Ya want to know what I think of this lot? Well, plunk yer ass down over there and prepare yerself for some cold, hard truths.
They’re almost all a bunch of pricks.
See that guy, looks like he murders people fer fookin’ coppers and skullfooks their corpses? That there is Brynn. He’s polite and well-mannered enough, alright; not sure if that makes him better or worse, to be bloody honest. To hear him say it, he’s been around, has some years under his floppy hat and has taken some jobs that make the others kind of squiky. I want to get the ale flowing for this cheeky cock, because he has the voice of a bard and the mind of a bandit. The fookin’ imagery!
And look at that Big Green Bastard! Lord Underbite’s a grumpy prick, ain’t he? I wonder how many babies the man has to eat a day to sustain his status as a giant, and I can’t fookin’ decide if he wants to hate fuck me or murder me. Ain’t decided which, to be blunt, is worse. He hates that I was smart enough to pick up a bow, a far more useful tool if I do say so, than his silly swords and he’ll rant and roar about how much of a coward I am, then he’ll have an arrow in his cock, provided I can hit something that tiny, then he’ll scream and cry, then I’ll laugh. Given the way the lumbering shite talks to the lady folk, he wasn’t usin’ his prick anyways.
Fiona! Firey lass with the hair to match. I rather like her, but someone needs to tell her how armour works, because Lord Underbite’s not a good example to follow for protecting one’s self. She’s hard, strong, knows how to swing a sword like she’s chopping wood. She also speaks her mind, which I like in a woman. Just tell the rest of this lot they’re a bunch of cunts and then dare them to pick a fight. She’s mighty irked at the elves, but that’s a problem a world away and someone else’s problem. I don’t think she gets that literally everyone else has more important shite to deal with than worrying about some pointy eared pricks and cats getting grabby with the Empire.
Ah, over there, the woman with stained fingers and has a lingering smell that can either be pleasant and earthy or literally goat shite? That’s Gaela. She’s a bit of a packrat, carrying a bunch of useless sentimental shite, and I can appreciate that; I wish I grabbed more from home when I left. So, she brews potions, and apparently that’s what got her fooked by the long shaft of the law because her elixir killed some sod. Heh. Maybe she can make something so pinchy fingers over there shits himself. She’s a friendly one, polite, definitely wouldn’t have a hard time convincing someone that drinking something that tastes like toe fungus is good for them. I wish she wasn’t caught up with this lot, but at least there’s somebody who isn’t an utter tosser to talk with. Maybe we can bond over foraging. Lass looks at wild mushrooms like I look at grilled venison.
Ah, fook me. That’s Cyrodiilhole the altmer. Everyone doesn’t like his tall, gangly arse because they think he’s a Thalmor spook or some shite, and I’m just here wishing he’d stop waxing poetic about the fookin’ Eight every time something inconsequential happens. ‘Oh, praise Stendarr! I took a shite and it didn’t run down me leg! Your Divine influence blesses me this day!’, and ‘Oh, that tree stump is inspiring! Let us pray for six fookin’ hours!’. Point is, elf is an uppity zealot who comforts his golden hide that everything he kills is for his fookin’ gods, not because he is a serial killing lunatic. And if he reminds us that he’s our fucking elder by two godsdamned centuries, I’m shooting him in the fookin’ knee on a full moon and hoping the wereboar find him. We get it, yer a fookin’ elf. We heard you the first eighty fookin’ times. At least he’s predictable; if he were a spy, he wouldn’t draw so much attention to himself by being a self-righteous cunt.
Pinchy Finchy. Fook that kid. Malnourished gobshite apparently steals anything that isn’t a pair of trousers, and he smells like the insides of a fookin’ cave troll. He’s got himself a dinky crossbow because his soft noodle arms can’t draw back a real bow. Even so! What kind of cunt steals from people instead of learning how to take care of himself? Shoot a fookin’ rat, they grow huge here, start a fire, and there you go, you eat for a fookin’ week. You don’t need money to live, you idiot. You just need to stop being a lazy, unprincipled clot who is afraid to get his hands dirty and actually put in any sort of effort. He speaks like he’s a learned man, which makes it surprising the scrawny prick didn’t get himself a job working literally anywhere. Hey! How about becoming a stable boy? You already look like you roll around in shite for fun, you sodding arsehole.
Berich fookin’ Macer, Sir Moneybags. Look at him. Scars and knicks all over himself, a missin’ fookin’ finger, and a flash of gold between his gums. Man does not know how to stick up for himself, and he’s exactly the kind of cunt who hires others to do the shite he’s too sissy to man up and punch his problems in the face. He’s the kind of man who pays off others to do what he’s too much of a spineless coward to do himself, and it goes to show that money can’t buy yer way out of every mess. Case in point, he grovels in the dirt like the rest of us. I’ve seen him jingle around some poisons while adjusting his shite, but I feel like he would be too much of an arse to actually go through with it.
And that lass over there with her nose buried so deep in a book I’d think she was trying to set fire to it with her mind, she’s Kiralla. Lass talks like she drinks all the time, but has a mind that’s sharp and inquisitive. I have no idea of what to make of that. She’s a mage, apparently has a history with the College and clearing out the hidey holds of Skyrim’s nasties, so she’s definitely got more balls than ol’ Sir Moneybags. For someone who reads as much as she does, she certainly doesn’t strike me as someone who minds roughing it out in the wilderness. She tells me she doesn’t like red meat… better not tell our Redguard friend over there that his chances of wooing her are shot.
Go Faruq yourself, is how I imagine his friends greet him. He’s a Redguard, and like most Redguards, he likes to kill things with a sword while trying to dress and act all fancy, like life’s a big storybook and he’s the main character. I imagine that Fiona’s going to swoon over him before long, what with his tall tales of his exploits against the Thalmor or what the fook ever, but in truth, I appreciate his companionship and the man is a rare light of brilliance when compared to the scummy lot we’re paired with, even if he does act like he has to be in top form all of the fookin’ time just in case some story telling scribe notices him down and wants to continue on the next chapter of his never ending story. Still, a man who aspires for fantasy is preferable to the self-interested and particularly cunty lords and counts that make up this land, and he does seem to want to do good by people. I think this chapter in his life is going to be one he insists never happened.
