shongo3258
Vampire of Skyrim
Yeah maybe my family is just not as exposed. I only have an ipod and I am like smeagol with that thing. I basically have the only apple product and no one ,other than myself, really games.
Forbidden Arts: Necromantia
- Thread starter Silence
- Start date
Silence
Member
I have a bunch of new ideas that came from my most recent play sessions, excited to post more. Wondering though.. since I know stuff like this has happened to a few others. I was struggling along and jumped over a cliff side avoiding a bear and.. at the bottom stood a horse. Just standing there, nothing nearby, free to take. I saved and stopped playing and I've got plenty to write with but.. do y'think thats just too lucky/random to add in the journal? I use most all of the Hrisskar limitations, and it is not easy, so I'm not really sure what to do. Too good to be true, too easy for the play style?
I'm continually shocked with the random events that keep happening in this game when not purposely pwning everything, it's crazy. Input?
I'm continually shocked with the random events that keep happening in this game when not purposely pwning everything, it's crazy. Input?
shongo3258
Vampire of Skyrim
I personally would take it for one big reason. Horses die easily especially around things like saber cats or dragons. It's a pretty big thing to just come across but as easily as horses die I think its acceptable.
TamrielsSavior
The Dark Nord of Helgen
Also, those random horses tend to wander on you as soon as you dismount. So it most likely won't still be with you when you get up jn the morning
shongo3258
Vampire of Skyrim
Where is everyone?
Silence
Member
DATE UNKNOWN - FORESTS OUTSIDE OF HELGEN ___________________________________________________
Her steps crackled as she moved through the muddy, already footprint-mashed snow that lined the ground at the cave entrance. The events that had transpired at Helgen were all just a jumble in her mind. She had been so close. Raising a hand to shield her eyes she scanned the forest that lie down the hill before her. A Nord man that also emerged from the cave spoke to her, something about help in Riverwood, a nearby town where he had family. His words seemed an echo in a hollow place, and she nodded briefly and stepped aside, eyes fixed ahead. What now? The man thanked her for some reason and stepped off down the hill and around a bend in the trail.
She had nothing. The knapsack she'd taken from Alva's house had been dropped somewhere in the fray, so her ragged robes were all that remained to her. That and her hunger. It started deep in the pit of her stomach, a craving for lifeblood that made her cringe and lean over in pain. The sun shone softy against her pale face, but felt like a thousand ants pinching along the flesh. Riverwood? She might have no choice, and she considered this as suddenly a crack of roaring sound filled her ears, obliterating all thought. She looked up and caught just a small glimpse, but that is all it took. What could only be described as a dragon arced overhead and shot off into the distance, soaring on winds that also shook the leaves in the trees that stood around her violently. She knew something unnaturally powerful had spoken before her head was to be chopped off, but in the ensuing chaos had not had time to look up. It vanished off towards the far off mountains, wind sweeping her ragged robes to flutter about her legs.
She dipped into the treeline and walked slowly, lost in thought. A howl alerted her and she crouched, pressing herself down to avoid the eyes of the pack of wolves loped just past her on the path. Their fur stank of wet musty life, the sounds of the forest disguising her ragged breaths as she waited. Gone, she continued, in what direction she could only guess was northeast. She needed food and a shelter for what remained of her very first daytime of undeath. She felt a bit empowered also.. she wasn't reduced to ash as she'd been taught. Day was not impossible, just difficult. She carried on noiseless, her feet aching and mind drifting back to the warm confines of her old crypt. Bastards.
Virhalla knew it'd be a miracle if she made it anywhere anyway, as she had no body to ressurrect to fight for her. Her dagger was lost in the fray in the basement, what seemed now like weeks ago. She shuffled further into the forest until she was following a path that ran alongside a swift flowing river. She stopped, crouching to pick a red mountian flower.
Something came screeching out of the brush at her. She shrieked in surprise, dropping the flower and raising her hands to instinctively protect her neck. The rodent-like creature skidded past her, whirling around to snap, flat front teeth chattering together as it screamed and whipped it's thin wormy tail back. The skeever was covered in matted, mangy brown fur, oily black eyes flashing dangerously as she stiffened, circling back. It leaped again, sinking it's dirty teeth into her shoulder. Virhalla gritted her teeth at the sharp pain and smacked it aside, jerking her left hand up and summoning her power. A swirling streak of cloudy red shot forth at the animal, sucking some of it's life force out with her vampiric drain. She'd only used it once before, and never in defense, but this time it was her only hope. The skeever circled with blood curdling screeches, snapping at her. She danced back and forth with it, avoiding another bite somehow before being bowled over by the rabid looking rat. Her fists flung up to punch at it's sides, thudding into it's ribs and finally upside it's pointed muzzle. She collapsed breathing hard, the skeever's corpse twitching as life left it. She sat up and stared at the body for a few minutes, brows pulled together in an angry glare. It would have to do.
She grumbled, cursing to herself as she stood and dusted her knees off, loose dirt puffing off from her robes. Raising her hands again she shot life back into the disgusting animal and it's large eyes shuddered to open, swinging to look up at her expectantly as it stood with a strange high pitched chittering squeak. Her hand unconciously went to her wounded shoulder, touching the dark stain of blood where teethmarks ripped into it. She knew in the sun it would be slow to heal. Nasty beast. Her pale eyes shot upward, wincing slightly as they traced the sun's path as it began it's descent in the skies. Skeever tittered along just behind her as her feet found the path again.
It was nightfall by the time she felt her shoulder close up and she smiled thinly, looking back at her little cohort. The moons rising ever higher, it was beautiful and she felt truly alive again. Creaks and chirps of nighttime bugs sounded, filling her ears with their comforting melody, breezes lifting and then dying sending rustles through the sparse grasses and filling her nose with crisp darkness. Winding up the cliffside, picking her way with delicate steps, the skeever followed. Earlier at early dusk, with the sun still winding down it's reddish trail to set, the rodent had darted into the trees, and an agonized scream told her it'd killed some small animal. She had followed, hopping off the path and running up the slanted ridge with newfound speed restored by the night air. Sure enough, the skeever was cluthing a tiny rabbit still in the throes of death, thick fur harshly white up against the brown fur of it's killer. Virhalla whistled sharply, kicking the skeever aside. It yelped a thin squeak and tumbled over, her magic loosing it's grip as it died again. She didn't flinch in the least and scooped up the siezuring rabbit, it's fur stained with drops of the brilliant red that would sustain her, if only for a short while. She clamped her jaw into it and drained what she could from the frail animal, eyes half shut in exstacy with the plush fur pressing against her cheeks. Breaking out from the daze of feeding she spit and cursed, dusting remaining white from her face and hastily swiping her sleeve over her lips. She sunk to sit and tossed the rabbit aside, eyes falling upon the skeever. What a joke.. Sighing, she raised the animal again and it shuddered to stand, eyes glinting in the shaded moonlight that sifted through the trees overhead.
A howl rose, climbing to peak in a long deep note and then fading into echos that bounced all around her. She jumped to her feet, diving forward away from the sound. She heard the flurried pat of paws hitting earth and grunted, dodging between the trees with a scowl. Behind, too close behind, she heard the skeever scream. She heard the crunch of teeth and the low, devious growls as the animal under her control was fought over and then promptly ripped to shreds. She did not need to see to know it was gone, and she continued on. It had served it's purpose well enough for such a puny hopeless conjure.
Virhalla clambered over a rock but lost her footing, mouth gaping in horror as she began to slide down the other side with increasing helplessness, fingers grasping at the smooth rock but finding no purchase. Her heart leapt as she was sure she would plummet a thousand feet to her death, having not looked down. Loose gravel rained down as her toes dragged over rough rock. Somehow suddenly she touched down on a bed of pine needles, and she splayed her hands on the rock wall, breathless and terrified. before her a hulking outline of a man, but surely this was a monster.. it was massive, pointed helmet over 9 feet tall. She remained there frozen, minutes skipping by until she realized the giant's back was to her. Virhalla laughed, her voice ringing out in the empty night. It was a statue.
Talos on bended knee gripping his sword, facing away from her. The sharp metallic stink of old blood stung her nose, prompting her mouth to water. But this blood was spilled many nights ago, and she fumbled with her tattered robes and slipped ahead, gray eyes alight with curiosity. Littered in the shadow of Talos lie several corpses. Her blood throbbed in her mind, excitement growing as she took in the scene. Once upon a time she had prayed like a good little Nord girl at the feet of Talos beside her mother and father. But her kind, dead and unnatural, were forsaken by the Divines. Even if she had not been a vampire, Talos had never blessed her with anything. No hope, her sad life crumbled on and on no matter her begging prayers, and she hated him for it. Religion was a joke, there was no sweet Sovengarde for her kind, only living hell and worse, Oblivion's empty torturous doom. She bent to inspect a brown robed figure. The woman had been lovely to look upon in life, but now the right side of her face was eaten away by squirming maggots, flies stirring in a cloud when she edged close. It made her smile warmly. The dead had always been better to Virhalla then any living soul beside her mother, and her mind had repressed those memories deep beneath the cloud of horrors.
The dead woman was a priestess of some sort, her long sand brown robes soft and plain. Virhalla stripped the corpse without hesitation releasing a flood of melted fluids from the gaping wound in her stomach to spread and sink into the grass. Stepping around it and ripping her own ragged robe off she tossed it unceremoniously over her shoulder. It landed slung across Talos' mighty face, and she breathed deeply, smiling, her slender naked body bathed in cool moonlight. Tugging the brown priestess robes closed around her she hugged it to her body, comforted by the slight hint of decay that hung over the airy fabric.. and the irony of a undead abomination wearing robes of a servant of the gods. Virhalla then went to work, robbing the assorted corpses of anything small and valuable. An amethyst, a new dagger, 15 septims, a sack containing bits of wheat and dragonfly wings from the corpse of a Nord farmer woman and other small things of less import. And then she stood silently, evaluating which of the dead would serve her best. Picking over an avoiding an obvious bandit dressed in mottled fur, his greatsword far too heavy for her thin arms, she sighed and turned. The glint of gold caught her eye and she was drawn to another corpse, this one contorted in a sickening bend over several jagged rocks. The mer's face was drawn peacefully but withered by the sun and wind, flaking in spots but discernable through a fine spray of hardened blood. Thalmor. She spit on his face and took his boots, shoving her worn iron-edged ones onto his naked feet. Virhalla stood over him and waved her arms wide, thrusting her head back in exstacy. The wind lifted, gusting and throwing her dark hair up in tendrils as the magic she craved left her hands and dove into the fallen elf.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Her steps crackled as she moved through the muddy, already footprint-mashed snow that lined the ground at the cave entrance. The events that had transpired at Helgen were all just a jumble in her mind. She had been so close. Raising a hand to shield her eyes she scanned the forest that lie down the hill before her. A Nord man that also emerged from the cave spoke to her, something about help in Riverwood, a nearby town where he had family. His words seemed an echo in a hollow place, and she nodded briefly and stepped aside, eyes fixed ahead. What now? The man thanked her for some reason and stepped off down the hill and around a bend in the trail.
She had nothing. The knapsack she'd taken from Alva's house had been dropped somewhere in the fray, so her ragged robes were all that remained to her. That and her hunger. It started deep in the pit of her stomach, a craving for lifeblood that made her cringe and lean over in pain. The sun shone softy against her pale face, but felt like a thousand ants pinching along the flesh. Riverwood? She might have no choice, and she considered this as suddenly a crack of roaring sound filled her ears, obliterating all thought. She looked up and caught just a small glimpse, but that is all it took. What could only be described as a dragon arced overhead and shot off into the distance, soaring on winds that also shook the leaves in the trees that stood around her violently. She knew something unnaturally powerful had spoken before her head was to be chopped off, but in the ensuing chaos had not had time to look up. It vanished off towards the far off mountains, wind sweeping her ragged robes to flutter about her legs.
She dipped into the treeline and walked slowly, lost in thought. A howl alerted her and she crouched, pressing herself down to avoid the eyes of the pack of wolves loped just past her on the path. Their fur stank of wet musty life, the sounds of the forest disguising her ragged breaths as she waited. Gone, she continued, in what direction she could only guess was northeast. She needed food and a shelter for what remained of her very first daytime of undeath. She felt a bit empowered also.. she wasn't reduced to ash as she'd been taught. Day was not impossible, just difficult. She carried on noiseless, her feet aching and mind drifting back to the warm confines of her old crypt. Bastards.
Virhalla knew it'd be a miracle if she made it anywhere anyway, as she had no body to ressurrect to fight for her. Her dagger was lost in the fray in the basement, what seemed now like weeks ago. She shuffled further into the forest until she was following a path that ran alongside a swift flowing river. She stopped, crouching to pick a red mountian flower.
Something came screeching out of the brush at her. She shrieked in surprise, dropping the flower and raising her hands to instinctively protect her neck. The rodent-like creature skidded past her, whirling around to snap, flat front teeth chattering together as it screamed and whipped it's thin wormy tail back. The skeever was covered in matted, mangy brown fur, oily black eyes flashing dangerously as she stiffened, circling back. It leaped again, sinking it's dirty teeth into her shoulder. Virhalla gritted her teeth at the sharp pain and smacked it aside, jerking her left hand up and summoning her power. A swirling streak of cloudy red shot forth at the animal, sucking some of it's life force out with her vampiric drain. She'd only used it once before, and never in defense, but this time it was her only hope. The skeever circled with blood curdling screeches, snapping at her. She danced back and forth with it, avoiding another bite somehow before being bowled over by the rabid looking rat. Her fists flung up to punch at it's sides, thudding into it's ribs and finally upside it's pointed muzzle. She collapsed breathing hard, the skeever's corpse twitching as life left it. She sat up and stared at the body for a few minutes, brows pulled together in an angry glare. It would have to do.
She grumbled, cursing to herself as she stood and dusted her knees off, loose dirt puffing off from her robes. Raising her hands again she shot life back into the disgusting animal and it's large eyes shuddered to open, swinging to look up at her expectantly as it stood with a strange high pitched chittering squeak. Her hand unconciously went to her wounded shoulder, touching the dark stain of blood where teethmarks ripped into it. She knew in the sun it would be slow to heal. Nasty beast. Her pale eyes shot upward, wincing slightly as they traced the sun's path as it began it's descent in the skies. Skeever tittered along just behind her as her feet found the path again.
It was nightfall by the time she felt her shoulder close up and she smiled thinly, looking back at her little cohort. The moons rising ever higher, it was beautiful and she felt truly alive again. Creaks and chirps of nighttime bugs sounded, filling her ears with their comforting melody, breezes lifting and then dying sending rustles through the sparse grasses and filling her nose with crisp darkness. Winding up the cliffside, picking her way with delicate steps, the skeever followed. Earlier at early dusk, with the sun still winding down it's reddish trail to set, the rodent had darted into the trees, and an agonized scream told her it'd killed some small animal. She had followed, hopping off the path and running up the slanted ridge with newfound speed restored by the night air. Sure enough, the skeever was cluthing a tiny rabbit still in the throes of death, thick fur harshly white up against the brown fur of it's killer. Virhalla whistled sharply, kicking the skeever aside. It yelped a thin squeak and tumbled over, her magic loosing it's grip as it died again. She didn't flinch in the least and scooped up the siezuring rabbit, it's fur stained with drops of the brilliant red that would sustain her, if only for a short while. She clamped her jaw into it and drained what she could from the frail animal, eyes half shut in exstacy with the plush fur pressing against her cheeks. Breaking out from the daze of feeding she spit and cursed, dusting remaining white from her face and hastily swiping her sleeve over her lips. She sunk to sit and tossed the rabbit aside, eyes falling upon the skeever. What a joke.. Sighing, she raised the animal again and it shuddered to stand, eyes glinting in the shaded moonlight that sifted through the trees overhead.
A howl rose, climbing to peak in a long deep note and then fading into echos that bounced all around her. She jumped to her feet, diving forward away from the sound. She heard the flurried pat of paws hitting earth and grunted, dodging between the trees with a scowl. Behind, too close behind, she heard the skeever scream. She heard the crunch of teeth and the low, devious growls as the animal under her control was fought over and then promptly ripped to shreds. She did not need to see to know it was gone, and she continued on. It had served it's purpose well enough for such a puny hopeless conjure.
Virhalla clambered over a rock but lost her footing, mouth gaping in horror as she began to slide down the other side with increasing helplessness, fingers grasping at the smooth rock but finding no purchase. Her heart leapt as she was sure she would plummet a thousand feet to her death, having not looked down. Loose gravel rained down as her toes dragged over rough rock. Somehow suddenly she touched down on a bed of pine needles, and she splayed her hands on the rock wall, breathless and terrified. before her a hulking outline of a man, but surely this was a monster.. it was massive, pointed helmet over 9 feet tall. She remained there frozen, minutes skipping by until she realized the giant's back was to her. Virhalla laughed, her voice ringing out in the empty night. It was a statue.
Talos on bended knee gripping his sword, facing away from her. The sharp metallic stink of old blood stung her nose, prompting her mouth to water. But this blood was spilled many nights ago, and she fumbled with her tattered robes and slipped ahead, gray eyes alight with curiosity. Littered in the shadow of Talos lie several corpses. Her blood throbbed in her mind, excitement growing as she took in the scene. Once upon a time she had prayed like a good little Nord girl at the feet of Talos beside her mother and father. But her kind, dead and unnatural, were forsaken by the Divines. Even if she had not been a vampire, Talos had never blessed her with anything. No hope, her sad life crumbled on and on no matter her begging prayers, and she hated him for it. Religion was a joke, there was no sweet Sovengarde for her kind, only living hell and worse, Oblivion's empty torturous doom. She bent to inspect a brown robed figure. The woman had been lovely to look upon in life, but now the right side of her face was eaten away by squirming maggots, flies stirring in a cloud when she edged close. It made her smile warmly. The dead had always been better to Virhalla then any living soul beside her mother, and her mind had repressed those memories deep beneath the cloud of horrors.
The dead woman was a priestess of some sort, her long sand brown robes soft and plain. Virhalla stripped the corpse without hesitation releasing a flood of melted fluids from the gaping wound in her stomach to spread and sink into the grass. Stepping around it and ripping her own ragged robe off she tossed it unceremoniously over her shoulder. It landed slung across Talos' mighty face, and she breathed deeply, smiling, her slender naked body bathed in cool moonlight. Tugging the brown priestess robes closed around her she hugged it to her body, comforted by the slight hint of decay that hung over the airy fabric.. and the irony of a undead abomination wearing robes of a servant of the gods. Virhalla then went to work, robbing the assorted corpses of anything small and valuable. An amethyst, a new dagger, 15 septims, a sack containing bits of wheat and dragonfly wings from the corpse of a Nord farmer woman and other small things of less import. And then she stood silently, evaluating which of the dead would serve her best. Picking over an avoiding an obvious bandit dressed in mottled fur, his greatsword far too heavy for her thin arms, she sighed and turned. The glint of gold caught her eye and she was drawn to another corpse, this one contorted in a sickening bend over several jagged rocks. The mer's face was drawn peacefully but withered by the sun and wind, flaking in spots but discernable through a fine spray of hardened blood. Thalmor. She spit on his face and took his boots, shoving her worn iron-edged ones onto his naked feet. Virhalla stood over him and waved her arms wide, thrusting her head back in exstacy. The wind lifted, gusting and throwing her dark hair up in tendrils as the magic she craved left her hands and dove into the fallen elf.
_________________________________________________________________________________
shongo3258
Vampire of Skyrim
Nice entry. You describe conjuration perfectly and this is the only thing that would stop me from reading BIGwoolies new playthrough. Really good!
