Wauten Dayhil
Demon Hunter and Wordplay Extraordinaire
"To Wauten Dayhil, Handsomest Daedra Hunter who is Very Handsome,
Perhaps you’re reading this note in a cave, on the road, yadda yadda yadda... you are very handsome... Wherever, or must I say, however handsome you are... I have something worth your while."
"Oooh, this does sound interesting," the Hunter interrupted his reading, before continuing to relay the contents.
"Something YOU specifically need. Your quest for eternal bliss has just begun; however, the trials that await you are no match for your handsomeness. You have the opportunity now to leave this note in its rightful place, I don't know what that word is... But... if you’re really handsome, and a fire has been lit in your heart, flavor text, yadda, then you are definitely handsome. Few others have received a note like this, and those few you will meet soon are not as handsome as you. Risk what you have... unimportant words... but know you cannot grow any more handsome. I will make myself known to you soon, for notes can only display so much admiration for your handsome face. Take the southern something or other, find the Guardian stones. Superficial ink usage... you are handsome, I will see you then. By the way, you are handsome.
T.K."
The daedra hunter set the piece of parchment down on his lap, and took up his lute once more. As he plucked at the strings, the man mulled over what he'd read. The idea of yet another adventure was quite appealing, and his weapons were becoming appallingly devoid of blood. Maybe, he thought to himself, maybe this really is fate.... mayb- the string he'd been picking at snapped with a loud pwing, and Dayhil winced at the sound. With a sigh and a shake of his head, the daedra hunter set the instrument back down on the floor, and looked to his companions.
"What say you?" he asked, looking from face to face.
"I think more than half of that was horseplops," said a hulking Nord, "no way someone'd call you handsome in a letter, let alone as much as you just read. And what in Oblivion is 'super... superfecal'?"
"Nobody asked you, Bjarik," Dayhil said, looking to his other companion, "What say you, Letri?"
"I say it sounds like a good source of gold," the little Wood Elf replied, in a voice that seemed far too loud for her small stature, "but Bjarik's right. You're definitely lying about the handsome parts."
"Okay, that last sentence may have been just me," the hunter lamented, "but I swear on my father's left nut that the rest is true!"
At about this time, in one of the Myriad Realms of Revelry, Sanguine slouched in his throne; a bottle of brandy in one hand, a woman's bosom in the other, and a man's head betwixt his legs. All was drunken merriment until Sanguine felt a twinge, and his groin began to burn. "Again?" was all the Daedric Prince could squeak out, before he lost consciousness.
"Anyways!" Dayhil shouted aloud, shattering the hunter's mental image of his father, "I take it that you believe I should go?" His companions nodded their approval, "Then I shall go."
With that, the daedra hunter-slash-wordplay extraordinaire packed his lute, bow, and blade, rose from his log, and walked the twenty feet from their camp, up the hill, and stood staring at the famous Guardian Stones of Skyrim. He took a deep breath, turned about, and shouted back down to his companions, "Bye! Have a beautiful time!" while waving his hand, and then gave a thumbs-up.
"What's that supposed to be?" Letri whispered to Bjarik, as she tore more meat from the roasting skeever and stuffed it into her mouth.
"Who knows?" Bjarik replied, gazing up at the stars, "It's like he's from a different world, sometimes."
Perhaps you’re reading this note in a cave, on the road, yadda yadda yadda... you are very handsome... Wherever, or must I say, however handsome you are... I have something worth your while."
"Oooh, this does sound interesting," the Hunter interrupted his reading, before continuing to relay the contents.
"Something YOU specifically need. Your quest for eternal bliss has just begun; however, the trials that await you are no match for your handsomeness. You have the opportunity now to leave this note in its rightful place, I don't know what that word is... But... if you’re really handsome, and a fire has been lit in your heart, flavor text, yadda, then you are definitely handsome. Few others have received a note like this, and those few you will meet soon are not as handsome as you. Risk what you have... unimportant words... but know you cannot grow any more handsome. I will make myself known to you soon, for notes can only display so much admiration for your handsome face. Take the southern something or other, find the Guardian stones. Superficial ink usage... you are handsome, I will see you then. By the way, you are handsome.
T.K."
The daedra hunter set the piece of parchment down on his lap, and took up his lute once more. As he plucked at the strings, the man mulled over what he'd read. The idea of yet another adventure was quite appealing, and his weapons were becoming appallingly devoid of blood. Maybe, he thought to himself, maybe this really is fate.... mayb- the string he'd been picking at snapped with a loud pwing, and Dayhil winced at the sound. With a sigh and a shake of his head, the daedra hunter set the instrument back down on the floor, and looked to his companions.
"What say you?" he asked, looking from face to face.
"I think more than half of that was horseplops," said a hulking Nord, "no way someone'd call you handsome in a letter, let alone as much as you just read. And what in Oblivion is 'super... superfecal'?"
"Nobody asked you, Bjarik," Dayhil said, looking to his other companion, "What say you, Letri?"
"I say it sounds like a good source of gold," the little Wood Elf replied, in a voice that seemed far too loud for her small stature, "but Bjarik's right. You're definitely lying about the handsome parts."
"Okay, that last sentence may have been just me," the hunter lamented, "but I swear on my father's left nut that the rest is true!"
At about this time, in one of the Myriad Realms of Revelry, Sanguine slouched in his throne; a bottle of brandy in one hand, a woman's bosom in the other, and a man's head betwixt his legs. All was drunken merriment until Sanguine felt a twinge, and his groin began to burn. "Again?" was all the Daedric Prince could squeak out, before he lost consciousness.
"Anyways!" Dayhil shouted aloud, shattering the hunter's mental image of his father, "I take it that you believe I should go?" His companions nodded their approval, "Then I shall go."
With that, the daedra hunter-slash-wordplay extraordinaire packed his lute, bow, and blade, rose from his log, and walked the twenty feet from their camp, up the hill, and stood staring at the famous Guardian Stones of Skyrim. He took a deep breath, turned about, and shouted back down to his companions, "Bye! Have a beautiful time!" while waving his hand, and then gave a thumbs-up.
"What's that supposed to be?" Letri whispered to Bjarik, as she tore more meat from the roasting skeever and stuffed it into her mouth.
"Who knows?" Bjarik replied, gazing up at the stars, "It's like he's from a different world, sometimes."
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