    LOL I dont care. Remember Colonel about...that thing? Seems like copying, but whatever, completely different even though on the surface it looks pretty similar. And excuse me, I gotta fanboy over here. I just love Jaime so much. Easily one of the most complicated characters in the series. Despite all his ruthlessness, he's one of the few I can safety say is a true knight. Cant believe why people would prefer Tyrion (Whom I still very much like)
  42. 3 points
    I feel you on this. I have something in mind for the Fallout rp that a show I watch did something similar too. Now I feel like I'm stealing that idea even though I was planning on it before I saw it on the show. Though after initially making me want to change my plan, it convinced me I should definitely do it. And oddly enough I was thinking about this again today.
  43. 3 points
    Would Jon know about that? That ***** on the beach didn't seem to. You'd think that driving their son to commit suicide by murdering his wife and hundreds of others including lots of close friends, family, and the Pope would've been a bit of a giveaway.
  44. 3 points
  45. 3 points
    My girl Danny's going to be bending two kness tonight.
  46. 3 points
    **** yeah! Omg so far this shit is great.
  47. 3 points
    So, my apartment got HBO (which we were supposed to have for the past three years but whatever) and I'll be tuning into the season 7 finale tonight since I got caught up on season 7 the past few days. I'm excited to finally watch an episode live. Also, sincerely, **** the white walkers. I love the dragons like they're my pets. I hope the Night King gets turned into a head in a jar. Also, not a big fan of this Arya and Sansa shit. Frankly it's ridiculous. Littlefinger should've died a long time ago and Arya definitely isn't this dumb.
  48. 3 points
    You just like her because she was boning Jack, lol Yes I did. I voted for Ass King. I don't get it, but I have to respect it.
  49. 3 points
    I saw it last weekend since a friend was in town and wanted to watch it. I really liked it and recommend seeing it. Redneck heist is right, and it's got some heart too. Balrog, I have played some Darkest Dungeons. I really like it, especially the art and atmosphere, but I haven't had much chance to play video games since I started working more and school starts Monday. Hopefully I can get around to it and Fallout 3 and Prey, which I got for my birthday a couple weeks back.
  50. 3 points
    You're saying that's not a good quality for a president to have?