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?
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.
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;;
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.”
iantheleeds asked: 18. Whiterun or Windhelm? 19. Markarth or Morthal? 20. Solitude or Riften?
- 1. Favourite walled city?
- 2. Favourite shout?
- 3. Favourite class of magic (destruction, restoration, etc)?
- 4. Favourite spell?
- 5. Favourite shout?
- 6. Favourite NPC?
- 7. Favourite weapon?
- 8. Favourite armour?
- 9. Favourite enchantment?
- 10. Favourite purchasable property?
- 11. Vampirism or lycanthropy?
- 12. Ranged or melee?
- 13. Imperials or Stormclocks?
- 14. Thieves' Guild or the Dark Brotherhood?
- 15. Khajiit or Argonians?
- 16. Greybeards or the Blades?
- 17. Arvak or Shadowmere?
- 18. Whiterun or Windhelm?
- 19. Markarth or Morthal?
- 20. Solitude or Riften?
- 21. Favourite unwalled city?
- 22. Favourite town?
- 23. Favourite named dragon?
- 24. Favourite generic NPC quote?
- 25. Favourite unique quote?
- 26. Favourite quest?
- 27. Favourite expansion?
- 28. Favourite skill?
- 29. Favourite Daedric prince?
- 30. Favourite Divine?
- Me plotting with people I don't know: Hi, I saw you like my post on Tumblr and I was wondering if you wanted to plot?
- Me plotting with people I do know: whAT UP, LET'S DO A FUCKING THING
Paarthurnax had never intended to leave the Throat of the World. No, that was his home, he found peace atop the snowy, blizzard prone mountain. But the dovah had set himself an important task. He travelled out across Skyrim to find those few other dovah not in allegiance with Alduin. One sprung to mind immediately, one he had only heard whispers of.
A dovah by the name of Strunlokmaar. He seemed to prefer the solitude of immersing himself in his Thu’um studies than anything else. A useful contact to have. He wasn’t very hard to find, either. Landing with a gentle thud upon the nearest large rock, Paarthurnax craned his neck, tail swinging to curl around his legs.
It was certainly common knowledge to most Dovah that Strunlokmaar wasn’t exactly the most… Vocal supporter of Alduin. It was also common knowledge that he often shunned some of the ways of his brothers in favour of following his own paths to glory and power. In the end, though, a dragon was still a dragon, Alduin was still the strongest dragon, and power was still the ultimate truth to all dragons but the smallest minority.
A minority even smaller than the minority which Strunlokmaar represented.
Oh boy was this going to be awkward.
The first hint that something was amiss which the scholarly dragon picked up on was a new scent, mixed in with the fast, southerly winds which usually got funnelled through the pass between his mountain and the next, larger one over. Strunlokmaar twitched suddenly, blinking a couple of times in confusion. Usually such an occurrence announced the arrival of one of the very few Khajiit caravans which were courageous and foolhardy enough to brave taking a shortcut through Labyrinthian, but such occasions were rare enough that he had specifically made sure to take note of what the smell was like. He had wanted to be ready for the next one, lest it slip by before he could try and convince the cat-men into working with (for) him.
This was not that scent. He shuffled about to adjust his perch on the large rock which jut off from alongside a Word Wall, lonesome on the side of the mountain, craning his neck in an attempt to peer past it and see what was coming up the pass. It was the sound of claws scuffling on stone which alerted Strunlokmaar to his mistake, so he whipped his neck back around to look forward again, ready to defend himself if needbe.
Instead he froze in place, blood feeling as if it had turned to white-hot, molten iron, searing his veins with every beat of his heart.
His teeth were bared in an instant, and a scathing threat was on the tip of his tongue. But the other dragon spoke first, and the words died between Strunlokmaar’s teeth.
His eyes and nostrils narrowed, suspicion obvious. The older Dov had to be up to something, or he surely wouldn’t have shown his face, but the cold weight of Strunlokmaar’s insatiable curiosity had already taken hold. It spread slowly from the pit of stomach outward, momentarily quelling the flames, but that influence clearly didn’t extend to the younger dragon’s words.