Lemons

Under The Shadow (Witcher Interest check)

Mmmph. I think I might just claim that second Witcher spot for my big softy before the opportunity passes be by.

Under The Shadow (Witcher Interest check)

If I wrote a Witcher, he would be a quiet sort; an old. gentle Bear school giant who wants to see the best in people, but has seen so much heartache and terror that he always promises himself that he'll stay out of it next time, but never does.

Under The Shadow (Witcher Interest check)

I don't think I'm good enough for a Witcher. I'll probably either be a sorceress, or (more likely) an angry, disaffected Temerian.

Under The Shadow (Witcher Interest check)

Sounds like a plan. Been a bit since I've played the games or read the books, but I can refresh pretty quick. Count me in.

The Elder Scrolls: Legacy

Name: Aud Longspear
Age: 27
Race: Nord
Class: Skirmisher (part-time werebear berserker)

Portrait:


Sum your life so far into a single paragraph: Well, I was a hunter and a guard for the Skaal village up in Solstheim. Good hunter, good fighter. Got cocky, and decided to go after some werebears that had taken up camp in a nearby ruin. It went about as well as you’d expect for a single woman with a couple steel spears against a pack of hungry lycanthropes. I thought they’d kill me, but instead they turned me into one. I still have the claw-scar, all the way from my neck to my breast. So anyway, the All Maker isn’t exactly fond of werebears, so I got ran out of the village. Been wandering ever since, trying to find a place for myself and failing. The Companions got sick of me pretty quickly. Something about territory…?

What was the most difficult decision you've ever had to make?: Hardest thing I’ve had to do is leave home. They would have killed me if I’d stayed, but maybe it would have been right for them to do; I’m a monster in the All-Maker’s eyes, so I probably deserved to die. Packing up and leaving the only home I’d ever known wasn’t an easy choice.

Tell me how other people would describe you?: I get called intense a lot. Can’t blame them. I tend to be a little tricky to talk to at first. Hey, don’t blame me; I’m just...very point-driven. Got some stuff on my mind, you know? Other than intense...let’s see. Gruff is a big one. I don’t have time for small talk and beating around the bush, you know? I have better things to do than that. Hircine’s out there doing who knows what. Why do I need to talk more than I already do?

I also get called stupid a lot. I’m not stupid! Just because I wasn’t raised in one of your big cities and don’t know my way around a book doesn’t mean I’m stupid! I have my own skill sets! I’d like to see you hunt a horker during a blizzard to feed your people, or solve a picture puzzle in an ancient Nordic ruin to find and put down a group of necromancers that are spoiling an ancient tomb!

What are your outside interests?: I really like hunting, and I’m really good at it. I’m also not a half-bad cook. I make a mean ash yam and mudcrab stew, as long as you don’t mind strong flavors! I’m also pretty fond of riddles. I might not be the smartest, but I can figure out riddles pretty well.

What are your greatest strengths?: I’m a great fighter. Solstheim is an unfriendly place to live. Lots of bandits, reiklings, big wolves, bears, werebears...the list goes on. You want to live in my home, you need to obey the rules. And the biggest rules is that if you can’t fight, you’re gonna need to get a tribe around you, or else you’re dead meat. I have no interest in being dead meat. I can hit a troll with a spear from thirty meters, and I can fend off three highwaymen at once in melee range if I need to. Lots of stamina and strength, too. Deer can run a long way, and if you can’t chase one down if you miss a spear, well, you aren’t much of a hunter, now are you?

What are your weaknesses?: Well, like I mentioned...I’m not exactly educated. My parents weren’t big into the knowledge thing, so I never learned how to read, I never learned how to write, I never learned drawing or magic or enchantment or alchemy. Also: I can hit things really hard and really fast for a very long time when I’m using spears, but put me behind a sword or a bow and things go downhill quick. I’m not very good at them.

Oh, also, at random times every fortnight, I’ll turn into a werebear. I keep my reason--well, most of it--but it makes it hard to walk around in public, and there’s always the chance that I’ll lose myself, get really mad, and start whacking people I actually like. That usually doesn’t happen, though.

What are your aspirations for the future?: Well, let’s see. First thing’s first, I’d like to learn to read. It seems like a nice thing to know, and it shouldn’t take too long, right? I’m sure there’s someone at the guild that can teach me! Then, more important, I want to cure myself of bearness. It’s because of the bearness that I can never go back to my tribe, and even though I can never return, I still don’t want it in my head. Past that? Well...do you know the legend of Hircine’s Blood Moon? Legends say that once every age, he comes to Nirn to hunt. Hircine is the reason I can no longer live with my people. After I cure myself of bear, I want to find him, kill his hounds, and then kill him. Nobody messes with a Skaal.

Why do you want to join this guild?: I’ve been wandering for a few years now, trying to find somewhere I fit in. The Companions booted me out, the Fighter’s Guild in Cyrodiil had too many rules and it was too hot down there, and everywhere else laughed at me when I mentioned I couldn’t read. Never even offered to teach me. It would be nice to find some friends that won’t stab me when I turn into a bear. It’s a lonely road to travel when you’re friendless in Skyrim, and some people would go a long way towards fixing that.

What are your expectations of the guild?: I don’t have high expectations much anymore. All I can hope is that nobody here wants to kill me, and that I maybe make friends with one or two. I don’t think I’ve had a single friend since Solstheim. It’s a shame that Aela didn’t want me around because I was a werebear (how could she tell? It confuses me to this day), because I think that maybe we could have been good friends. But since she wouldn’t...I guess this guild is a fair shot!

Skill Level	Skill
Highly Proficient	Two-handed, Marksmanship (both exclusive to spears)
Moderately Proficient	Athletics
Somewhat Proficient	Stealth
Novice	Smithing, Acrobatics, Light Armor

Equipment Type	Item
Weapon	Replica of the Spear of Bitter Mercy used specifically in close-ranged combat, five throwing spears, old Stalhrim dagger worn on a thong around her neck
Armour	Cut-down set of carved Nordic armor
Food/Provisions	Two-liter waterskin; she hunts the rest
Miscellaneous	Leather-and-fur backpack, 7 Septims, bedroll and fur tent, spartan but effective cookset and mess kit, tinderbox and flint, extra-large quiver for spears

Iquenos: In Nomine Domini

Etoile

---

This sword is too important, hmm?

There was definitely something more going on with Pythia's sword than just being her foci. Still, Etoile couldn't afford to bring it up now; the last thing they needed was to alienate one of their already rather small operation. So, she contented herself with a small show of frustration as she rolled her eyes. "Alright, since little miss princess over here thinks her sword is better than all the rest of us and that we're not competent enough to defend her until she gets her foci back," she turned to the rest of the group, "does anybody else have any powerful magical artifacts? Old amulets, family heirlooms, something that has enough power in it that a crazy wild mage might stop and think about grabbing? Or, alternately, does anybody else have another idea that might work? I'm afraid that I've got precious few plans to go on here."

All things considered, she wasn't surprised that her plan had been dismissed out of hand. Still, she was disappointed. In a place like Ifrise, it could take days to find someone by tracking them through magical presence alone--at least, that's what her aides always used to tell her--and, as much as she was loath to admit it, she had no other plans for finding this magi. Some tactician I am. More to the point, they definitely didn't have days. While Anníbas and his Inquisitors could go die for all Etoile cared, there were innocent people on that barge that didn't deserve to suffer the same fate. Sure, maybe the doors and windows could hold out against birds for a while. But what would happen if something like a krovar ended up on deck? A wooden door certainly wouldn't stop one of those, and--in all likelihood--would distract the Inquisitors long enough for birds to rip them up. The people on the barge were standing on the sands of a slipping hourglass, and Pythia's obstinacy certainly wasn't helping.

Actually...I do have one piece of equipment that I could throw in the pot for pure amount of mana in it. But I'd rather not. She clenched her left hand on her artificial arm's shoulder, looking around and hoping for a flash of inspiration that wouldn't involve taking her arm off.

Iquenos: In Nomine Domini

Etoile

---

"Bah, if only you were all trained soldiers. I suppose I have to lay it out for you." She began pacing, hands held behind her back as she spoke. Her voice, while of course slightly vexed as usual, was calm, collected. She was in her element here, and almost wanted someone to interrupt so she could put them in their place.

"Our main advantage in this situation, such as it is, is that we know this mysterious magi's motivations. Twisting birds and krovar like that and using them to attack a land barge is a fairly clear-cut message: "I don't care about morality." And once we determine that morality is out the window, the motive presents itself." She stopped pacing and paused (perhaps for dramatic effect, though she would never admit it). "Power. Whatever this magi wants--vengeance somehow, sacrifices, solitude--all of it circles back around to them wanting to acquire power. Power over other life forms, power to attack the Imperium, power to kill a lot more people than are on a single land barge. And the great thing about knowing someone is motivated by power and only power is that they start to add predictably: acquire. More. Power. And so, my suggestion is simple: we give them what they want."

She pointed her sheathed sabre at Pythia's sword. "Whatever enchantments are on that thing, there are a lot of them. It's by far the most powerful thing that we have on us, and lest we forget," she motioned off in the vague direction of the barge, "we're running out of time. So, in plain terms: we put your sword down in the forest. We let the insane magi or a servant thereof take the sword. Then, depending on whether the magi or a servant, we either do a basic ambush or tail them until they lead us straight to their master." As she continued speaking, her voice began to grow louder, a touch less under control. As much as she wanted to project the air of being the calm strategist, this magi had made it personal once she'd ripped Etoile's thigh up. There was a grudge there now, and she relished the thought of popping an insane magi's head straight off.

"And then, once we have them where we want them, we go in for the kill, break the nexus of the circle, end the enchantment, and the Eoldysseus starts to move again. No matter how powerful they are, an ambush will catch them off guard, and there are enough of us that it would very difficult to mount an immediate counterattack as long as we're all operating under a relatively similar time frame. Simple." She thrust the sheathed sword down to the ground point-first with a sharp clacking sound, first directing an armor-piercing look at Pythia, then panning her head around to take in all of the different magi that she'd found herself working with. "Any questions?"

Iquenos: In Nomine Domini

Etoile

---

Etoile took a deeeeep breath as Zestasia continued...being Zestasia, and Pythia went off on him. She rolled her eyes. "Sparky, settle down. If he wants to eat it, let him. It can't make him any dumber. Maybe he'll die, but I mean...that's probably going to make him smarter, honestly." She stabbed her finger down on the center of the diagram. "I was never very good at finding magic other than mine; I used to have other people to do that for me. I'm a bit too rigid with magic to let it flow right. I rather like the idea of drawing the magi out, but we need something valuable and important."

She started looking around the group, looking for something that would be important enough: Nothing on Clara, mostly just clothes and traveling supplies. Same goes for Zestasia. I don't know enough about Lazulin to say if he has anything...and I don't know how much I actually trust him. Pagonia and Sparky have those swords. That's something. I wonder...

She stood up, walking over to Pagonia and poking at the sword. She wasn't particularly good at tracking magic, but she could still generally feel it. There was a spark from the sword as the touched it, but not a big one. There was some magic, to be sure, but she didn't know if the sword itself was magic, or rather if there had been enough magic used on the sword to give it some ambient stuff on its own.

Then she touched Pythia's sword, and swore a bit. There was...a lot of magic in the sword. She couldn't quite tell what kind of magic--she sighed at her lack of knowledge in this kind of stuff, despite how learned she was in magical structure and theory--but it was absolutely LAYERED with enchantments. She stepped back, giving Pythia a look. "Hey, Sparky. How willing are you to put that sword up for a minute?"

Iquenos: In Nomine Domini

Etoile

---

"Really now?" bit out Etoile caustically. "What on Vitae might have given you that idea, Sparky? Was it the murderous krovar? Or the murderous birds? Or perhaps the very specifically-aligned antimagic zone positioned along the tracks we were running on? An insane magi! What a novel idea!"

Now that she'd gotten that out of the way--honestly, do these people ever think before they speak?--she wore a more serious frown than the mocking one on her face a moment before. "Now then, if we're done spitting obvious truths, let's see if we can't find this magi. I've much to pay them back for. This whole land-barge thing was already uncomfortable enough. Making it even more so deserves a special kind of punishment."

She picked a stick up, carving a furrow in the ground with it in the shape of a heptagon, with a large circle inscribed at each angle thereof. "Now, I know this might be difficult for the less...scholastically inclined of you--" she shot a look at Zestasia, "--but ether has a tendency to like the number seven a lot. If I had to guess, for something this elaborate, there would be seven different foci forming the incantation." She used the stick as a makeshift pointer to indicate the seven points at the angles of the shape. "We break the foci, we break the incantation, and the Eoldysseus starts moving again." She chewed her lip for a moment. "Still, even in that best-case situation, we still have a maleficarum on the loose. I'd love to know where to find them, but they could be anywhere out here." She cast her hands out to the wood, then turned back to the group. "So, any suggestions?"

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

The Snake And The Dragon

Lemons, Morty
---
Nighttime, 17th of Sun’s Height

Gaius was sweating and red in the face from dancing by the time he finally broke away from the dense crowd in the town square, walking with a tipsy weave away from the press of people. Looking up at the stars, he realized suddenly that with all that had been going on, he’d neglected to worship (and it wasn’t like there were shrines scattered across the Alik’r and the Druadach) for quite a while. If memory served, there was a shrine to Arkay just outside the city, and he wasn’t drunk enough that he would trip over the gravestones. And so he walked through the dark, quiet lanes of Falkreath, the quiet calling of nightbirds accompanying him as he tried to remember the direction to the temple.

It had been rather easy for Jaraleet to spot Gaius as he broke away from the dense crowd that had gathered in his tipsy state. A frown settled on his face as he saw that the Imperial was heading in the direction that led outside of the city, he might not know the man personally but, seeing him interacting with the others in the group, made it clear that he was no stranger to the others. “It’ll probably be for the best to follow him and make sure everything is ok.” The Argonian thought. Given their current predicament, it was a rather foolish thing to go out of the -relative- safety of the town in the assassin’s opinion.

Given the man’s inebriated state, and Jaraleet’s own rather fast walking pace, it didn’t take too long for the Argonian to catch up to the Imperial. “Going somewhere...Gaius, was it, no?” He asked, unable to hide the note of skepticism in his voice. It was, all things considered, rather odd for someone to leave the festivities when they were in full swing as it stood and, in truth, while the other members of the group, those that had been there since the Jerall Mountains expedition, seemed to be familiar with the man, he was still an enigma as far as the Argonian assassin was concerned. “You’ll have to forgive me if I seem overly suspicious but, well, it is rather strange for someone to leave a feast in the middle of it, especially to go outside the city itself, wouldn’t you agree?”

Despite his intoxicated state, Gaius was still a soldier, and so when he heard a voice from behind him in the middle of the night, he whirled around, arms reaching to where his weapons would ordinarily be. A moment passed before he realized that he had no weapons with him at the moment--he would need to see the blacksmith--and that the person behind him wasn’t a danger to him, at least not now. With a sigh, he relaxed, squinting at Jaraleet and chuckling a little bit. “Never been to Falkreath, have you? Come on then, I’ll show you where I’m going.”

He beckoned, and--drawn by the light of candles--he arrived at the graveyard. Even the keeper of the graveyard was at the town square. Though the sounds of the party could still be heard in the distance, he felt isolated, contained in a bubble of quiet tranquility that was sorely lacking in his recent life. He stepped up upon the threshold of the Hall Of The Dead, and knelt down. Before him was the ever-familiar interlocking squares and sphere of Arkay, backed by candles that silhouetted it with a gentle light. Closing his eyes, he began to pray.

The reaction speed from Gaius had surprised him but, even so, Jaraleet hadn’t been worried, having already noticed that the man was unarmed. “No, can’t say that I have been. This is my first time on Skyrim, as a matter of fact.” The Argonian replied, nodding when Gaius offered to show him where he was going.

The assassin followed the Imperial in silence, but the presence of the tombstones and the candles clued him in soon enough to where Gaius had been heading before he had interrupted him. When Gaius entered the Hall of the Dead, Jaraleet remained a respectful distance from the man as he prayed to Arkay waiting until he was done before he spoke again. “I must admit, I didn’t figure you as a religious man.” He said, before pausing for a second. “Although, admittedly, I don’t know you all that well...and my people are ather different from yours when it comes to worshipping, so that might have played a part as well.”

Gaius stood, eyes still lightly closed, and sighed out a heavy breath. It felt good to be so close to a Divine again after so long. “The Oblivion Crisis nearly destroyed my home. It was only Akatosh that saved us. What sort of Imperial would I be if I didn’t pay my dues to the gods?”

Then he turned--still stumbling slightly--and stared at Jaraleet. The candles behind him cast his face into darkness, leaving him almost entirely a shadow. “What do you worship in Argonia? All I really know is that you come from a tree called the Hist, at least...somehow. What is your name for Akatosh?”

“To your first question, what kind of Imperial you’d be if you didn’t worship your gods, I believe it is something that you already know the answer to. Or at least I think so, I doubt that anything I’d say would have too profound an impact on what you think. But I can see why you’d have such a reference towards your gods, the sacrifice of Martin Septim was a great one and, unlike the Thalmor, I don’t believe such a sacrifice should be erased...even if we Argonians were holding against the forces of Oblivion.”

He paused for a second as he pondered on the next question that Gaius had made to him, thinking on how to answer it. “It is….complicated to say.” Jaraleet finally began, crossing his arms over his chest. “What you call Akatosh we, or at least so says the myths passed down by the Adzi-Kostleel tribe of Murkmire, call Atak, or the Great Root if you’d prefer. We believe the growth of Atak, and from it’s confrontation with the serpent Kota, and subsequent fusion into the being known as Atakota, that Nirn sprang forth.” He continued on, pausing for a second to allow Gaius to process the information that had been relayed to him.
“Along with this there’s the presence of the Shadow, which devoured the roots and gave us the knowledge of mortality, but leading to the division of Atakota into its original components.” He paused again, realizing that the Imperial probably wouldn’t understand some of the terms that he was saying. “To clarify, the serpent Kota is the being that is usually associated with the name of Lorkahn, as for the Shadow, it is none other than Sithis itself. Are you following me so far? As I said, it is a complicated tale.”

Gaius blinked for a moment, eyelids drawing together in something like confusion. “So...Akatosh and Lorkhan fused together and created Nirn. And then Sithis ate them, which created mortality and divided Akatosh and Lorkhan again?” He sighed, knuckling his eyes. “Maybe it’s the mead, but I think I get it. For the most part. Do go on.”

Jaraleet couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle, a smile forming on his face. “That is the gist of it. The myth ends with the Shadow re-awakening due to the confrontation between Atak and Kota, consuming them both and shedding the skin that was Atakota. In this way, the Shadow covered all roots and promised to keep them safe.” He finished, stepping closer to the Imperial soldier and patting him on the shoulder. “That's it, how we Saxhleel see the creation of the world.” Jaraleet said, pausing for a second as he pondered whether or not to say what was in his mind before, in the end, deciding to give voice to his thoughts. “I am surprised that you didn't so much as flinch when I mentioned Sithis, giving what people usually know of it.”

“Probably the drink,” chuckled Gaius. “But, seriously. Maybe if you killed for Sithis like the Dark Brotherhood used to, then we’d have a problem. But as it is? It’s Sithis. It exists. I mean,” he laughed again, “it’s not like you murder in its name. Death’s always there, watching over our shoulders.” He nodded respectfully at Arkay’s shrine. “And as long as death is there, so is Sithis.”

“You’re very eloquent, by the way,” he added suddenly. “I’m impressed.”

“Well put. Though I should clarify that Sithis isn’t just death itself. I can’t deny that groups like the Dark Brotherhood existed, that Death isn’t a part of Sithis, but it’s more than that. Sithis is change, and all that entails. It is life and death, it is the tree that grows, changes, and dies, in that Sithis is also present.”

He paused for a second when he registered that Gaius had called him eloquent, causing the assassin to let out a sheepish chuckle. “Thank you, I’ve been called many things but never eloquent.”

Gaius raised his eyebrows. “‘It is life and death, it is the tree that grows, changes and dies, in that Sithis is also present?’” He smirked. “And you say you’ve never been called eloquent.” The world swam lightly around him as he stepped heavily forward and laid a hand on Jaraleet’s shoulder. “When we liberate the Empire from these Dwemer dogs, I’ll see to it personally that you get a powerful position in the Legion.” He didn’t usually toss promises about so liberally, but communing with a Divine (and drinking) had put him in a fantastic mood.

“That is, if you want it,” he added as an afterthought.

The offer from Gaius caught him by surprise. Him, a member of the Imperial Legion? If he had been the same Jaraleet who had set off from the Imperial City he’d have laughed, said something about how the Empire had nothing for his people so why would he want to be part of the army that had made it? But he wasn’t the same Argonian, and the offer gave him pause.

“I’ll...think about it, Gaius.” He finally said, still processing the offer. “It is true that I’m a fighter, but I am not sure if I’d be a good leader of soldiers. Or a good soldier for that matter.” He said, letting out a soft chuckle. “But I thank you, truly. Never in my life has someone made an offer, a promise, to me of that sort.” Jaraleet said, smiling at the Imperial man.

One last warm smile came to Gaius’ face. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my service in the legion, Jaraleet, it’s that the leaders who think they’re the best are often the worst, and that the reverse is also true.” He stepped back, giving a sort of casual, offhand salute. “Just remember that if you’re ever in the Imperial City, the Guard is always open to you.” The smile turned to a kind of lopsided grin. “Now, I’m going to see about getting some more mead.”

“Thank you Gaius.” The Argonian said, before grinning at the imperial soldier. “And you best hurry, otherwise I think you’ll have trouble getting some more mead.” Jaraleet said, letting out a soft chuckle. “As for me, I think I’ll abstain from the festivities. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

With that, Gaius wove away, back towards the festival. The Argonian followed in his wake shortly afterwards, albeit heading further away from the festival rather than back towards it like the Imperial had done.