Leidenschaft said Mine's in a few days.
LET THE SURPRISE PARTY PLANNING COMMENCE
Though the both of you have missed the Piscean boat, an additional two March Hares is still awesome.
Nyxella
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STATUS: "So remember, to look up at the stars and not down at your feet... It matters that you don't just give up." - Stephen Hawking 7 yrs ago
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"So remember, to look up at the stars and not down at your feet... It matters that you don't just give up." - Stephen Hawking
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Happy Birthday, Voltaire! May you attain excellence through questing and booze.
LET THE SURPRISE PARTY PLANNING COMMENCE
Though the both of you have missed the Piscean boat, an additional two March Hares is still awesome.
LET THE SURPRISE PARTY PLANNING COMMENCE
Though the both of you have missed the Piscean boat, an additional two March Hares is still awesome.
CELEBRATIONS, we has more fanfic! Reading your earlier chapters now, Cairo'. You are a madgod genius.
Rtron, you rock! Thanks for the fun ride, you three :D Enjoy the inbox silence, lol.
Aww, thanks guys! Aren't they just the best four people to shove into a room filled with sharp things and fire?
Aww, thanks guys! Aren't they just the best four people to shove into a room filled with sharp things and fire?
^Walking Dead, yes! But if you make my character the equivalent to, or based off, that infuriating blonde, I will cut you.
Hello Helgathe, meet Thyra.
Hello Helgathe, meet Thyra.
En-route to the City of Helgathe:
Verdant barriers surrounded the eastbound path, providing the perfect cover for a camp less than a day's walk from the city. Beautiful as it was, the rainforests and grassy plains were home to a myriad of alien life-forms, some pulled directly from a traveller’s log, and others from a dream. To a band of foreign travellers, it yielded countless reasons to remain on edge. The new surprises gave rise to an alertness that bordered on paranoia, and Thyra came to appreciate that which she despised - the southern sun. Where the route emerged from the merciful shade, all but the most hostile of fauna withdrew their pursuits. Foreign or not, none were immune to Hammerfell’s fiery whims. At first, she balked at the offer of a seat aboard the wagon, on account of the code written in her blood. By the third hour, the disadvantages of her Nord heritage began to show, and through sweltering heat and silent swearing, her resolve had seeped out through every pore. Indeed, wagons were a common mode of transport back home, but they were the choice of upper class milk-drinkers ripe for the picking. For those in her caste, it was one of two things: a payday or a vessel to judgment day. It went without saying that her mood was not as hospitable as it was the previous night.
Before sunset, Rashad announced the final mile, a time to take precautions, if one was so inclined. By observing their manner of preparation, the Nord could make accurate guesses at each person’s profession if she didn't know it already. Some slid their weapons into concealments, or took a final tally of the potions, herbs and arrows carried with them, whereas Thyra made sure to walk the rest of the way so as not to appear incompetent. There were parts of her attire that hugged the broad form beneath, and aside from the cloak hanging loosely at her shoulders, little else could shield her weapon from suspicious eyes. It was a risk she deemed worthy to take. Sure, the steel axe was standard edition and battle worn, but the small nicks in its head, notches marked on the helve, and the balding leather straps that held it together, made it hers. The events that took from it its storefront sheen, were what molded her into the person she was now. That is what made it irreplaceable, and that is why it went wherever she did.
Their destination soon became a distant but distinct image in the haze before dusk, growing larger as the shadows grew taller. The city of Helgathe was a fine ornament on a clay mantle, guarded by golden men from a bygone age. Fortunately, Thyra’s cover role as a caravan escort excused her anxious and disgruntled demeanour. After a short pass of time at the Western Gate, Rashad summoned the column forth and deeper they went, into the grand interior of Hammerfell’s jewel. Skyrim boasted its own wonders of stonemasonry, but very few, if any, possessed the elegant beauty that dressed every corner and avenue. Brightly coloured banners stretched high across the streets, while statuesque figures held vigilance over the townspeople, and they themselves were an equally exotic bunch. But none more so than the deep elves that had risen from fabled memory. The sight of their patrols, sparse as they were among the natives on their payroll, struck the Nord as something equally wondrous. Though the sentiments powering their directive was never more clear than when she saw the opposing reactions drawn from the Redguard locals. As Rashad recounted the events of their occupation, she vowed to help collect that blood debt.
-- Helgathe, The Marketplace, 16 Rain's Hand --
”Why is it always the elves causing enough trouble to piss off a nation?” she wondered silently, lifting her eyes from the coin in her hand to stare out across the maze of stalls. The sky wore a darker shade of purple than when they first entered the home of Darak Mashad. It fanned away the blazing trail left in the sun's wake, spreading cool and quiet onto the marketplace below. A few merchants still lingered in the aisles, sweeping the pavements clean, tending to their stock with pride, and catering to a thinning crowd of consumers and collaborators. Thyra’s elbows pressed into the countertop at her back, where a jolly voice from within listed fruit options to a lady who smelled of spices and jazbay. A half-eaten apple filled the other palm, given as a courtesy along with the directions to a few places she wanted to visit. At the mention of Doshin Ismal, he immediately stiffened, so she offered to look into the recent thefts plaguing his imports to help loosen his words. Technically, this wasn’t the same as taking a contract, but seventy septims could more than afford her spartan demands, and the reward for this was pertinent to the cause.
Verdant barriers surrounded the eastbound path, providing the perfect cover for a camp less than a day's walk from the city. Beautiful as it was, the rainforests and grassy plains were home to a myriad of alien life-forms, some pulled directly from a traveller’s log, and others from a dream. To a band of foreign travellers, it yielded countless reasons to remain on edge. The new surprises gave rise to an alertness that bordered on paranoia, and Thyra came to appreciate that which she despised - the southern sun. Where the route emerged from the merciful shade, all but the most hostile of fauna withdrew their pursuits. Foreign or not, none were immune to Hammerfell’s fiery whims. At first, she balked at the offer of a seat aboard the wagon, on account of the code written in her blood. By the third hour, the disadvantages of her Nord heritage began to show, and through sweltering heat and silent swearing, her resolve had seeped out through every pore. Indeed, wagons were a common mode of transport back home, but they were the choice of upper class milk-drinkers ripe for the picking. For those in her caste, it was one of two things: a payday or a vessel to judgment day. It went without saying that her mood was not as hospitable as it was the previous night.
Before sunset, Rashad announced the final mile, a time to take precautions, if one was so inclined. By observing their manner of preparation, the Nord could make accurate guesses at each person’s profession if she didn't know it already. Some slid their weapons into concealments, or took a final tally of the potions, herbs and arrows carried with them, whereas Thyra made sure to walk the rest of the way so as not to appear incompetent. There were parts of her attire that hugged the broad form beneath, and aside from the cloak hanging loosely at her shoulders, little else could shield her weapon from suspicious eyes. It was a risk she deemed worthy to take. Sure, the steel axe was standard edition and battle worn, but the small nicks in its head, notches marked on the helve, and the balding leather straps that held it together, made it hers. The events that took from it its storefront sheen, were what molded her into the person she was now. That is what made it irreplaceable, and that is why it went wherever she did.
Their destination soon became a distant but distinct image in the haze before dusk, growing larger as the shadows grew taller. The city of Helgathe was a fine ornament on a clay mantle, guarded by golden men from a bygone age. Fortunately, Thyra’s cover role as a caravan escort excused her anxious and disgruntled demeanour. After a short pass of time at the Western Gate, Rashad summoned the column forth and deeper they went, into the grand interior of Hammerfell’s jewel. Skyrim boasted its own wonders of stonemasonry, but very few, if any, possessed the elegant beauty that dressed every corner and avenue. Brightly coloured banners stretched high across the streets, while statuesque figures held vigilance over the townspeople, and they themselves were an equally exotic bunch. But none more so than the deep elves that had risen from fabled memory. The sight of their patrols, sparse as they were among the natives on their payroll, struck the Nord as something equally wondrous. Though the sentiments powering their directive was never more clear than when she saw the opposing reactions drawn from the Redguard locals. As Rashad recounted the events of their occupation, she vowed to help collect that blood debt.
-- Helgathe, The Marketplace, 16 Rain's Hand --
”Why is it always the elves causing enough trouble to piss off a nation?” she wondered silently, lifting her eyes from the coin in her hand to stare out across the maze of stalls. The sky wore a darker shade of purple than when they first entered the home of Darak Mashad. It fanned away the blazing trail left in the sun's wake, spreading cool and quiet onto the marketplace below. A few merchants still lingered in the aisles, sweeping the pavements clean, tending to their stock with pride, and catering to a thinning crowd of consumers and collaborators. Thyra’s elbows pressed into the countertop at her back, where a jolly voice from within listed fruit options to a lady who smelled of spices and jazbay. A half-eaten apple filled the other palm, given as a courtesy along with the directions to a few places she wanted to visit. At the mention of Doshin Ismal, he immediately stiffened, so she offered to look into the recent thefts plaguing his imports to help loosen his words. Technically, this wasn’t the same as taking a contract, but seventy septims could more than afford her spartan demands, and the reward for this was pertinent to the cause.
DREADLOCKS! :D
Closet Nerd said "Roger that Control, I'm coming in for landing. Over." Closet circles the landing strip, the cargo of kittens, bunnies and baby pandas bustling about in the back of the aircraft. Gravity starts to shift violently and the controls force the vessel into a nosedive straight into the concrete platform. As the metal surrounding the cockpit buckle from impact the craft suddenly ignites, spreading a blanket of flame and viscera all around the pavement like confetti.
*clings to self and gently rocks in a corner* "One, two, Freddy's coming for you..."
Lol at everything Ghira'. When I asked my cousin the same thing, she told me it's handy to have a few cottonbuds handy. A tad ew. I had a nose-stud and honestly you don't notice it's there after a while.
My word, Soul, those dragons are lovely :D So we have one that has access to, and some control over, another's desires, and one that is essentially a very powerful empath. Lunar's 'Of Silence' ability is very intriguing. Can the Dragon go so far as to silence a person's thoughts, causing all matters of chaos from the expected psychological fallout? Is it the isolation they feel when all ambient sounds are muted - being 'trapped' within their own mind - that yields these effects (confusion, self-doubt, paranoia, etc.)? In any case, given the individuality of every mind, the effects would be ever-changing. I would love to see how a roleplayer uses this one in combat ^__^
Pearl and Amethyst will have an interesting dynamic, I imagine; possibly toxic for the former due to the latter's greed and penchant for shiny things. It reminds me of a character I used to play, their abilties were not completely derived from their presidence over the dream 'realm' or 'state', but from the products that created them - aspirations and desires, fears and doubts, failures and untouched goals. I'm guessing Pearl will deal more with the positive aspects, as a counterpart to Merrik's Opal. Can they create, through astral projection or a more generalised form of illusion magic, manifestations of these things? During conflict, Pearl could gather these to his/her arsenal and wield them as phantoms intended to distract or dismay an enemy. Another way of using astral projection is to travel ahead of the physical body, seeking threats or surveiling the terrain. I'll even go so far to think that perhaps this Dragon revels in the swathe of wants and desires emanating from those near. It could empower or nourish the Dragon's mind and body, and would make them an ideal ally for those who deal in, or are obsessed with, secrets. Again, just thinking aloud. Where most Dragons are naturally suited for physically demanding, offensive tasks, this one fulfils the role of a mental assassin or illusionist. It's quite a dangerous thing to have on any team.
/blab I need to hurry up and post, omg.
Voltaire said
I'm still debating what to do with Blade now. Stealth isn't really his thing, so I figured I could have him do the distraction to draw out that one fellow, but I'm waiting to see if the collab in progress already addresses that.
I'm not sure which collab this is, but the one between Fallout, Dippah, Rtron and I is set back at camp.
For the scene at Helgathe, I did promise one a while back, but that can be postponed (as if it isn't already) for when it's needed because we now have so much to react and respond to. We should get our tails out of that meeting room and into the clean, dust-filled, camel-scented air :D
Dusk said Side note, I've started making Elayna into a Skyrim follower, and was wondering, would you guys like me to try and do the rest of the cast as well? I want to get some scripting/coding experience under my belt, and I figure this is a decent way to do it :D
Are you seeing this, World? This is what Awesome looks like.
A million yessir's to you, sir!
Is there any way to make Sion to Zaveed, as Barbas is to Dovahkiin? Forevuh at yo back, sun!
Awww, Cub ain't bad! Fanfic-Cub, maybe, lol.
I'm gonna have Thyra step out and explore the shit out of the marketplace, because why wouldn't you?! We've been given a skeleton key to all the hip joints in town! :D
I'm gonna have Thyra step out and explore the shit out of the marketplace, because why wouldn't you?! We've been given a skeleton key to all the hip joints in town! :D
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