treasurehunter
Lol.... Whut?
Ormer Freerunner wiped his mugs with his rags, listening to the Stormcloaks converse over the quality of the women in the fort.
Sighing, he grabbed some mead and wandered over to their table. He set the bottles down in front of them, and set some mugs down.
"Bartender," one of the Stormcloaks piped up, "Make sure that venison doesn't burn, I haven't had a decent meal since I left Riverwood."
"Yes, sir." Ormer muttered, and walked back to his counter. He looked at his wife, and she rolled her eyes silently, as she sampled the venison stew.
Those Stormcloaks have been nothing but trouble since they arrived. Ormer has inherited the land the fort sat on from his father, who was once a general for the Imperial army.
Needless to say, he turned the Fort into a haven for travellers on their way to Winterhold. There weren't many travellers, and the Stormcloaks had been here for weeks, drinking mead and not paying for it.
Suddenly there was a shout from the table, and Ormer turned to look at the commotion. Mead bottles crashed to the floor, and chairs were pushed back as the Stormcloaks drunkenly brawled.
Ormer's wife, Sadie, sighed and moved out of the way, not paying any attention to the stew.
Ormer watched as one of the drunken soldiers fell over a table, knocking food and plates over the room. Ormer slapped his rag on the counter and casted his Oakflesh. He may not have expert experience, but he'd had enough of watching them destroy his home and already lingering business.
Sadie reacted dutifully, and pulled out her dagger. She slit the throat of the soldier closest to her and casted a stream of flames onto two more drunk Stormcloaks.
Ormer landed a bolt of lightening square in the chest of the last Stormcloak, sending him into the wall.
He then turned to his wife, who was still fighting off a Stormcloak who fought her fire with a ward.
He grabbed his axe, leaning beside the counter, and went and hacked it into the man's shoulder. With a yelp, the man pulled back and lost his ward.
Sadie took the chance and immediately used both hands to engulf the man in flames. Once she was done, she sat down and rested her head into her hands. Ormer knew she wasn't skilled in magic. It was her skill in bartering and persuasion that he fell for.
He walked to her side, and laid a hand on her shoulder. He whispered some comforting words and embraced her tightly.
Sadie looked up to say something, but someone in the darkness began to applaud their victory.
Ormer turned to the shadowy corner behind the Stormcloaks' corpses and out stepped a Dark Elf in a black robe.
"Well, you've certainly saved me the trouble of dealing with these imbeciles," he looked up, and Sadie gasped at the sight of his blood red eyes. "You see, I've been sent to... liberate this lovely piece of construction from your possession."
Ormer stepped in front of his wife, recasting his Oakflesh. The Dark elf paid smiled slightly, "I see we're going to have a problem. Very well."
The robed elf stepped forward, raising his hands, "Have you ever seen the Ritual Stone located near Whiterun? I've a friend who brought me there. Let me show you my souvineir."
He smiled and began to laugh as the room filled with a silvery-blue mist. Ormer began to shoot the elf with his lightening, but a ward surrounded the elf.
Sadie screamed as she watched the half0burnt corpses rise and start toward her husband. She pulled out her dagger and buried it into the nearest of them. The dead soldier simply moanded and grabbed her head. Sadie's tears rolled down her cheeks and soaked into the dead Nord's glove.
Ormer's stream of lightening was cut short when he heard a snap and saw his wife go limp.
The Dark elf chuckled to himself as the horde of zombies surrounded the bartender, muffling his cries for mercy. It was all too easy.
The guards in the back of the fort had been complaining about wanting mead, and a simple illusion spell satisfied their need right up until their frail bodies couldn't handle his flames.
He had been surprised that they were the only ones outside, which made his infiltration of the back entrance more than a breeze.
He then wandered through the fort, feeding on the sleeping before finishing them off. Before his unfortunate experience with a few loggers in Falkreath, he would have depicted himself honourable; and killing the defenseless in their sleep seemed best in this situation.
The Dark elf Vetrio sat in the now darkened bar, watching his servants fall to ash as he waited for his master. The darkness was almost done for the day, and when twilight has returned, so shall he be with his Master once more.
Sighing, he grabbed some mead and wandered over to their table. He set the bottles down in front of them, and set some mugs down.
"Bartender," one of the Stormcloaks piped up, "Make sure that venison doesn't burn, I haven't had a decent meal since I left Riverwood."
"Yes, sir." Ormer muttered, and walked back to his counter. He looked at his wife, and she rolled her eyes silently, as she sampled the venison stew.
Those Stormcloaks have been nothing but trouble since they arrived. Ormer has inherited the land the fort sat on from his father, who was once a general for the Imperial army.
Needless to say, he turned the Fort into a haven for travellers on their way to Winterhold. There weren't many travellers, and the Stormcloaks had been here for weeks, drinking mead and not paying for it.
Suddenly there was a shout from the table, and Ormer turned to look at the commotion. Mead bottles crashed to the floor, and chairs were pushed back as the Stormcloaks drunkenly brawled.
Ormer's wife, Sadie, sighed and moved out of the way, not paying any attention to the stew.
Ormer watched as one of the drunken soldiers fell over a table, knocking food and plates over the room. Ormer slapped his rag on the counter and casted his Oakflesh. He may not have expert experience, but he'd had enough of watching them destroy his home and already lingering business.
Sadie reacted dutifully, and pulled out her dagger. She slit the throat of the soldier closest to her and casted a stream of flames onto two more drunk Stormcloaks.
Ormer landed a bolt of lightening square in the chest of the last Stormcloak, sending him into the wall.
He then turned to his wife, who was still fighting off a Stormcloak who fought her fire with a ward.
He grabbed his axe, leaning beside the counter, and went and hacked it into the man's shoulder. With a yelp, the man pulled back and lost his ward.
Sadie took the chance and immediately used both hands to engulf the man in flames. Once she was done, she sat down and rested her head into her hands. Ormer knew she wasn't skilled in magic. It was her skill in bartering and persuasion that he fell for.
He walked to her side, and laid a hand on her shoulder. He whispered some comforting words and embraced her tightly.
Sadie looked up to say something, but someone in the darkness began to applaud their victory.
Ormer turned to the shadowy corner behind the Stormcloaks' corpses and out stepped a Dark Elf in a black robe.
"Well, you've certainly saved me the trouble of dealing with these imbeciles," he looked up, and Sadie gasped at the sight of his blood red eyes. "You see, I've been sent to... liberate this lovely piece of construction from your possession."
Ormer stepped in front of his wife, recasting his Oakflesh. The Dark elf paid smiled slightly, "I see we're going to have a problem. Very well."
The robed elf stepped forward, raising his hands, "Have you ever seen the Ritual Stone located near Whiterun? I've a friend who brought me there. Let me show you my souvineir."
He smiled and began to laugh as the room filled with a silvery-blue mist. Ormer began to shoot the elf with his lightening, but a ward surrounded the elf.
Sadie screamed as she watched the half0burnt corpses rise and start toward her husband. She pulled out her dagger and buried it into the nearest of them. The dead soldier simply moanded and grabbed her head. Sadie's tears rolled down her cheeks and soaked into the dead Nord's glove.
Ormer's stream of lightening was cut short when he heard a snap and saw his wife go limp.
The Dark elf chuckled to himself as the horde of zombies surrounded the bartender, muffling his cries for mercy. It was all too easy.
The guards in the back of the fort had been complaining about wanting mead, and a simple illusion spell satisfied their need right up until their frail bodies couldn't handle his flames.
He had been surprised that they were the only ones outside, which made his infiltration of the back entrance more than a breeze.
He then wandered through the fort, feeding on the sleeping before finishing them off. Before his unfortunate experience with a few loggers in Falkreath, he would have depicted himself honourable; and killing the defenseless in their sleep seemed best in this situation.
The Dark elf Vetrio sat in the now darkened bar, watching his servants fall to ash as he waited for his master. The darkness was almost done for the day, and when twilight has returned, so shall he be with his Master once more.
