This is absolutely and completely OOC but:

IF you see me replying to everyone’s thread but yours


It is for one of these reasons

  • I dont have the muse for that thread at the moment
  • I didnt see your reply
  • I haven’t gotten to it yet
  • I dont know what to write
  • Im dumb
  • Aliens

It is never because

  • I hate you
  • I’m ignoring you
  • you are a bad role player.

Are we clear?


I love you all!

(via aurielswaywardson)

I don’t usually post OOC, but when I do…

I do it wwwaaayyy overdue.

As people have probably noticed by now, activity has fallen through the floor over here, just in time for Strun’s second anniversary if Tumblr’s automated emailing system is to be trusted! But yeah, IRL has hit hard recently, do to the fact that I’ve started an Honours year and the fact I was out-of-practice with my laboratory techniques after eight months of downtime is obvious.

TL;DR: Extended semi-hiatus for an indefinite period of time while I readjust to having less than 10% of the free time I am used to. I’ll still try to post whenever I can, just try to think of it as a pleasant surprise rather than a regular occurrence..?


A thought just occurred to me.

When you kill Vyrthur in Dawnguard, Gelebor says he’ll stay at the Chantry to keep it free of the Betrayed.

Thing is… He’s alone in that venture. Totally alone.

So, Dragonborn, with that in mind… Who do you think ended up having to lay their own sibling to rest after you killed them?

You arsehole.

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(via theknightpaladin)

Swamps Suck (Closed)


Evelyn felt a chill run up her spine when she heard the dragon’s screech; she’d only spun around just in time to see Strunlokmaar right himself…and the spectral bow, apparently having survived her assault, aimed and ready to fire once more. She looked up at her temporary foe, who was now hovering above her and seemingly…pleased? No, there was a challenging tone to Strunlokmaar’s voice; the next thing she knew, the dragon had swooped past her, unleashing another Thu’um in the process.

Gritting her teeth as the Shout took its toll, the Breton forced herself to leap aside just as the vortex whirled past; however, her movements were sluggish, and the dovahkiin cried out as she was caught in the whirlwind’s wake and subsequently sent tumbling into a ditch. Evelyn lay there for a few moments then half-crawled to the edge of the ditch, trying to ignore the pain from the cuts and (what would become) bruises sustained during her fall; she peeked over the side, before clambering out of the ditch. At least there was no sign of the spectral bow (at least as far as she could tell), but the Breton remained alert in case it turned up again, or for whatever Strunlokmaar had up his metaphorical sleeve.


While it certainly didn’t have the stopping power of Dragonrend (and she certainly wasn’t going to even consider using that Shout…), the dovahkiin hoped it would at least slow the dragon down for a few moments; ducking behind a rock, Evelyn pulled a vial from her satchel and hastily downed its contents, feeling the familiar tingle of the magicka-restoring potion as it trickled down her throat. As soon as she’d drunk it, the Breton dropped the vial and came out of hiding yet again.

Krii Lun!

Taking a deep breath, Evelyn threw another fireball at the dragon in an attempt to draw his attention then fled back behind the rock and towards a more closed-in area of the ruins, only stopping to launch a couple of lightning bolts at the dragon before sprinting deeper into the ruins. The dovahkiin hadn’t been running for long when she tripped over a low-lying branch; however, instead of trying to get up, Evelyn opted to stay where she was.

From the air, the Breton would appear to be unmoving - if Strunlokmaar looked closely, he’d notice the dovahkiin was oddly still - in fact, said stillness somewhat resembled a performer’s attempt at feigning death…

Seeing the Dragonborn spin about and get flung into a ditch had Strunlokmaar almost tempted to land - having decided that his ‘win condition’ would be the event in which he managed to pin Evelyn under a wing or claw. Obviously the best chance to do that would be when she was down, however swooping past the site where she had fallen whipped up enough leaves, pollen, bugs, and other swampy things that were best not mentioned to obscure visibility enough that he chose the side of caution instead.

Gaan!” it turned out that had been the correct choice, Strunlokmaar managing to avoid a direct hit, but still feeling the tell-tale draining sensation as he forced himself into a narrow turn. Meanwhile, the spectral bow loosed off a volley of shots, one ethereal arrow narrowly screeching past Evelyn’s shoulder and the rest lodging themselves halfway deep into the rock she had hidden behind, lingering beyond their usefulness.

Strunlokmaar opted to simply glide around it - leave it to a brainless conjured bow to stupidly hover and continuously attack what was blatantly being used as cover. No dragon could be stupid enough to do that ((lolololololol)).

"Fus!" craning his neck around, Strunlokmaar let off his attack as soon as he had a clear shot, but Evelyn had already darted away and retaliated with her own malicious Thu’um, the two cascades of energy cutting right through each other, weakening each other significantly. The dragon snarled somewhat when the area around the base of his neck, shoulders and chest began to prickle with pain from the effects. Annoying.

The following barrage, however? Combed with a Shout that amplified not only the effects of any harm, but the sensation of pain, tenfold? A tad bit more serious than ‘annoying’.

"Ruth!" Strunlokmaar floundered and cursed, his wings feeling as they had suddenly turned to stone - and in fact they might as well have. The scales around his joints had gone so stiff from the amplified lightning spells that he was forced to awkwardly land on a large stone pillar, claws almost crushing the crumbling stone as he fought to get a steady hold without the aid of his forelimbs to balance.

In the heat of the moment, Strunlokmaar barely even registered Evelyn’s condition beyond seeing that she was there.

"Qo!" a burst of sparks rushed through the air.

((Woah what, where did all seven of these new followers come from? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see you all and if you (or anyone else) want a starter just let me know, but I can’t help but wonder why the acquisition of new followers appears to be inversely proportional to my activity level? o,O;;

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Ianthe listened to him, raptured by every word. It seemed that there was even more benefits to this than she had first thought. And more competition but perhaps she had expected this. What would impress a dragon in terms of such competition? She had seen such politics in the College. Favour amongst favourite professors had always been clear cut. It seemed to go in two ways - sucking up to the professors by reading ahead, answering in classes, being the perfect teacher’s pet. The other way was sabotage. She had heard some other students purposefully ruining another’s work in order to give their own projects the edge over the competition. She remained outside of all that drama as she went her own way through it all. She was now uncertain if there was such a way into the favour of a dovah. She wondered if there were others who were hoping to gain from Strunlokmaar. 

"It would certainly be an honour to…ah…gain such a tremendous ability." she said, somewhat awestruck. She wasn’t entirely sure of what to say next. "Do you have many others who wish to become Dragon Priests?"

It was a loosing battle that Strunlokmaar fought to not chuckle at Ianthe’s expression as he spoke, having only memories of the amazed and hopeful looks that faithful mortals gave when you turned your attention upon them. To Strunlokmaar, that sort of reaction was probably even better than the sadistic thrill of burning down their homes simply because you were having a bad day.

The orc’s next words, however, wiped any smug thoughts clean from his mind.

"Hmmm… Nii faazi onvok. You do not face much in the way of competition at this point in time,” he shifted his gaze away from Ianthe and narrowed his eyes, glaring vehemently at nothing in particular, “Few others have come, for children’s stories ahrk falsehoods hold sway over Keizaal’s people.

"They are too afraid to seek out the truth, convinced that we Dov are the heralds of some… End Time. Malsehah meyye.


sossedov asked: ooc: 4, 12, 26, 27!


iantheleeds asked: 18. Whiterun or Windhelm? 19. Markarth or Morthal? 20. Solitude or Riften?