Arnand had been planning on saying something witty once the legate had finished her tirade, but all he could do once the Argonian called Ukaraz had spoken his piece was to stare at him in disbelief, one eyebrow raised in confusion. Once the lizardman had left, he exchanged glances with the rest of the group. "Well", he said sarcastically, "Good thing we got a one man army with us. Easy money is good money, eh?" he winked and nudged the Bosmer with his elbow. "Seriously though, who the hell does he think he is?"
"Oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself!" the Breton suddenly exclaimed, removing his helmet and bowing slightly. "The name's Arnand, pleased to meet you. My guess is I'll be taking the front with Carius, if I'm not mistaken. Or, well, I guess the lizard will be taking the front, seeing that he's already off and all, but you get what I mean."
Red Wizard Member
Crimson Conjurer
STATUS: No matter how subtle the wizard, a knife between the shoulder blades will seriously cramp his style. 2 mos ago
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No matter how subtle the wizard, a knife between the shoulder blades will seriously cramp his style.
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3 mos ago
Today is my birthday! I wish you all a truly enchanted day!
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1 yr ago
Arguing over petty details at times of dimensional emergency was a familiar wizardly trait.
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It's my birthday! I wish you all an excellent day!
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A wizard never had friends, at least not friends who were wizards. It needed a different word. Ah yes, that was it. Enemies. But a very different class of enemies. Gentlemen.
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I'm working on it, no problem :)
BBeast said
Excellent entry, Golem
Hey, thanks! :D
The mountain of Er, great and holy to the people of Erimos, stood proudly in the middle of the flat desert landscape as a pillar to the glory of the Gods. It's peak, touching the clouds above, was said to be the source of the oasis that lay in the shadow of the mountain. The water in this sacred pool was said to be miraculous; it could cure the diseased, heal the wounded, and turn bad luck into good. The mountain gave freely of its gifts, never asking for anything in return. It had always been there, and would remain forever. Or, well, that was what the preachers used to say. But other people had other plans for it. Great plans. Terrible plans.
Ulmag opened his eyes. All around him was blackness. A cold, hard blackness. The inside of the mountain contained him, confined him, its awesome weight bearing down on him as the yoke of ages. Slowly, ever so slowly, his body began to tremble and move, and with it, the surrounding rock. It began to glow with heat, then crack. A forced smile spread on Ulmags lips as he struggled to raise the heat higher and higher. The rock melted, then bubbled, then boiled. It was then that he started to climb. Clawing his way ever upwards, the heat began to spread through the mountain. He was forming a core of molten stone and ash and smoke, and he would unleash it from the very same top that the people of Erimos held so sacred. He already delighted in the prospect of their horrified faces. He longed even more for the smell of their burnt flesh. As he came to the peak, he slowed his progress and began once again to heat the stone around him with his red-hot body. Once it reached critical mass he would release it, and then...
A small caravan och pilgrims were situated by the oasis at the base of the mountain. Caravans like this one was not an uncommon sight around Er, since all the people of the desert wanted to drink the holy water. It was a journey most families did every or every other year. The people here today had already been here for some time and would leave in the morning of the following day. But first they would feast on the food they had brought, and say praise to the Gods that had treated them so good. The first one to feel it was a young girl, perhaps at the age of seven. There ground was trembling. Only slightly, yes, but it was there. She told her brother about it, who then felt it too, and was the first to hear it. The rumbling from the mountainside. He in turn alerted his mother, who by then had already felt and heard it, and she was the first to see it. The smoke rising from the holy pool, and from the sacred peak way up high. She tugged at the robes of her husband, who by then had both felt, heard and seen it, and as he turned his gaze to the skies and saw what was happeing there, he was the first to speak of it. His voice, however, was lost in the explosion as Ulmag released his built up heat and caused the top of Er to erupt in fire and destruction. The caravan was swept away by burning rocks, ash, molten lava and fire. The oasis, thousands of years old, evaporated in the blink of an eye. A great cloud of smoke and ash blew out of the newly formed crater and spread over the landscape, blocking out the light of the Source and blackening the white sands beneath it.
Ulmag stood at the crest of his creation and laughed, his terrifying visage finally exposed. The Keeper resembled a man, but with great ram horns, glowing yellow eyes, fangs and claws and crimson skin. He shaped a handful of imps from the molten rock about him, and set to building his burning Dungeon on the slopes of the mountain. The crater would continue to spew smoke and ash, expanding his domain further and further. He dove into the burning inside of the mountain to retrieve the Heart of the Mountain, which he would use for a Heart himself. His Dungeon Heart.
Finally, after having achieved a haven and a Heart, he set himself to meditate on the peak of the mountain, building in his mind the essance of his first minions, the fiends.
Ulmag opened his eyes. All around him was blackness. A cold, hard blackness. The inside of the mountain contained him, confined him, its awesome weight bearing down on him as the yoke of ages. Slowly, ever so slowly, his body began to tremble and move, and with it, the surrounding rock. It began to glow with heat, then crack. A forced smile spread on Ulmags lips as he struggled to raise the heat higher and higher. The rock melted, then bubbled, then boiled. It was then that he started to climb. Clawing his way ever upwards, the heat began to spread through the mountain. He was forming a core of molten stone and ash and smoke, and he would unleash it from the very same top that the people of Erimos held so sacred. He already delighted in the prospect of their horrified faces. He longed even more for the smell of their burnt flesh. As he came to the peak, he slowed his progress and began once again to heat the stone around him with his red-hot body. Once it reached critical mass he would release it, and then...
A small caravan och pilgrims were situated by the oasis at the base of the mountain. Caravans like this one was not an uncommon sight around Er, since all the people of the desert wanted to drink the holy water. It was a journey most families did every or every other year. The people here today had already been here for some time and would leave in the morning of the following day. But first they would feast on the food they had brought, and say praise to the Gods that had treated them so good. The first one to feel it was a young girl, perhaps at the age of seven. There ground was trembling. Only slightly, yes, but it was there. She told her brother about it, who then felt it too, and was the first to hear it. The rumbling from the mountainside. He in turn alerted his mother, who by then had already felt and heard it, and she was the first to see it. The smoke rising from the holy pool, and from the sacred peak way up high. She tugged at the robes of her husband, who by then had both felt, heard and seen it, and as he turned his gaze to the skies and saw what was happeing there, he was the first to speak of it. His voice, however, was lost in the explosion as Ulmag released his built up heat and caused the top of Er to erupt in fire and destruction. The caravan was swept away by burning rocks, ash, molten lava and fire. The oasis, thousands of years old, evaporated in the blink of an eye. A great cloud of smoke and ash blew out of the newly formed crater and spread over the landscape, blocking out the light of the Source and blackening the white sands beneath it.
Ulmag stood at the crest of his creation and laughed, his terrifying visage finally exposed. The Keeper resembled a man, but with great ram horns, glowing yellow eyes, fangs and claws and crimson skin. He shaped a handful of imps from the molten rock about him, and set to building his burning Dungeon on the slopes of the mountain. The crater would continue to spew smoke and ash, expanding his domain further and further. He dove into the burning inside of the mountain to retrieve the Heart of the Mountain, which he would use for a Heart himself. His Dungeon Heart.
Finally, after having achieved a haven and a Heart, he set himself to meditate on the peak of the mountain, building in his mind the essance of his first minions, the fiends.
I'm so in :D
Name: Arnand
Gender: Male
Race: Breton
Age: 25
Skills: Arnand is skilled with both sword, spear and shield. He is also used to wearing his heavy armor.
Equipment: Sword, spear, shield, chainmail haubergon, chain hood, open helmet with noseguard, clothes.
Background: As one of the middle children of a noble family, Arnand never had a shot at inheriting his parents fortune and had to carve a living for himself. The mercenary life came easy to him, mainly because of the sparring lessons he'd recieved as a young man in his parents hold. He's been cutting his way through Tamriel his entire life, living off of other peoples conflicts and wars. He was even the head of a crew of thieves and bandits for a while, until he got bored with it and moved on. The current conflict in Skyrim is just his cup of tea, and so he's come to offer his services to the Legion (since he dislikes the Nords and always go for the winning side).
Personality: Easy-going but arrogant. Arnand doesn't take anything but his own life seriously and can be quite irritating at times, although you'd have to search far and wide for a better drinking partner. His goal in life is to get rich and famous, and he lives for the glory of the battlefield and reveling in wine and goos food.
Gender: Male
Race: Breton
Age: 25
Skills: Arnand is skilled with both sword, spear and shield. He is also used to wearing his heavy armor.
Equipment: Sword, spear, shield, chainmail haubergon, chain hood, open helmet with noseguard, clothes.
Background: As one of the middle children of a noble family, Arnand never had a shot at inheriting his parents fortune and had to carve a living for himself. The mercenary life came easy to him, mainly because of the sparring lessons he'd recieved as a young man in his parents hold. He's been cutting his way through Tamriel his entire life, living off of other peoples conflicts and wars. He was even the head of a crew of thieves and bandits for a while, until he got bored with it and moved on. The current conflict in Skyrim is just his cup of tea, and so he's come to offer his services to the Legion (since he dislikes the Nords and always go for the winning side).
Personality: Easy-going but arrogant. Arnand doesn't take anything but his own life seriously and can be quite irritating at times, although you'd have to search far and wide for a better drinking partner. His goal in life is to get rich and famous, and he lives for the glory of the battlefield and reveling in wine and goos food.
Interested!
Ok, this got a bit too crowded for my taste, gonna bow out.
Interested. CS under construction.
So I'm gonna be away for about 10 days. I know it's a long time, but I'm confident that you'll manage without me. I look forward to reading the pages-long IC thread when I get back ;)
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