You watch, beneath your helm as the gleaming white-gold stone burns, and the fleeing survivors are cut down like dogs. You wade through the blood and bodies of your fallen enemies-civilian, soldier, it means little. All are inferior to your race, and all will fall before the end.
The end. You smile at the thought. The fell muse which seized you is strong, and you have done many things for it that before you would not have even entertained to think of, but you do not care. This is what must happen. This is how you and your people-the true people, the greatest people-will ascend into what they were always meant to be. Compared to that, what are your actions in this imperfect mortal reality?
You finally make your way to the center of the White-Gold, where your men are dragging out the relics you were seeking. With them were two unconscious bodies. One is female, and the other...impossible to identify. But at the same time, for you, impossible to forget.
The Emperor and their foul vampiric consort. You cannot help the smile on your face. You have waited years for this moment, ever since they humiliated you. But you will do more than humiliate them.
One of your men unsheathes their sword.]
Sapiarch Elenwen, shall we-
[You hold up a hand.]
No. I want them alive. Prepare these two and the Daedric artifacts for my journey to Skyrim.
[Your man immediately bows. Another soldier hands you the bow and arrows you also sought; you sling both onto your back. Even in its uncorrupted state, you know the weapon is useful against bandits, for the moment.]
Sapiarch, what of the Tower?
[You feel sadistic, petty glee flow through your veins as you respond, nodding to a subordinate with a cart filled with the dead. Yes, the Tower is inert and has been for centuries. Now, you will make sure it can never come back to life again.]
Take the dead of this disgusting city and fill them into every level of the reality spike. Cast a detonation spell on one of them. That will do it.
[So you watch as thousands of dead are brought into the White-Gold; it takes hours, but it is worth it to see the detonation spell cast, to watch as from bottom to top the Tower explodes, the dead within making the entire endeavor like a chain of dominoes falling. Ancient stone cracks and falls as the massive thing collapses on itself.
A Law has fallen, crumbled to ruin and ashes and pebbles strewn around broken walls. It will never rise again.
Reality is that much closer to ending...and soon the game you have devised from that fell muse's inspiration will begin.
but not for Arthur, who falls back, still feeling the heat in the air and the strange sparkle of madness from whoever's memory he had just experienced.]
A Season Unending [cw: death, fire, blood, some sadism]
You watch, beneath your helm as the gleaming white-gold stone burns, and the fleeing survivors are cut down like dogs. You wade through the blood and bodies of your fallen enemies-civilian, soldier, it means little. All are inferior to your race, and all will fall before the end.
The end. You smile at the thought. The fell muse which seized you is strong, and you have done many things for it that before you would not have even entertained to think of, but you do not care. This is what must happen. This is how you and your people-the true people, the greatest people-will ascend into what they were always meant to be. Compared to that, what are your actions in this imperfect mortal reality?
You finally make your way to the center of the White-Gold, where your men are dragging out the relics you were seeking. With them were two unconscious bodies. One is female, and the other...impossible to identify. But at the same time, for you, impossible to forget.
The Emperor and their foul vampiric consort. You cannot help the smile on your face. You have waited years for this moment, ever since they humiliated you. But you will do more than humiliate them.
One of your men unsheathes their sword.]
Sapiarch Elenwen, shall we-
[You hold up a hand.]
No. I want them alive. Prepare these two and the Daedric artifacts for my journey to Skyrim.
[Your man immediately bows. Another soldier hands you the bow and arrows you also sought; you sling both onto your back. Even in its uncorrupted state, you know the weapon is useful against bandits, for the moment.]
Sapiarch, what of the Tower?
[You feel sadistic, petty glee flow through your veins as you respond, nodding to a subordinate with a cart filled with the dead. Yes, the Tower is inert and has been for centuries. Now, you will make sure it can never come back to life again.]
Take the dead of this disgusting city and fill them into every level of the reality spike. Cast a detonation spell on one of them. That will do it.
[So you watch as thousands of dead are brought into the White-Gold; it takes hours, but it is worth it to see the detonation spell cast, to watch as from bottom to top the Tower explodes, the dead within making the entire endeavor like a chain of dominoes falling. Ancient stone cracks and falls as the massive thing collapses on itself.
A Law has fallen, crumbled to ruin and ashes and pebbles strewn around broken walls. It will never rise again.
Reality is that much closer to ending...and soon the game you have devised from that fell muse's inspiration will begin.
but not for Arthur, who falls back, still feeling the heat in the air and the strange sparkle of madness from whoever's memory he had just experienced.]