Witchking_of_Angmar

Allies
  • Content count

    1,378
  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Days Won

    34

Community Reputation

707 Cookie Bandit

About Witchking_of_Angmar

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Carn Dûm

Recent Profile Visitors

1,902 profile views
  1. Ah, yes. I remember talking with Doc about that. Especially the battle between Jon and Ramsey. It was so stupid it hurt to watch. You'd think that the writers would have adopted the more thought out approach to writing from when they followed the books in the early seasons.
  2. Playable or redeemed doesn't matter. Killing the Empress doesn't exactly make you a hero just because you in the process set things up for Corvo to make it happen. If anything it just shows how chaotic and unpredictable the world can be.
  3. That's like saying the Spymaster is also a hero for setting up the assassination.
  4. I doubt he'd have the Mark. So far it seems like the Outsider only gives the Mark to people with the potential and desire to cause great change, but could also use a little help on the way. Which makes sense as the Outsider seems to only want an interesting stage play to watch. So I think Boldir's counterpart would be very likely to receive the Mark. I think that may more have been because of really poor optimization. Dishonored 2 ran like shit on most computers when it launched.
  5. If you got Steam it's dirt cheap right now.
  6. What about the Tynes Doc?
  7. Don't know about Karsh. It would depend on if he was created during the rat plague or anything in Dunwall. If he however was created by Krojun's counterpart Karsh would however be practically the same.
  8. I guess we both like such questions. Especially how you liked the "your character as a game npc" question. As for my characters I would say Krojun would be prehistoric. A man marked by the Outsider and used that power to carve out a kingdom in Tyvia. I'm pretty sure he'd be a character the Outsider would love to watch; ambition, vengeance, bloodshed, scheming and so on. Would be buried in an underground temple that is still intact and hidden. Stalks would be native of Pandyssia that would have come to the Empire to work as a mercenary. Titus would be an Overseer in the Abbey. A rather benevolent and almost preachy guy that would be quick to tell on/punish those in the Abbey that don't hold up to his moral standards.
  9. All this talk of Dishonored makes me want to ask the same question but instead cyber- and steampunk it would simply be the Dishonored universe.
  10. I want to go with steampunk, but I can't get any good picture for it. So cyberpunk. Krojun would be some kind officer and strategist with high ambitions. Don't quite know if he'd work for someone or run his own gig. I guess that would depend on the power structure of whatever world he would be in. Needless to say he'd be heavily augmented and use lots of tech as stand-in for magic. Karsh would be a sentient AI virus that follows Krojun around akin to as Cortana does in Halo. Stalks would be mercenary, with specialized augmentations and specialized in underwater, swamp and jungle warfare. Titus would be a guardsman working for the church/temple of dominant religion.
  11. The forest was calm and quiet around them. The sky had only a few dots of clouds and the sun was beginning to set in the horizon. The wind was soft and refreshingly cool. But it brought little comfort to the ragtag group of survivors that made their way through the woods. They were what remained of mages that had tried to start anew in the elven village. Their number was barely a bit more than a dozen, not even a third of what they started out with. Desperate and confused they simply wandered forward, to where none knew, only that it was away from the elven forces. With one arm around the neck of a fellow mage named Harald, Yornar limped forward the best he could. The arrow stuck in his thigh hurt but he had gotten so used to the pain that he barely registered it anymore. At least it was a relatively harmless wound and no artery had been wounded. Not like another mage that had been hit in the shoulder and bled to death an hour ago. Without enough magicka to heal her and for fear of the elves catching up with them they had simply left her behind. The fear and the desperation was all too familiar to Yornar. He hated himself for letting happen again, even though there was nothing he could have done. The elves had come in a well organized and too large a force. None except Yornar had had any experience with battle, and his experience did not extend to open battle or defending a settlement. It had not even been a battle but instead a desperate escape with the mages mostly only protecting themselves as best they could. Only a few even cast any spells in retaliation, though few managed to even really hit anything. Yornar had been the most successful among those and that had only made him a bigger target and was why he was currently limping forward with no magicka to properly heal himself. None said anything on their entire journey. No questions about where they were heading or what was going to happen to them. They only stuck together for unspoken agreement that each and everyone of them would likely die on their own. Though Yornar knew that agreement was frail and that if they were attacked they would scatter like dandelion seeds to the wind. After much wandering they stumbled upon a small cabin among the trees. It looked like it had been abandoned for a few years and judging by some of the stuff lying outside it had been a small hunting lodge. It wasn't much but it would at least provide some cover for the night, most importantly hide the light of any fire of theirs. Not that they would need a fire for more than light. It wasn't that cold outside and they had no food for them to cook. There was no well or stream nearby that they could see but they knew one must be nearby as no one builds a house too far from a water source. But it was of little comfort for empty bellies and as such no one bothered to go look for it. The door was ajar and the inside of the cabin was oddly untouched. There was a small wooden table in the middle with two stools on opposite ends. On the table was a couple of platters and mugs. There was some sludge form of dirt on the platters that might once have been food. The mugs were however empty. The roof had a few holes in it and spiderweb covered more than a couple of corners. There was a bed in the far right corner with an animal fur on top of it, but the fur had long since become dry and stiff, more fit for bugs that did their best to eat holes in it. In the middle on the far side wall of the cabin was a small hearth that was filled with ash and soot. A layer of dust and dirt covered much of everything inside the cabin. Harald led Yornar into the cabin so Yornar could sit down on the bed. The arrow made it impossible to sit straight and instead Yornar had to sit slightly sideways so it wouldn't touch the bed. "Just give me a moment. I can handle this. Done it before," said Yornar with a strained voice. "You people should go look for food. Can't wander forever on empty stomachs." "Alright, we'll give you some room then," replied Harald before he turned to the rest of the mages that did their best to fit into the small cabin. "Come on people, get out there and put as many trap runes as you can. With some luck we'll have something to eat come morn." Everyone except Yornar began to shuffle out of the cabin and soon enough Yornar was alone. He waited a listened a bit to everyone leaving and then scattering into the woods, hoping no one would run into the elves or get lost. But Yornar knew there was nothing he could do about that and instead shifted his focus to the more hurting matter of the arrow in his leg. With one hand he conjured up and prepared a healing spell while he grabbed the arrow with other. He braced himself and counted to three, then pulled as hard and quick as he could. He ripped the arrow out of his flesh, which caused him to squeal painfully, before quickly applying the healing magic. The spell was soothing and after a while his leg even felt whole, although the pain still lingered. Slowly Yornar stood up and tried to walk around the table in the cabin to test his leg. It hurt a bit extra every time he shifted his weight to the leg, but it felt he could still walk without any real problem, and hopefully run if it ever came to it. After his little walk Yornar began to look around the cabin for anything that might be useful. On the inside he found just nothing but an old, half rusted dagger and a fishing pole that had a line he wouldn't trust to hold even smallest of fishes. On the outside he found a small shed on the back of the house where old and half rotten pieces of firewood sat neatly stacked on top of each other. Yornar picked out the best and least rotten pieces and brought them inside. He cleaned out the hearth with some magic before placing a couple of pieces in it and the rest next to it. Though he decided to wait with lighting the fire till after the others had come back and instead used his magic to clear the dust and dirt on the floor. When that was done he simply sat down on a stool and waited for the others to return. Time passed and nothing happened. Yornar did not know how much time had passed when his eyelids began to grow heavy as he began to long for sleep. Yet he fought to stay awake to at least wait to see if the others would find their way back. Eventually though he decided to at least rest his eyes and head for a little on the table with his arms as a pillow. He remained like that in a state of half sleep for what felt like seconds, or maybe minutes. Then suddenly he felt a chill in the air and an unnatural and eerie sound that sounded almost like how a strong wind does when passing by one's ears. Yornar recoiled upwards from the table, almost falling backwards from his seat. He opened his eyes to see a skull with a loose and tilted jaw floated in the hair in front of him, opposite of the table. It bore a translucent shroud that covered the scalp and slowly wavered in the air behind and below it. With dead and hollow eyes it looked straight at Yornar. Fear and a sense of futility gripped Yornar as he locked eye contact with the wraith. He wanted to conjure up a spell to banish this creature. But he didn't know what spells would be effective and he felt if he cast wrong spell first he wouldn't get a chance to try out a second. So instead he simply sat there as if frozen. His mind tried to rush through the spells he knew but was continuously distracted by a fear and wonder of what the wraith might do. Then he managed to break eye contact with the wraith so he could see the door to the side behind it. He wondered maybe he could escape instead. But almost as soon as he had broken the eye contact the wraith lowered its jaw even more than should have been physically possible and let out deafening shriek. Yornar covered his ears in pain with his hands and recoiled in fear and chock so much so he fell down from the stool. Feeling he could do little else he closed his eyes and simply hoped the ghost would go away. "Yornar!" he then heard in the distance from outside the door. The shriek ceased. Yornar opened his eyes and the wraith was gone. Soon the door opened and Harald walked in with a couple of other mages in tow. "What are you doing on the floor?" said Harald, looking a bit puzzled. "You heard it?" asked Yornar, doing his best to hide his fear. "Heard what?" Harald now looked even more puzzled. "I guess I just fell asleep and had a nightmare," said Yornar as he got up. He doubted his own words but it felt somehow more plausible than the others not hearing the shriek. "Cleaned out the floor so we could sleep on it. Also prepared for a fire in the hearth. Though I suppose you didn't manage to catch anything." "No we didn't," replied Harald. "The other might have though. Hopefully they will be back soon." "Yeah, let's hope so." Yornar put the stool he had fallen down from back and sat down on it. Harald went up to the hearth and with a wave of the hand a flame ignited the logs. Soon enough they had a nice and cozy fire going. And after that the rest of the group trickled into the cabin one by one. All of them had made it back. A few of them even brought some berries. It wasn't enough for everyone or even a few to still their hunger. Yornar passed on the the berries with the excuse that they should have it more than him, though the truth was that he wasn't really hungry anymore. The memory of the wraith still lingered in his mind. He wondered if it had really been a dream, and whether or not he should tell anyone about it. In the end he decided against it, figuring he shouldn't bother and scare the others unnecessarily. Instead he opted to take the night's watch. This time he managed to stay awake much more easily. The night's hours grew long and Yornar passed the time by thinking and pondering; on what he should do, on what he could do, about the supposed ghost and the elves. Ideas were formed and discarded. Then when he got the silly thought of somehow sending the wraith against the elves he got an idea.
  12. Interesting. I'll probably never have any real use for it, but I agree that it will probably help with continuity for your writing. Totally unrelated but I just noticed that a city in Hammerfell is called Skaven. Something I find a bit funny as that's the name of the race of ratmen in Warhammer.
  13. Orian stood before the Lord and Lady Celemyon in the throne room. The hall itself was grand with a sharply arched roof high above them. Pillars, decorated with delicate carvings of flowery vines, held up the roof and long banners with emerald green background with several smoothly intertwined lines running along the edges, framing the exquisite silver arrow that was the symbol of the Celemyons. The hall itself was made of imported marble of highest quality and glistened in the sunshine that came in through the tall windows that lined the upper half of the walls on both sides of hall. And all around the hall stood various nobles of lesser houses that always held the Celemyons company and vied for even the slightest of attention. The two thrones at the far end stood on an elevated platform surrounded by a circular stair with eight steps. Both thrones were made of marble and were equally impressive, but differed in theme; the Lord's throne had a gold covered, swirling sun at the top of his throne with a crystal in the middle that glowed in a bright, golden light. The rest of the throne was carved as if made of liquid sunlight streaming from the sun atop it. The lady's throne was carved as if it was made up of delicate vines that sprouted stars instead of flowers with small crystals that glowed in a silver light. The Lord and Lady wore complimentary silk clothes in emerald green and silver, tight fitting around the torso to show off their well sculpted bodies (that most likely had been sculpted), and more free flowing around the forearms and lower legs. Lord Celemyon tried to look calm, but Orian saw in his eyes that the great man was displeased. Lady Celemyon however managed to look calm but her inquisitive eyes made Orian even more uncomfortable than the Lord's displeased look. "Is that all?" said Lord Celemyon. "Yes," said Orian as he lowered his gaze, doing his best to look humble instead of ashamed. "Entire village gets slaughtered by... something," said Lady Celemyon, her voice dripping with venom. "And you don't even dare to stay to see what it is. Instead you fled, abandoning your duty, your charge without as much as a fight." "The village was already lost," said Orian in the most humble and dignified tone he could muster. "I had to flee so I could bring word back about what had happened." "I'll not hear any of your excuses," said Lady Celemyon. "You know the punishment for abandoning one's duty," said Lord Celemyon. "But I feel generous today." "Send me back. Give me a second chance," said Orian, his fear and desperation coming through his voice more than he liked. "We will," said Lord Celemyon. "Thank you," said Orian with a badly hidden relief. "I will lead-" "You will not lead anything," interrupted Lord Celemyon with a stern voice. "You failed to lead the defense of your charge the last time," said Lady Celemyon with a slight mocking tone. "We'll have someone more capable lead the retaking of our lands. And the hunt for this... thing that defeated you." "You're hereby demoted to the lowest rank among the rangers," said Lord Celemyon. "You will have no authority over anyone. Not even the slaves. And perhaps after a few decades of service in the north, we will pardon your offense." "Thank you. You are the most kind and forgiving," said Orian, even though he hated almost every word coming out of his mouth. He was now almost on par with the slaves. A great shame and dishonor that hurt more than any physical wound he had ever received. Lady Celemyon's lips curved upwards in small smile, though Orian couldn't tell if she was mocking or indulging his words. Her husband however only looked a bit relieved. He leaned back in his throne before saying: "Now leave." "Thank you," said Orian again, this time with a low bow while slowly walking backwards. Then as Orian turned away from his Lord and Lady he caught a glimpse of the courtiers that all looked upon him with a mixture of contempt, disgust and curiosity. With quick steps Orian left the hall. It was a great relief for him to get away from all those unkind eyes. Yet he knew it was still far from over. He wondered who he would get to serve under. But in the end it wouldn't matter that much. The only thing that mattered was that he needed a chance to redeem himself. He would bring the responsible to justice and claim great lands and wealth for his Lord and Lady. Only then would he get the recognition he felt he deserved.
  14. Reasons or excuses, Yornar does horrible stuff with callousness and an end goal in mind. For Theo I am curious if he has some sadism in him.