In which inflations are deflated.
Sated, the bestial instinct subsided completely, leaving Lyssi alone with the horror of what she'd almost done. A strangled, choked-off noise escaped her, and she pressed her left hand to the boy's throat, white light suffusing the injury.
Did she have any healing potions left? The liquid did wonders to restore lost blood - no, damn it, she'd used the last one after Ungolim.
She glanced back at the smith, panic filling her. Unthinking, she shot a Command back at the Dunmer.
Find a healer, quickly!
Why did she immediately think of Martin?
The Dunmer raised an eyebrow, lowering his weapon. Didn't he understand that time was of the essence?
"Well, then."
The man paused for another long moment, then sheathed his sword. "I'll have you know, I've shaken off worse Commands from more powerful beasts than you, girl." He shook his head slightly, as though clearing cobwebs from it. "As it happens, I keep a store of healing potions in case of emergency. If my apprentice dies before I return, you will live just long enough to regret what you've done. That's a promise."
He left her there, the young Bosmer cradled to her chest, for what felt like hours. She had more than enough time for it to fully sink in that she could actually use her left arm again, though she still couldn't really breathe. There was a ... pressure. She felt like she was holding a breath, only she couldn't exhale, either.
The smith returned moments before she was sure the apprentice would have died, bearing a heavy-looking case that she thought read "First Aid."
Inside the case, she spotted a number of small, labeled vials, a roll of bandages, and a couple of scrolls. She couldn't make anything else out from where she stood. The Dunmer retrieved three vials from the case, then carefully placed them against his apprentice's lips, one by one, making sure not even a drop was wasted.
"Have you ever considered a career in medicine? There's a good girl, help me carry him back to his room." Lyssi did as commanded, relieved to realize her strength was returning enough that she didn't need any help. The smith carried his "First Aid" kit, instead.
"I forgot how strong even a little thing like you could be, with your ... condition." The smith inspected the boy's neck, and Lyssi stepped back, away from the bed. It was a nice room, with heavy drapes. Of course, a smith could afford the best.
"As I suspected, the wounds are already closed. He'll need rest, but he should recover." The Dunmer patted his apprentice's shoulder, fondly. "As for you ..."
He turned to look at her, and she felt her gaze immediately drop to the floor. "Nine, it would almost be a mercy to put you out of your misery, I think." Her head snapped up, and her eyes narrowed. Mentally, she dared him to try it. "Perhaps not. You can't speak?" She shook her head, once again making the vague throat-gesture that generally seemed to communicate her problem. "Was it recent?" She blinked, blinked again. What? She nodded slowly.
"I don't actually see any throat injuries - " the smith touched his own eyes for a moment, and she felt the low thrum of magic in the air. Then, he gently tilted her head from side to side. "Your Sire was a vicious brute, wasn't ... he? He." Callused fingers skimmed against the old scar. Experience told her that soon, it would be the only one left. The others - more recent - would likely fade quickly, if she got a chance to rest and heal fully. In response to his question, however, she could only nod.
Vicente wasn't a beast, but then, he had never bitten her.
Tears welled up unbidden.
Vicente was gone. She'd killed him.
"Focus dear, crying never helped anyone. What happened? Was it a piercing wound?" She nodded again, rubbing at her eyes.
"Ah, may I see?"
Lyssi bit her lip, glancing over at Enilroth's sleeping form. "Dear, you haven't got anything I haven't seen before and frankly, if the boy hasn't, then he could use the education." The smith gave her a long look. "None of you Bosmer women have much up top anyway. Show me."
After a long moment's deliberation, she obeyed. Slipping her arms out of the sleeves caused the dress to fall about her waist, held there only by the belt.
This garnered another long stare. "You know, I've seen worse, but it's been years. Those bandages need to be changed at the very least. Let me see." She almost jumped out of her skin when he came at her with a knife, but he was all business, cutting the cloth away with practiced ease and inspecting her injuries with a surgeon's critical eye. She noticed he wore thin leather gloves, just as Jauffre had, and was startled to spot an old bite wound on his forearm.
"I've done things I'm not proud of. I've seen good men die, and put more than a few of them down myself." She felt a pinching under her ribs, and decided she'd rather not look at what he was doing. "I'd guess you're a fledgling - less than a century?"
A rush of air escaped her chest - wasn't the problem that she couldn't take any air in?
She nodded, though he couldn't see it.
"Most vampires in your position would have dropped the boy to deal with me. They would have had to - fighters need their hands free, and it's a very, very rare mage who can cast without sound or gesture. But you ..." The smith dabbed a cold liquid against the hole he just made, and continued. "You are such a mage. But the order, 'Find a healer.'" He paused for a moment. "Try to inhale, please." She was startled to realize she could.
Inhale, exhale.
Breathing.
She was breathing!
"Good girl. How long have you been a vampire?"
She worked her jaw, taking a few practice breaths before replying. "Year?" She could speak! Her voice was all gritty, and she'd all-but forgotten how, but she could speak!
"You have remarkable control for a year-old fledgling. Military?"
She shook her head, then added a, "No," at the end, just because she could.
"Ah, well. Who was that boy you pictured? He must be important to you." The smith wrapped a fresh roll of bandages around her chest, fastening them in place with an odd metal clip. It looked a bit like a small butterfly.
"I ... that is ..."
The smith stood fully again, peeling off the gloves with some care. "Try not to blush, it wastes blood." He rubbed a clear gel between his hands. It smelled like alcohol; she wrinkled her nose. "And don't make faces. Basic sanitation prevents the spread of diseases like yours."
She took a moment to try and process what he was saying. "How do ..." She trailed off, unsure how to continue.
"How do I know all this? Dear girl, I've been hunting vampires longer than I'd wager you've been alive."
((Sorry about going MIA Monday - excessively common that. Starting my new position, in training again, no time at work to actually do bloggery anymore. Might/might not post for the next couple weeks. Probably at LEAST one a week though.))
Showing posts with label The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Chapter 31: Bloodlust
((Only a month 'til Skyrim! Better get cracking on this!))
Stay quiet, follow me.
Lyssi kept her focus on the other Bosmer as she gently tugged him away from the staircase, toward a side door she'd noticed before. His eyes were wide, and he'd become almost as pale as she was, but he didn't speak. He couldn't speak. She made sure of that, focusing every bit of her power on that one thought.
Stay quiet, follow me.
She sat him down on a barrel in what appeared to be a storage room, then shuffled her backpack off of her shoulder. She'd been expecting the torches and pitchforks response, and she'd expected to have to flee. It landed with a heavy thump, the thin blanket following. She fished the dead drop out of her pack, holding it up for the boy to see.
Enilroth became as pale as the white-gold tower of the Imperial City, trembling so badly that it shook the barrel he sat on. He recognized the package. She could taste his fear in the air, and it took too much work to convince herself she didn't enjoy it. The predator inside her knew the scent of an easy kill.
She split her attention now, letting the boy speak if he chose to - she scratched letters into the air, light following her fingertips.
"Who gave you this." The boy's suspicious activity was too recent. Combined with, his age, his raw terror - he was prey, not predator. He wasn't the traitor, he wasn't even a Brother. He had never taken a life, she was as sure of that as she was her own name. He was shaking almost violently, now.
"I'm... I'm sorry!" The boy barely got the words out past his terror. She raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong ... it ... it was the robed man!"
The traitor. Yes. She grinned to herself. Finally.
Enilroth was apparently encouraged by her smile. Maybe he was just terrified - probably, he was just terrified. "He... he paid me to put those things in the barrel. The ... the coins, I still have them, if ... I mean, I meant to ... please don't hurt me?" The boy swallowed heavily.
"The man." Let the boy think she'd kill him if he didn't tell her more. It was almost amusing.
"I don't know his name, and his face was in shadow. He ... he called to me yesterday as I walked by the lighthouse. I think he lives there! Or he did, anyway? I don't know. He ... He told me he was leaving Anvil. I'm sorry, but that's all I know!"
Leaving. Her grin became a scowl. The traitor had slipped out of her grasp because she was weak. She felt her fingers flex. Because of the demons, and the priest-turned-emperor, and her gods-cursed festering wounds, she hadn't been fast enough to intercept the traitor.
And now she was forced to wait another day ... she found herself pacing, trying to think of a way to protect herself from the sunlight.
There was nothing for it. She'd have to investigate this lighthouse, but she was confined to the smithy until the sun set. "You're ... you are, aren't you?" The boy sounded nervous still, but also curious. For the moment, she'd forgotten he was still there - of course, she stood between him and the door.
She glanced over at him, scratching her response into the air. The light flickered, shimmering into - and out of - existence, dying mere moments after she'd finished writing. She was almost out of magic. "Are what."
"A - a vampire. You really are a vampire, aren't you?" He sounded more curious than afraid, now. Suddenly, she wished she'd thought to bind him. Something about his curiousity unsettled her. He wasn't afraid enough for that kind of a revelation. She nodded once, hesitantly. "You're nothing like I thought you'd be. You're real pretty and ... well, you don't have wings, or ... or claws, or cloven feet or anything. You're practically a real person."
Pretty? She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side, folding her arms - or well, folding her right arm over her chest. Her left arm still hung limply.
He leaned forward. "What's it like? When you bite people, I mean. You - do still, you know, bite people, right?" She frowned slightly. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't fed recently. She thought she might be on the mend - she no longer felt sick just thinking about food. "In all the stories and everything, I mean ... that is ... they all say it feels ... um."
In fact, she could go for a bite after all. She smiled, making sure he could see her teeth.
He swallowed heavily, and she put a finger to his lips.
Then she leaned forward, tugging his head gently to the right. She lapped at his throat, feeling his pulse jump under her careful ministrations. He would enjoy this, she'd make sure of it.
She had enough control for that, at least, didn't she?
Her fangs were razor sharp - she knew it didn't hurt when she applied just a little pressure, but already he was bleeding. He was so nervous, and his heart beat so quickly. She let herself enjoy his fear, licking at the tiny wounds she'd made. Just a taste, before the main course.
The boy actually moaned quietly. She knew he'd enjoy it.
She sank her fangs in again, this time a bit deeper, blood shooting into her mouth when she suckled, ever so gently. It tasted like she imagined ambrosia might. Hunger always had been the best spice, and she hadn't realized how starved she'd let herself become. She felt the blood knitting her injuries back together. The boy wouldn't miss the little blood she needed to survive, she reasoned - only, some rational part of her pointed out, she'd taken far more than she normally did.
She ignored that rational part. Her left arm joined her right in holding the boy still - he didn't seem to be able to hold himself upright anymore.
The door slammed open, and she heard steel scrape on steel.
"That's enough, I think."
Stay quiet, follow me.
Lyssi kept her focus on the other Bosmer as she gently tugged him away from the staircase, toward a side door she'd noticed before. His eyes were wide, and he'd become almost as pale as she was, but he didn't speak. He couldn't speak. She made sure of that, focusing every bit of her power on that one thought.
Stay quiet, follow me.
She sat him down on a barrel in what appeared to be a storage room, then shuffled her backpack off of her shoulder. She'd been expecting the torches and pitchforks response, and she'd expected to have to flee. It landed with a heavy thump, the thin blanket following. She fished the dead drop out of her pack, holding it up for the boy to see.
Enilroth became as pale as the white-gold tower of the Imperial City, trembling so badly that it shook the barrel he sat on. He recognized the package. She could taste his fear in the air, and it took too much work to convince herself she didn't enjoy it. The predator inside her knew the scent of an easy kill.
She split her attention now, letting the boy speak if he chose to - she scratched letters into the air, light following her fingertips.
"Who gave you this." The boy's suspicious activity was too recent. Combined with, his age, his raw terror - he was prey, not predator. He wasn't the traitor, he wasn't even a Brother. He had never taken a life, she was as sure of that as she was her own name. He was shaking almost violently, now.
"I'm... I'm sorry!" The boy barely got the words out past his terror. She raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong ... it ... it was the robed man!"
The traitor. Yes. She grinned to herself. Finally.
Enilroth was apparently encouraged by her smile. Maybe he was just terrified - probably, he was just terrified. "He... he paid me to put those things in the barrel. The ... the coins, I still have them, if ... I mean, I meant to ... please don't hurt me?" The boy swallowed heavily.
"The man." Let the boy think she'd kill him if he didn't tell her more. It was almost amusing.
"I don't know his name, and his face was in shadow. He ... he called to me yesterday as I walked by the lighthouse. I think he lives there! Or he did, anyway? I don't know. He ... He told me he was leaving Anvil. I'm sorry, but that's all I know!"
Leaving. Her grin became a scowl. The traitor had slipped out of her grasp because she was weak. She felt her fingers flex. Because of the demons, and the priest-turned-emperor, and her gods-cursed festering wounds, she hadn't been fast enough to intercept the traitor.
And now she was forced to wait another day ... she found herself pacing, trying to think of a way to protect herself from the sunlight.
There was nothing for it. She'd have to investigate this lighthouse, but she was confined to the smithy until the sun set. "You're ... you are, aren't you?" The boy sounded nervous still, but also curious. For the moment, she'd forgotten he was still there - of course, she stood between him and the door.
She glanced over at him, scratching her response into the air. The light flickered, shimmering into - and out of - existence, dying mere moments after she'd finished writing. She was almost out of magic. "Are what."
"A - a vampire. You really are a vampire, aren't you?" He sounded more curious than afraid, now. Suddenly, she wished she'd thought to bind him. Something about his curiousity unsettled her. He wasn't afraid enough for that kind of a revelation. She nodded once, hesitantly. "You're nothing like I thought you'd be. You're real pretty and ... well, you don't have wings, or ... or claws, or cloven feet or anything. You're practically a real person."
Pretty? She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side, folding her arms - or well, folding her right arm over her chest. Her left arm still hung limply.
He leaned forward. "What's it like? When you bite people, I mean. You - do still, you know, bite people, right?" She frowned slightly. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't fed recently. She thought she might be on the mend - she no longer felt sick just thinking about food. "In all the stories and everything, I mean ... that is ... they all say it feels ... um."
In fact, she could go for a bite after all. She smiled, making sure he could see her teeth.
He swallowed heavily, and she put a finger to his lips.
Then she leaned forward, tugging his head gently to the right. She lapped at his throat, feeling his pulse jump under her careful ministrations. He would enjoy this, she'd make sure of it.
She had enough control for that, at least, didn't she?
Her fangs were razor sharp - she knew it didn't hurt when she applied just a little pressure, but already he was bleeding. He was so nervous, and his heart beat so quickly. She let herself enjoy his fear, licking at the tiny wounds she'd made. Just a taste, before the main course.
The boy actually moaned quietly. She knew he'd enjoy it.
She sank her fangs in again, this time a bit deeper, blood shooting into her mouth when she suckled, ever so gently. It tasted like she imagined ambrosia might. Hunger always had been the best spice, and she hadn't realized how starved she'd let herself become. She felt the blood knitting her injuries back together. The boy wouldn't miss the little blood she needed to survive, she reasoned - only, some rational part of her pointed out, she'd taken far more than she normally did.
She ignored that rational part. Her left arm joined her right in holding the boy still - he didn't seem to be able to hold himself upright anymore.
The door slammed open, and she heard steel scrape on steel.
"That's enough, I think."
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Nobody Important, Ch. 26
Nobody Important
In which a one-sided conversation is held.
By: N3k0
Tug, yank, snip.
There a pulling, dragging sensation slowly piecing her back together. Her chest was already a line of fine stitches that made her itch. That was what drug her back to consciousness when she was actually enjoying a dreamless sleep.
She still couldn't breathe.
Tug, yank, snip.
"You're lucky, you know that, right? Incredibly lucky." It was the woman's voice, the one who wanted her dead. Ariel.
Tug, yank, snip.
She didn't seem to want a response, which was good, since Lyssi couldn't exactly form one. "That boy says that your ribs are mending. He put a slow healing on you, he says, one that should fix the broken bones in time. Your heart is whole. He doesn't have a spell to fill your lungs with air, but he seems to be planning something."
Tug, yank, snip.
"He thinks you're some kind of research project. He doesn't see what I see."
Tug, yank, snip.
The line of stitches seemed near the top of the injury. Maybe the woman would leave her alone then. She had to try to get up today. She'd wasted enough time in this town.
Tug, yank, snip.
The woman fell silent for a long minute. Lyssi thought maybe she'd run out of things to say. She hadn't. "You're a monster. For all we know, you were working with the Daedra. It isn't like we can ask you, now is it? How convenient. I could kill you, you know."
Tug, yank, snip.
"It's not like anyone really expects you to survive this, after all." If she was going to do it, she should just do it already. Her right hand flexed, clenching and unclenching. The woman noticed it. "Awake, are you? Good. Can you speak?"
Tug. Yank. Snip. The woman took her silence as a no. "What a pity. Well, I'm done here. Can you sit up on your own?"
She tried. Her left arm still wasn't quite responding, but she pushed up with her right arm. She found herself back on the ground before she managed to get properly off of it. The woman helped her to sit upright. She felt all of her skin tugging at the stitches, but the thread - and her skin - held. "Good enough. Now, I need to ask you some questions." The woman began wrapping a thin roll of soft cloth around her chest. "Just nod or shake your head."
She was dizzy, and she didn't really want to answer the woman's questions. But she didn't think she really had a choice, so she bobbed her head once, dully.
"Were you working with the Daedra?" Lyssi scowled. Oh yes, because any answer she gave to that question could be believed. Still, she shook her head. "I see. You are aware we've gone through your things?" She nodded, dully. Mraaj'Dar's ghost was probably laughing at her. "I need to know that you will not harm Martin." She turned her head enough that she could try and glance back at the woman. "You understand. If we are to believe the contents of those notes, you are a rather accomplished murderer. Some kind of assurance ... are you able to write?"
Another sullen bob of her head.
"Then we will need to set you up with the tools to do so. I cannot allow a potential threat to go unaddressed." Ariel tied off the bandage expertly. "You understand, I'm sure." Her voice had iron in it.
Lyssi nodded.
Of course she understood.
"I don't like this, Ariel." Martin's voice sounded from outside the tent. Someone had changed Lyssi's bedroll out for one that wasn't covered entirely in blood. She supposed she probably should care about people getting infected, but it wasn't her job to worry about that, was it?
Not really. Martin would take care of that. If he didn't, Ariel would. Right? She was laying in the comfortable blankets, drifting. She hadn't managed to fall asleep again, but she'd had time to think. She hadn't really used that time, but that was mostly because she couldn't force herself to focus on anything. It was peaceful. If she tried to think, she'd think about how she was letting Lucien down. How she'd failed the ghosts of her Family. No, it was much better to let her mind drift. Some of the red had started to clear out of her vision.
She heard the woman - Ariel - heave a rather annoyed sigh. "We need to know the girl won't be a threat."
"You know as well as anyone that she can't be disturbed like this if we want her to recover." There was the rustle of the tent flap.
She noticed that the woman's voice seemed to go a bit shrill whens he was angry. That was funny. She'd laugh, if she could. But she couldn't. "Do we want it to recover?"
The tent rustled and closed itself again. A man's strong hands gently brought her to sitting. She let her eyes open, and she saw the Nord's face. The arguing pair were still outside. She sat like a marionette with its strings cut, slumped half-over. It tugged and pulled at the stitches in her back, but she couldn't afford any strength. "Here, drink." The man placed something warm in front of her mouth, and she bit before she knew what she was doing. His hand. He made a quiet noise of pain, but otherwise didn't comment. She suckled on his skin, feeling a bit confused.
"You'll need your strength. Easy now." He pulled on his hand, and she let go after a moment. "Good girl."
The tent flap opened again, and her eyes fixed on the man and the woman entering. The woman placed a small board across her lap, and she shifted slightly. Ariel placed some paper, an inkwell, and a quill on the board. Lyssi looked down at it.
The woman offered a thin smile. But it was a smile, wasn't that a good thing?
No, not this smile.
"I need your name." Lyssi glanced over at Martin, who stood by the tent flap, arms folded.
She scratched it in, using lettering as precise as she could make it, given her shaking hands.
Alyssia.
The woman made a noise. "No last name, then?"
She shook her head. She didn't really need one, did she?
"All right. The letters that you carry, those belong to you?" She nodded. "And you understand the implications?"
Why not just ask.
The woman glanced down at the paper, when Lyssi turned it for her to read it easier. "Ask ... ah. Well then. Are you an assassin?"
She nodded once. There wasn't really any point in lying. The woman took a sharp inhale.
"You understand that involvement in such matters is a crime, of course." Another nod. "How many ... no."
Lyssi took a mental tally, then wrote the number on the paper. 64. The woman looked queasy. It had increased some from her last count. She frowned slightly, tracing a nonsensical design on the side of the board with a fingertip.
"... thanks, I think. Do you ... I ... do you have any plans to harm Martin Septim?" Ariel glanced back at the heir. Lyssi's eyes followed. She locked her gaze on the man, rather than the woman, shaking her head slowly. The man seemed relieved. The woman didn't catch the movement.
Lyssi sighed inwardly - of course she couldn't form the sound - and scratched down her reply on the paper. I have no orders to.
The woman read it, a small frown on her lips. "What are your orders, then? Your current orders, mind." She gnawed her lip, debating on how much to tell. "Don't lie to me. I can see you thinking about it, you know." Lyssi scowled again.
Go to Anvil. Investigate. Not kill anyone.
She didn't add the 'yet' on the end. That much was already obvious, she figured.
"... Ah, I see. And retrieve the ..." She fished out one of the letters. "Reward, and next contract, there?"
Lyssi considered slightly. Something like that.
The woman raised an eyebrow. "But not exactly like that, then?"
A slight smile crossed her lips. No, it isn't.
"... I see."
The woman fell silent for a moment, seeming to understand that was all the more Lyssi was going to tell her about it. It wasn't a comfortable silence. They were both waiting for something, that was what it felt like. Lyssi shifted a bit in place, dipping her quill into the inkwell. There was too much ink, so she tried scraping the tip off on the edge. She was fidgeting, wasting time. I have to go.
"We're supposed to allow you to just leave, then? So you can kill again? It's illegal, what you do." The woman acted like she didn't know that, wasn't aware of it.
I'm not really giving you a choice.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Oblivion Fic: On Miracles
((Cross-posted here.
I'm not very imaginative when it comes to names. This is Chapter 23, incidentally. The rest is also posted there.))
Lyssi felt her life slipping away.
It trickled out sometimes, gushed others. She was going to die, though, that was the important thing. She'd survived fire and daylight and a number of other things that were supposed to kill her, but didn't - and now she was going to die.
It wasn't even an enchanted blade, she thought with mild disgust. Or at least, if it had been enchanted, she couldn't detect the enchantment ... which wasn't saying much; she only dabbled with magic, and that, only when it was needful, which it rarely was. The blade had been demonic in origin, though, that much she knew for certain. More than that, it had pierced her very heart. Normal elves, she was sure, would have died instantly.
Not her. She got to live out long, torturous minutes. At least she didn't have to breathe. She expected that the constant up and down would have torn her chest open even further.
She remembered she was standing on a platform, atop the tallest structure she'd ever seen apart from White-Gold Tower in the Imperial City. She held her pack in one hand, dragging it along the ground behind her. Even enchanted to seem weightless, the thing was ungainly, and often threw her off-balance. She suspected given its natural weight, it wouldn't throw her off as much - but then she'd be hard-pressed to lift it, even with her unnatural strength.
If she'd been wearing it, she wouldn't be dying now, though.
In front of her, floating in a glowing orb of light, was a block, like a hovering, six-sided die.
She held the block up to the first lights of predawn, staring at it with vision that blurred around the edges. It was etched with runes in a language she couldn't begin to make out, but then, she sometimes had a little trouble with plain Tamrielic letters.
Before long, it was too much work to hold the block up, so she set it down on her chest. It was immediately washed in crimson. She was a sticky mess with blood, her clothing ruined, her skin stained.
The demon, clad in full plate, was determined to take his killer with him. She'd thought him dead, but no - here he stood, behind her. She was exhausted by the climb, exhausted by the fight every single demonic sentinel had put up, exhausted by the very land outside this tower turning against her (who ever heard of plants tangling around legs and arms like living things?), and exhausted from the siege before. She hadn't checked to see if he was just playing dead. She hadn't heard him get up, hadn't heard the scraping of a sword drug against stone for the ringing that fought to become a dull roar in her ears.
She'd barely felt it when the sword punctured her chest from behind. There was a flash of something, behind her eyes, and she looked down to see almost two feet of greatsword sticking out of her. The demon had pulled his blade free effortlessly, and she fell forward, catching the stone with her free hand as she fell.
The world disintegrated around her, vanishing before she hit the ground.
Lyssi turned her head slightly to the side. She was lying flat on her back, now, staring at the shattered base of one of the pillars that had formed the massive Oblivion Gate. Apparently, the block was the keystone on which the portal was built, and with it gone, the portal couldn't stand anymore. It made sense to her, in the way anything magical made sense to her: she didn't think about it terribly much.
Right now, she couldn't think of anything terribly much.
But she'd done something. Something important, something good. There were things left to do, but there would always be things to do.
It was all right. She could rest, now.
She never saw the man's form standing over her.
In the early light of predawn, there was a sound that was not unlike a massive gong being rung - or at least, that was how Brother Martin had perceived it. No two refugees heard it the same, though everyone could agree on what came next. A roar, like a massive, angry, dying beast sounded from the south.
From the Oblivion Gate.
A young boy had found the way up to the high tower the chapel sported. Half-ruined, and long unused, no one else dared go up. Now, he did, and he reported the Gate's fall on his return. The Daedra, the boy said, were drawn to it, though only a few remained in the city anyway.
Here then was their diversion. The refugees took only what they needed. Those who could walk assisted those who could not, leaving only those who would not recover even with magical healing, and the bodies of the dead. Maybe they could return one day. Brother Martin prayed it would be one day soon.
The Nine showed him a miracle this day, guarding the refugees as they escaped through a lesser gate. He'd been overly optimistic - in total, it was thirty-seven people who managed to survive and escape, even counting Martin and the two Blades themselves, but that was thirty-seven lives the Nine had spared. They kept quiet, and there was no quarreling. Speed was of the essence, and they made good time out of the city.
Everyone knew that a raised voice here courted vivisection by a daedra - if they were lucky. Almost no one spoke, and when they did, it came in hushed whispers.
The Nine granted him a second miracle on top of the first. Outside the walls of Kvatch, the refugees found a camp of other survivors set up near the main road. Wives clung to their husbands, children to their parents. People mourned - even those few whose families remained mostly intact mourned at least one friend or distant relative. There were more dead than alive - but almost half of Kvatch had survived, it seemed. The nobility had holed up in the castle, so hope sprung from that corner, as well.
Everywhere he turned, he heard whispers about a Hero - or Heroine - of Kvatch, some solitary figure they found in the rubble where the gate had once stood. No one, it seemed, knew where exactly she was, nor how she fared - and Martin was very confident it was a she.
Finally, a guard approached him after sundown. He wore the haggard look of someone who had seen too much fighting these last few days. "I'm to understand you led these people out of the city, Brother Martin?"
Martin nodded quietly, so the man continued. "They tell me you're a healer, and a good one at that, is that true?" Another nod. He was tired, but he had enough magic left to put at least one or two more people to rights before he collapsed outright, anyway. Martin glanced back at Ariel, who stood at his right - the Nord at his left was unreadable, but the woman eyed the guardsman warily. "Forgive my manners - I'm Savlian Matius, acting guard captain."
"Then you'd be the one who held the road against the Daedra for two days straight?" Martin asked, inspecting the man. Still armored, he showed signs of exhaustion, but he wasn't badly injured yet, anyway.
The man - Savlian - nodded. "My men helped, of course. They're good, strong people. I ... also discovered the girl." At this, Martin felt himself perk up considerably. Finally. Ariel's firm hand on his shoulder restrained his eagerness. "Ah ... I see you've heard of our Heroine, then. She's in rough shape. I don't know enough about medicine to know if she can be saved, in all honesty." Savlian reached up, rubbing the back of his head. "And she's ... unusual."
"May I see to her?" Martin asked, keeping himself in check. There might, after all, be nothing he could do.
The guardsman smiled. "Of course."
I'm not very imaginative when it comes to names. This is Chapter 23, incidentally. The rest is also posted there.))
Lyssi felt her life slipping away.
It trickled out sometimes, gushed others. She was going to die, though, that was the important thing. She'd survived fire and daylight and a number of other things that were supposed to kill her, but didn't - and now she was going to die.
It wasn't even an enchanted blade, she thought with mild disgust. Or at least, if it had been enchanted, she couldn't detect the enchantment ... which wasn't saying much; she only dabbled with magic, and that, only when it was needful, which it rarely was. The blade had been demonic in origin, though, that much she knew for certain. More than that, it had pierced her very heart. Normal elves, she was sure, would have died instantly.
Not her. She got to live out long, torturous minutes. At least she didn't have to breathe. She expected that the constant up and down would have torn her chest open even further.
She remembered she was standing on a platform, atop the tallest structure she'd ever seen apart from White-Gold Tower in the Imperial City. She held her pack in one hand, dragging it along the ground behind her. Even enchanted to seem weightless, the thing was ungainly, and often threw her off-balance. She suspected given its natural weight, it wouldn't throw her off as much - but then she'd be hard-pressed to lift it, even with her unnatural strength.
If she'd been wearing it, she wouldn't be dying now, though.
In front of her, floating in a glowing orb of light, was a block, like a hovering, six-sided die.
She held the block up to the first lights of predawn, staring at it with vision that blurred around the edges. It was etched with runes in a language she couldn't begin to make out, but then, she sometimes had a little trouble with plain Tamrielic letters.
Before long, it was too much work to hold the block up, so she set it down on her chest. It was immediately washed in crimson. She was a sticky mess with blood, her clothing ruined, her skin stained.
The demon, clad in full plate, was determined to take his killer with him. She'd thought him dead, but no - here he stood, behind her. She was exhausted by the climb, exhausted by the fight every single demonic sentinel had put up, exhausted by the very land outside this tower turning against her (who ever heard of plants tangling around legs and arms like living things?), and exhausted from the siege before. She hadn't checked to see if he was just playing dead. She hadn't heard him get up, hadn't heard the scraping of a sword drug against stone for the ringing that fought to become a dull roar in her ears.
She'd barely felt it when the sword punctured her chest from behind. There was a flash of something, behind her eyes, and she looked down to see almost two feet of greatsword sticking out of her. The demon had pulled his blade free effortlessly, and she fell forward, catching the stone with her free hand as she fell.
The world disintegrated around her, vanishing before she hit the ground.
Lyssi turned her head slightly to the side. She was lying flat on her back, now, staring at the shattered base of one of the pillars that had formed the massive Oblivion Gate. Apparently, the block was the keystone on which the portal was built, and with it gone, the portal couldn't stand anymore. It made sense to her, in the way anything magical made sense to her: she didn't think about it terribly much.
Right now, she couldn't think of anything terribly much.
But she'd done something. Something important, something good. There were things left to do, but there would always be things to do.
It was all right. She could rest, now.
She never saw the man's form standing over her.
In the early light of predawn, there was a sound that was not unlike a massive gong being rung - or at least, that was how Brother Martin had perceived it. No two refugees heard it the same, though everyone could agree on what came next. A roar, like a massive, angry, dying beast sounded from the south.
From the Oblivion Gate.
A young boy had found the way up to the high tower the chapel sported. Half-ruined, and long unused, no one else dared go up. Now, he did, and he reported the Gate's fall on his return. The Daedra, the boy said, were drawn to it, though only a few remained in the city anyway.
Here then was their diversion. The refugees took only what they needed. Those who could walk assisted those who could not, leaving only those who would not recover even with magical healing, and the bodies of the dead. Maybe they could return one day. Brother Martin prayed it would be one day soon.
The Nine showed him a miracle this day, guarding the refugees as they escaped through a lesser gate. He'd been overly optimistic - in total, it was thirty-seven people who managed to survive and escape, even counting Martin and the two Blades themselves, but that was thirty-seven lives the Nine had spared. They kept quiet, and there was no quarreling. Speed was of the essence, and they made good time out of the city.
Everyone knew that a raised voice here courted vivisection by a daedra - if they were lucky. Almost no one spoke, and when they did, it came in hushed whispers.
The Nine granted him a second miracle on top of the first. Outside the walls of Kvatch, the refugees found a camp of other survivors set up near the main road. Wives clung to their husbands, children to their parents. People mourned - even those few whose families remained mostly intact mourned at least one friend or distant relative. There were more dead than alive - but almost half of Kvatch had survived, it seemed. The nobility had holed up in the castle, so hope sprung from that corner, as well.
Everywhere he turned, he heard whispers about a Hero - or Heroine - of Kvatch, some solitary figure they found in the rubble where the gate had once stood. No one, it seemed, knew where exactly she was, nor how she fared - and Martin was very confident it was a she.
Finally, a guard approached him after sundown. He wore the haggard look of someone who had seen too much fighting these last few days. "I'm to understand you led these people out of the city, Brother Martin?"
Martin nodded quietly, so the man continued. "They tell me you're a healer, and a good one at that, is that true?" Another nod. He was tired, but he had enough magic left to put at least one or two more people to rights before he collapsed outright, anyway. Martin glanced back at Ariel, who stood at his right - the Nord at his left was unreadable, but the woman eyed the guardsman warily. "Forgive my manners - I'm Savlian Matius, acting guard captain."
"Then you'd be the one who held the road against the Daedra for two days straight?" Martin asked, inspecting the man. Still armored, he showed signs of exhaustion, but he wasn't badly injured yet, anyway.
The man - Savlian - nodded. "My men helped, of course. They're good, strong people. I ... also discovered the girl." At this, Martin felt himself perk up considerably. Finally. Ariel's firm hand on his shoulder restrained his eagerness. "Ah ... I see you've heard of our Heroine, then. She's in rough shape. I don't know enough about medicine to know if she can be saved, in all honesty." Savlian reached up, rubbing the back of his head. "And she's ... unusual."
"May I see to her?" Martin asked, keeping himself in check. There might, after all, be nothing he could do.
The guardsman smiled. "Of course."
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
I got distracted
H'okiday, so I'm seeing all the things going on in the blogs I'm following and I'm once again quite happy I decided to keep my nose more-or-less out of it, all the same.
I don't much care for parties when they're not the sort of thing you get murdered at.
So, what'd I get distracted by, if not all that?
Well, a five-year-old game, of course!
I had a revelation about the entire video game industry yesterday. You can release a buggy game that's sloppy around the edges, and people may buy it. But the way to keep people buying it is to give them the tools to fix what's broken. There is a vertiable army of modders out there, so if the product is good at its core, they will twist and tweak at it to their hearts' content and fix every little thing you never did - provided, of course, you give them the tools to do so. That's how a game that's five years old is still relevant to anything, and how there's still interest in the franchise five years later for the release of the fifth entry in the series.
Apparently Blizzard isn't the only group who firmly believes in the "when it's done" policy of game releases.
Let me explain: the game in question is The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. Now, there are still people who play The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, though I never took to it myself. I have a copy somewhere, I just never really got into it.
The game is solid at its core, it really is. It's got a standard 'save the world' style plot, but it's got so many sidequests and so much to do that even at basegame, it's a very worthwhile offering. The thing that makes it a gem, though, is the Construction Set. People have built entire games out of the Construction Set for Oblivion. Seriously. I have, myself, downloaded a little over a hundred plugins all told, including the ten official mods.
Let me pick at what's wrong with it, because 'it's a solid game' seems a little bit underwhelming in the face of the fact that I've done so much to my version of it that it hardly resembles the game that came in the box (or the copy I have for XBOX, for that matter).
The leveling system irks me. There are no two ways around it, the leveling system irks me. Until I did away with it entirely - and put something new in its place - I never thought too much about the sheer amount of grinding I did to no purpose in a single player game. The reason? Everything levels with you. While that sounds fine in theory - in theory only, mind - two important problems arise from doing it that way. One: although the enemies do keep up with you, make it a challenge, like, they're also never any stronger than you. There's never really any sense of progress, when everything is on par with you always. Two (and even worse than the first): If you don't fixate on your combat skills, you'll slide behind all the enemies who are keeping up with your stated levels. Even if you do, if you do it wrong, you'll still slide behind, and then all the curbstomp battles are on your skull, and you'll be lucky if they let you run away alive. So, in short, no real progress (unless you plan to lose your soul to, again, the grind in a single player game and become like unto a robot), only regress. Not good.
That's actually just about everyone's major gripe with the game, and it's almost impossible to swing a cat without hitting someone who's got a mod for it, although the biggest mods seem to have gotten it right overall. Check Oscuro's Oblivion Overhaul for the biggest enemy deleveler, and I'm currently poking around with Oblivion XP to undermine the stupid grind. I spend enough time on the game, thank you.
So, onto some of the other gripes with the game. Loading screens. It's a very resource intensive game, so sure, I'll accept that on a lot of rigs they're necessary, but on mine they really aren't, not always. (I play League of Legends just fine with Oblivion paused in the background, even with the resource-hogging mods I've plugged in.) Better Cities addresses this one nicely, by making the cities bigger, better, and more open. Actually, just better in general. I'm pretty sure it's added a ton of new places and people, but they blend nicely, so I'm only pretty sure.
What else ... oh, I know. Vampirism. Who ever heard of starving yourself for power? Anorexic models. I don't want to play an anorexic model anymore than I want to sparkle in the sunlight. So there's a mod to flip that about (actually most of the vampire overhaul mods do a whole hell of a lot more than that, but I'm just a simple thing, see), and another to get the disease by sleeping in disreputable places and getting bit, and another to add a major quest of sorts to the game just for the vampires.
Honestly, most of my mods I picked up for realism, not necessity. The only one I pick up for necessity is the alternate leveling system, because otherwise I'll be up to my eyeballs in Daedra too tough to take out (difficulty slider aside, anyway).
Sorry for the ... odd ... slant to my writing, by the by. I sunk my teeth into a lovely book, and the main character talks thusly. I'll be over it in time for Wednesday, probably. I'd like to do a proper review on some of the mods I added.
Over all, though, I have to say, Oblivion is not a bad game, even at base game. It's got an interesting enough plot, and most of the shiny that can still tax a newer system is inherent. The combat system is pretty fun and streamlined, the magic's all right. The main complaint I can think of is the bird-brained level system and the fact that AI is a crapshoot, so the ambient conversations are generally rather inane - which, most conversations among real people tend to be a bit inane. So meh. It's got grand, epic quests if you're into that, and enough other things to do that you'll be quite content if you want no part of those.
If you like RPGs and haven't yet tried it, pick it up. If you don't, well, don't.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to playing. (And I promise, I'm actually working on this here again, too.) They release Skyrim in November.
I don't much care for parties when they're not the sort of thing you get murdered at.
So, what'd I get distracted by, if not all that?
Well, a five-year-old game, of course!
I had a revelation about the entire video game industry yesterday. You can release a buggy game that's sloppy around the edges, and people may buy it. But the way to keep people buying it is to give them the tools to fix what's broken. There is a vertiable army of modders out there, so if the product is good at its core, they will twist and tweak at it to their hearts' content and fix every little thing you never did - provided, of course, you give them the tools to do so. That's how a game that's five years old is still relevant to anything, and how there's still interest in the franchise five years later for the release of the fifth entry in the series.
Apparently Blizzard isn't the only group who firmly believes in the "when it's done" policy of game releases.
Let me explain: the game in question is The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. Now, there are still people who play The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, though I never took to it myself. I have a copy somewhere, I just never really got into it.
The game is solid at its core, it really is. It's got a standard 'save the world' style plot, but it's got so many sidequests and so much to do that even at basegame, it's a very worthwhile offering. The thing that makes it a gem, though, is the Construction Set. People have built entire games out of the Construction Set for Oblivion. Seriously. I have, myself, downloaded a little over a hundred plugins all told, including the ten official mods.
Let me pick at what's wrong with it, because 'it's a solid game' seems a little bit underwhelming in the face of the fact that I've done so much to my version of it that it hardly resembles the game that came in the box (or the copy I have for XBOX, for that matter).
The leveling system irks me. There are no two ways around it, the leveling system irks me. Until I did away with it entirely - and put something new in its place - I never thought too much about the sheer amount of grinding I did to no purpose in a single player game. The reason? Everything levels with you. While that sounds fine in theory - in theory only, mind - two important problems arise from doing it that way. One: although the enemies do keep up with you, make it a challenge, like, they're also never any stronger than you. There's never really any sense of progress, when everything is on par with you always. Two (and even worse than the first): If you don't fixate on your combat skills, you'll slide behind all the enemies who are keeping up with your stated levels. Even if you do, if you do it wrong, you'll still slide behind, and then all the curbstomp battles are on your skull, and you'll be lucky if they let you run away alive. So, in short, no real progress (unless you plan to lose your soul to, again, the grind in a single player game and become like unto a robot), only regress. Not good.
That's actually just about everyone's major gripe with the game, and it's almost impossible to swing a cat without hitting someone who's got a mod for it, although the biggest mods seem to have gotten it right overall. Check Oscuro's Oblivion Overhaul for the biggest enemy deleveler, and I'm currently poking around with Oblivion XP to undermine the stupid grind. I spend enough time on the game, thank you.
So, onto some of the other gripes with the game. Loading screens. It's a very resource intensive game, so sure, I'll accept that on a lot of rigs they're necessary, but on mine they really aren't, not always. (I play League of Legends just fine with Oblivion paused in the background, even with the resource-hogging mods I've plugged in.) Better Cities addresses this one nicely, by making the cities bigger, better, and more open. Actually, just better in general. I'm pretty sure it's added a ton of new places and people, but they blend nicely, so I'm only pretty sure.
What else ... oh, I know. Vampirism. Who ever heard of starving yourself for power? Anorexic models. I don't want to play an anorexic model anymore than I want to sparkle in the sunlight. So there's a mod to flip that about (actually most of the vampire overhaul mods do a whole hell of a lot more than that, but I'm just a simple thing, see), and another to get the disease by sleeping in disreputable places and getting bit, and another to add a major quest of sorts to the game just for the vampires.
Honestly, most of my mods I picked up for realism, not necessity. The only one I pick up for necessity is the alternate leveling system, because otherwise I'll be up to my eyeballs in Daedra too tough to take out (difficulty slider aside, anyway).
Sorry for the ... odd ... slant to my writing, by the by. I sunk my teeth into a lovely book, and the main character talks thusly. I'll be over it in time for Wednesday, probably. I'd like to do a proper review on some of the mods I added.
Over all, though, I have to say, Oblivion is not a bad game, even at base game. It's got an interesting enough plot, and most of the shiny that can still tax a newer system is inherent. The combat system is pretty fun and streamlined, the magic's all right. The main complaint I can think of is the bird-brained level system and the fact that AI is a crapshoot, so the ambient conversations are generally rather inane - which, most conversations among real people tend to be a bit inane. So meh. It's got grand, epic quests if you're into that, and enough other things to do that you'll be quite content if you want no part of those.
If you like RPGs and haven't yet tried it, pick it up. If you don't, well, don't.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to playing. (And I promise, I'm actually working on this here again, too.) They release Skyrim in November.
Friday, April 15, 2011
On Oblivion
Nobody Important: Listener
Chapter 21: A Gate to Oblivion
The Oblivion Gate was massive, standing even taller than the walls around it.
It towered where the entrance to Kvatch used to be, a doorway into Oblivion itself, swirling with ominous, reddish light and scribed with runes of power. What Lyssi could make out of the land beyond it didn't really look habitable. If there was any way to avoid walking into the depths of Hell itself, she would have taken it.
She didn't have much choice though.
As it stood, she had a list of goals and a time limit.
She had to get out of the city to make her way to Anvil. That was where the next Dead Drop would be, that was where she'd intercept the traitor. She'd catch him red-handed, and then kill him. That took precedence, was what made the other goals so pressing: she just didn't have time for an apocalypse.
In order to get out of the city, she needed to bring down this Gate. Once the Gate was down, Martin Septim could go with his Blades, and the fate of the Empire would rest in their capable hands, not hers. The less the heir had to interact with a murderer like her, the better for everyone.
His blood had been so rich, so powerful.
She knew she couldn't resist it, even if she hadn't been starved and injured.
Next time she might not be able to stop at just a taste.
Taking in a breath she didn't really need, she reached out to hold her hand in the center of the swirling vortex.
There came a sick, wrenching sensation.
And then … nothing.
Chapter 21: A Gate to Oblivion
The Oblivion Gate was massive, standing even taller than the walls around it.
It towered where the entrance to Kvatch used to be, a doorway into Oblivion itself, swirling with ominous, reddish light and scribed with runes of power. What Lyssi could make out of the land beyond it didn't really look habitable. If there was any way to avoid walking into the depths of Hell itself, she would have taken it.
She didn't have much choice though.
As it stood, she had a list of goals and a time limit.
She had to get out of the city to make her way to Anvil. That was where the next Dead Drop would be, that was where she'd intercept the traitor. She'd catch him red-handed, and then kill him. That took precedence, was what made the other goals so pressing: she just didn't have time for an apocalypse.
In order to get out of the city, she needed to bring down this Gate. Once the Gate was down, Martin Septim could go with his Blades, and the fate of the Empire would rest in their capable hands, not hers. The less the heir had to interact with a murderer like her, the better for everyone.
His blood had been so rich, so powerful.
She knew she couldn't resist it, even if she hadn't been starved and injured.
Next time she might not be able to stop at just a taste.
Taking in a breath she didn't really need, she reached out to hold her hand in the center of the swirling vortex.
There came a sick, wrenching sensation.
And then … nothing.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Who Am I?
Back in the game again, and the game is so very, very pretty now.
3:27 PM 1/29/11
The sun is so bright it hurts my eyes. I feel like I've made some kind of momentous, world-shaking decision just now ... if only I could remember what it was. Ah, well.
3:35 - I'm awful tired - since the closest civilization is the Imperial City, I guess I have to hope the guards won't recognize me. What did I even do to get arrested?
3:50 - Eugh, it's raining.
4:18 - Joking around with the guards is probably a good way to get locked up again, but it really seems like nobody else knows who I am, either.
4:23 - I meant to take a nap, but apparently instead I fell into a coma that lasted until morning. Ah, well.
4:32 - It's like I didn't even exist before I woke up in that cell. By Azura ... am I even real? "Perhaps the Gods have placed you here so that we may meet." Chilling, old man.
4:42 - I have memories of being a spellcaster - I remember how to use several spells, and I know what many more of them do. Maybe someone at the Arcane University will remember me? It's all I have to go on.
5:13 - Spoke to a woman named Bothiel. Have problems telling Bosmer from Altmer half the time. Bah. She handed me a list and said it was most urgent that the items on it be collected. Apparently some kind of bandits attacked the Orrery. Maybe I'll help out. I'm pretty sure Bothiel doesn't like me. Well, I don't like her either.
5:23 - Have decided to look up my own status in the Mage's Guild. I have to have learned it all somewhere, right? Starting with Bruma. Somebody has to know who I am.
3:27 PM 1/29/11
The sun is so bright it hurts my eyes. I feel like I've made some kind of momentous, world-shaking decision just now ... if only I could remember what it was. Ah, well.
3:35 - I'm awful tired - since the closest civilization is the Imperial City, I guess I have to hope the guards won't recognize me. What did I even do to get arrested?
3:50 - Eugh, it's raining.
4:18 - Joking around with the guards is probably a good way to get locked up again, but it really seems like nobody else knows who I am, either.
4:23 - I meant to take a nap, but apparently instead I fell into a coma that lasted until morning. Ah, well.
4:32 - It's like I didn't even exist before I woke up in that cell. By Azura ... am I even real? "Perhaps the Gods have placed you here so that we may meet." Chilling, old man.
4:42 - I have memories of being a spellcaster - I remember how to use several spells, and I know what many more of them do. Maybe someone at the Arcane University will remember me? It's all I have to go on.
5:13 - Spoke to a woman named Bothiel. Have problems telling Bosmer from Altmer half the time. Bah. She handed me a list and said it was most urgent that the items on it be collected. Apparently some kind of bandits attacked the Orrery. Maybe I'll help out. I'm pretty sure Bothiel doesn't like me. Well, I don't like her either.
5:23 - Have decided to look up my own status in the Mage's Guild. I have to have learned it all somewhere, right? Starting with Bruma. Somebody has to know who I am.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
$15 Social Life
So, let's play some Elder Scrolls. I haven't done that in a while, and TES5 has been announced. Glee and joy, Skyrim!
I'm playing The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. It's kind of my favorite, partially since I got introduced to Morrowind after Oblivion's release and the graphics did not age well. My $15/month goes to playing WoW as a glorified chat room, while in the foreground the character creation screen boots up. Ah, Oblivion, how I've missed you.
12:03 PM 1/29/11
Behold: in darkness, a doom sweeps the land ...
12:04 - You know, this game's facial graphics haven't really aged well, but the rest of it is still beautiful.
12:05 - Dunmer for min-maxing, or Bosmer for looks. HM.
12:09 - This persistent "staring at the sky" thing is seriously starting to bug me. Given my plans for a Dunmer to be the new Madgod, sure. She can be a space cadet.
12:16 - She looks dull, and a bit sad.
12:19 - Aha! Almost fixed the sky-staring thing. De-de-de. Looks more severe now. Blah. Sliders.
12:24 - I wake up in a corner of a cold, dark, cell. My head hurts like it's been kicked in by an entire herd of horses. I don't even remember who I am. Where am I? Why am I here? By Azura ... everything hurts. I can hear something in the distance ...?
12:34 - 'scuse me, playing with the skin color now. I made a goth! And she has a name. Amelie.
12:42 - Now what? There's a Dunmer in the other cell ... gah, I'm so confused. All this talk of destiny ... can that man have really been the Emperor? They left the secret passage open behind them. Since my options are "follow" and "Rot down here forever," I guess I'll choose "follow."
12:47 - There's no way this can end badly.
12:53 - I must have been some kind of badass before getting locked down here. I've got skills I'm pretty sure a simple commoner shouldn't. Lockpicking, swordplay, spellcasting ... I found some heavy iron armor, and it just felt right to put it on.
12:59 - My stomach is growling ... looks like grilled rat is what's for dinner.
1:03 - Regretting using fireball as a torch: vicious, murderous rats everywhere.
1:14 - Why would the goblins be standing at the bottom of a log trap? They're all greenish ... and crushed. Wonder if any of the loot is usable. (Answer: No.)
1:23 - I feel like an invisible hand is guiding me sometimes, sure. But the Nine Divines? I don't know if I believe in your human religion, buddy. Meh. Trying to remember if my birthsign was Thief or Warrior. I'm not feeling especially lucky, but maybe we'll turn that around, yeah?
1:40 - I've got a real torch now. Hooray.
1:41 - IT'S A TRAP.
1:45 - But I liked Captain Renault's sword. I guess I get to run an errand for the Empire. I do feel a bit guilty, letting the Emperor die, if I'm such a badass.
1:58 - Trying to improve graphics. Oblivion has stopped working. Dammit. Fucking crashes.
2:29 - Research online suggests SaveINI from the console. Hooray! Of course, there's no way to open the console with Vista or later as your OS ... Spell of Open The Damn Console, 'kgo.
I'm playing The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. It's kind of my favorite, partially since I got introduced to Morrowind after Oblivion's release and the graphics did not age well. My $15/month goes to playing WoW as a glorified chat room, while in the foreground the character creation screen boots up. Ah, Oblivion, how I've missed you.
12:03 PM 1/29/11
Behold: in darkness, a doom sweeps the land ...
12:04 - You know, this game's facial graphics haven't really aged well, but the rest of it is still beautiful.
12:05 - Dunmer for min-maxing, or Bosmer for looks. HM.
12:09 - This persistent "staring at the sky" thing is seriously starting to bug me. Given my plans for a Dunmer to be the new Madgod, sure. She can be a space cadet.
12:16 - She looks dull, and a bit sad.
12:19 - Aha! Almost fixed the sky-staring thing. De-de-de. Looks more severe now. Blah. Sliders.
12:24 - I wake up in a corner of a cold, dark, cell. My head hurts like it's been kicked in by an entire herd of horses. I don't even remember who I am. Where am I? Why am I here? By Azura ... everything hurts. I can hear something in the distance ...?
12:34 - 'scuse me, playing with the skin color now. I made a goth! And she has a name. Amelie.
12:42 - Now what? There's a Dunmer in the other cell ... gah, I'm so confused. All this talk of destiny ... can that man have really been the Emperor? They left the secret passage open behind them. Since my options are "follow" and "Rot down here forever," I guess I'll choose "follow."
12:47 - There's no way this can end badly.
12:53 - I must have been some kind of badass before getting locked down here. I've got skills I'm pretty sure a simple commoner shouldn't. Lockpicking, swordplay, spellcasting ... I found some heavy iron armor, and it just felt right to put it on.
12:59 - My stomach is growling ... looks like grilled rat is what's for dinner.
1:03 - Regretting using fireball as a torch: vicious, murderous rats everywhere.
1:14 - Why would the goblins be standing at the bottom of a log trap? They're all greenish ... and crushed. Wonder if any of the loot is usable. (Answer: No.)
1:23 - I feel like an invisible hand is guiding me sometimes, sure. But the Nine Divines? I don't know if I believe in your human religion, buddy. Meh. Trying to remember if my birthsign was Thief or Warrior. I'm not feeling especially lucky, but maybe we'll turn that around, yeah?
1:40 - I've got a real torch now. Hooray.
1:41 - IT'S A TRAP.
1:45 - But I liked Captain Renault's sword. I guess I get to run an errand for the Empire. I do feel a bit guilty, letting the Emperor die, if I'm such a badass.
1:58 - Trying to improve graphics. Oblivion has stopped working. Dammit. Fucking crashes.
2:29 - Research online suggests SaveINI from the console. Hooray! Of course, there's no way to open the console with Vista or later as your OS ... Spell of Open The Damn Console, 'kgo.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)