SansSword

Far to the east, over the snow-capped Valus and Velothi ranges lay another situation—the city of Tear lay on the Morrowind coast, its day nearly half gone, the sun at its peak—Tear also doubled as an Imperial coastal outpost, a large and well-equipped fort facing the eastern Padomaic Ocean—upon one of its many towers a soldier gazed over the waters and down the coast, his aging eyes squinting in the shimmering light The soldier’s identification read Iodin Tempo, but he was more than a mere foot soldier—Iodin was Fortress Commander and as things went, he was the central figure here—the Empire was the law and he was a tool of the Emperor, making him the law Iodin had no compunctions about battle, however—if conflict arose, he himself would be out on the frontlines, leading his men into battle, defending the land he so dearly cherished—rank meant very little to him when it came to fighting; Iodin had skill and experience and like any soldier, relished the opportunity to use it on an enemy That chance may come soon, he thought as his eyes wafted over several black plumes of smoke on the horizon to his north—raiders had been attacking the shoreline at many points, terrorizing the populace and ransacking whatever they could find—Iodin had gotten word from his regional commander that raiders from the east could very well be the first phase of an Akaviri operation and that his fortress needed to be ready should that eventuality commence The possibility of a foreign incursion gave Iodin some innate excitement, as it did any soldier—he had enough experience to know the viciousness of battle, although he knew it was not simply heroic tales told at home in safety in front of a warm fire—people died to make those heroic tales, something the commoner usually forgot—soldiers carried ugly scars on their bodies and in their minds the rest of their lives as symbols of what war could do; he himself had some of his own symbols—Iodin was no dreamer; he knew the risks but he also could not deny the glory Iodin was very patriotic, almost insular, and hated foreigners, especially mutated beasts, as he viewed the Akaviri—strange, mythical, demented beings bent on slaughter was how he thought of them and frankly, how they were portrayed in Tamriel—history said Aka-vir, literally ‘Dragon Land,’ had tried several times to conquer Tamriel and had failed in each attempt, thanks to a combination of strategic skill and good luck—but luck could run out and battlefield commanders could always make mistakes, sometimes critical ones—Iodin knew reality A watchman came along the parapet to join Iodin—‘Greetings, sir,’ saluting Iodin returned the salute—‘Hello, Corporal, how go things?’ ‘Nothing to report, sir, same as always’—discipline here at the outpost wasn’t as strict as in some locales— being so far from the central authority, things tended to be a bit more lax—but Iodin kept his iron glove over everything and demanded at least basic respect, up and down the chain, enough to keep things working ‘Well, that’s good, let’s hope nothing starts up’—as much as he was itching for some action, Iodin had no desire to have an enemy fleet appear on his horizon—‘Action reports for the bandits been filed?’ ‘Yes, sir, both of them from earlier today—those bandits and raiders really been acting up, haven’t they? Wonder what’s going on’ ‘Hopefully just some local greed, a few overeager swine drooling for gold’ ‘Indeed, sir, but something’s got them all riled up’—the watchman joined his commander in gazing out on the water—‘Sure is beautiful today, bit warm though’ ‘Bah, this is the equatorial region and you’re not used to the sun yet?’ Iodin scoffed good-naturedly ‘Grew up north of Chorrol, sir, I’m used to things chilly’ ‘Well hopefully it’ll do you some good—sun’ll darken you up, give you a nice tan, maybe get you some dates’ The watchman laughed—‘Yea, I suppose that could happen, sir—hey, what’s that?’ He pointed off to the east, to a single point on the water Iodin strained his eyes—it looked like a boat, a small fishing vessel careening through the waves at high speed ‘Hmm,’ he grumbled, not liking the uncertainty—fishing boats almost never made haste, except in cases of storms, pirates, or the occasional randy wife at home—continuing to squint, he couldn’t…quite tell… The younger man’s eyes outshone his commander’s in this case—he suddenly sucked in his breath as a ragged line appeared on the horizon, first in just a few spots, then filling in the gaps, creating a solid black crease behind the lone fishing boat—‘What in Talos’ name is that?’ Iodin saw it now, too—and a lifetime of soldiering told him the answer—‘Son, alert the fort—get word to your superior and tell him to wake all resting officers and their men—take two men into town and grab all off-duties you find—tell the locals to board and shutter their houses, bring in their animals, and prepare as much drinking water as they can’—the commander’s mind raced ‘Yes, sir!’ the watchman countered and turned to run—he half-turned back and asked over his shoulder, ‘What is it? A storm?’ Iodin clenched his teeth before responding—Those bastards! ‘A storm it is…a storm from a distant land…and it’s comin right for us’

Zeel watched the action with intrigue—he was hidden in some weeds off to the side of the road where he had been tracking the caravan from Cheydinhal —he had no interest in helping the victims, only to see what he could see relative to this Bruma smith who apparently cherished his secrets The northern brute stepped out with what looked like a long metal tube, open end facing the raging ogre—Zeel momentarily sucked in his breath The end of the tube exploded towards the ogre, dousing the hill in smoke—a cool breeze blew over the Dark Elf’s face and proceeded to clear away the smoke as rapidly as it had appeared—it revealed a shocking sight Hoffstaff was slowly walking towards the ogre, now fallen flat on its face, its midsection nearly bisected from metal pellets, bluish blood streaming down the slope—the Nord stepped around the downward flow, his barrel still pointing at the body—he reached the body and believing it contained no life, set aside his weapon But this was an ogre, famous for its tenacity and durability—even a grievous wound as this did not take the life from it fully—its head shot up, making a grab for Hoffstaff’s leg—the Nord, taken by surprise, stumbled and fell, the ogre’s grip pulling him forward toward the now bloodily foaming maw Zeel’s heart raced, instinctively not wanting any harm to come to someone as talented as this but also knowing he must remain silent and unseen—must have been a soldier at some point, the way he conducts himself, this is magnificent! But Zeel had no need to worry—sure enough, Hoffstaff was always prepared—sitting up, he brandished a knife, driving it home just behind the burly ogre’s skull deep into its backbone—the grip slackened Hoffstaff attempted to revive the woman in the carriage, splashing her with some cold water—she eventually came to and couldn’t stop staring at the scene around her The Dark Elf smiled to himself and slipped away down the hill—a few minutes later he played the innocent passerby, walking by himself, accidentally stumbling upon quite a scene, indeed! While Hoffstaff cleaned up the scene, he noticed a figure approaching from down the hill—he squinted in the light, thinking he recognized the individual—sure enough, the familiar pair of glowing red eyes from the previous night walked up, grinning broadly ‘Hail there, friend Nord,’ he spoke brightly, surveying the locale from this new angle—‘By the Nine, what happened here?’ Hoffstaff was a bit suspicious but he put that behind him, for now—‘Hello, yes, we’ve had a bit of an incident here, ogre attack—I hate those blasted things’ ‘Looks like things are fine now, though,’ Zeel noted—‘Was it you who...did that?’ gesturing to the seeping blue body Hoffstaff coughed and said ‘Yes, it was me, had it not been so, there would have surely been…well, a different outcome’ ‘Indeed—that doesn’t look like any arrow wound I’ve seen,’ the Dark Elf prodded, ‘did you use something else?’ Hoffstaff relented, knowing he couldn’t keep it a secret any longer—he pulled out the canister, held it flat in both hands to show the inquisitive Elf—‘This is it’ Zeel was overcome with wonder, taking in every inch of the device—the instrument was made of metal, crudely fashioned, welded at certain joints but still functional, very functional, obviously—‘What is it called?’ he breathed The Nord pouted his lips—‘I haven’t decided yet’ Zeel sensed he was witnessing a very important point in history, a potential revolution in the way things were done, right before his very eyes, probably only the second person to encounter this spectacle ‘Would you, perhaps, show me how it works?’ Zeel queried Hoffstaff considered this—the powder was easy to make and there was plenty of it—he wouldn’t run short anytime soon—the metal scraps, well, he certainly had plenty of those, being a smith—he consented, planting the weapon on the ground vertically, emptying a few scraps into the barrel, then righting the weapon and filling the small powder hatch with powder—‘Stand back,’ he commanded—Zeel obeyed Hoffstaff pointed the weapon at a tree and pressed the ignition switch—razor-sharp shards flew out the barrel at high speed, a tremendous CRACK filling the air—Zeel covered his ears instinctively, unprepared for such a noise at close range—the weapon bucked upward while the tree was peppered with a dozen small lacerations—smoke covered the two figures After it cleared, Zeel’s mind raced—he was already thinking of the ramifications of this bit of technology upon the world—if this thing did that do an ogre, what could it wreak upon a human…or elf… ‘Friend Nord, it is time I was honest—I represent the Dark Brotherhood—no, no, do not worry, I have no intentions upon you, for if I did, you would already cease to exist,’ Zeel calmly stated ‘I knew you were something else! Something dirty, vile…’ Hoffstaff gritted—he had no respect for such an infamous group as the Dark Brotherhood, vile dregs of society, killing and maiming for pleasure and fun—the fact that the Dark Brotherhood was an Imperially sanctioned guild and had quite an important place had no bearing on his opinion—to him, they were simply worthless animals, castoffs, unprofessional, and very, very undignified—they were the anachronism of a noble soldier, doing his duty for king and country, only taking life when necessary and certainly not reveling in it—‘You dogs disgust me!’ Zeel sadly shook his head, smiling a wayward smile—‘I’m sorry to hear that, friend Nord—the truth is that we take care of many of the more unpleasant aspects of civilized society, things most people would not care to touch—without us, life would be far less civilized and far more dangerous’ Hoffstaff pointed accusingly—‘I am no friend to no stinking Brotherhood scum, you begone from my sight! I don’t want to see or hear from you again! Ever!’ Zeel nodded consentingly and stepped back—‘Fair enough, sir, I will not bother you again—I do thank you for the education, however, it has been very worthwhile’ Suddenly the truth dawned on Hoffstaff—‘You…you’ve been following me, haven’t you!? From Cheydinhal, you…bastard!’ Zeel realized he was the target of a very angry Nord, not a good place to be—Zeel smirked and responded quickly, ‘Well, sir, I am the Brotherhood and we do rely on intelligence gathering, no matter who, no matter where…no matter what method—We will get what we need, what serves our purposes—but enough, I will leave you to your destiny—good luck in the future, may the Nine bless you…and your useful new tool,’ and quickly backed down the hill and away from any fast-moving metal scraps that might elect to follow him Hoffstaff watched the Dark Elf retreat, still fuming, red in the face—he was more angry at the deceit than the attack—the attack had just been happenstance, accidental, and Hoffstaff had responded in kind—but the deceit had been planned, deliberate, and now his secret was out in the world, in the worst possible hands—an oddly ironic Dunmer vulgarity seemed appropriate ‘S’wit!’ Down the hill, Zeel grinned to himself—Mission accomplished, he thought, pursued target and acquired knowledge, now what to do with it Heavy thinking lay in his future, back at base

The next morning came—Hoffstaff rose early to catch his caravan back home—he carried minimal goods, his prior heavy load already deposited here in Cheydinhal with the buyer—he had with him two smallish packs, a satchel for provisions, and his ‘special project’ hanging on his back hidden under his cloak He was not alone on the caravan—three other riders had purchased fare for travel up north; one married couple, apparently, and a lone woman—the lone woman seemed to be of upper-class stock, carrying with her several large cases and trunks—Hoffstaff did not know why she hadn’t booked a private charter but it wasn’t his place to ask prying questions—had she beckoned him with any curious glances, Hoffstaff would have happily engaged her in conversation but she seemed supremely distant, a typical upper-class condescension, he thought—the Nord was content to ride in polite silence, looking out the window at the countryside galloping by It was on an upward slope that it happened—the carriage stopped sharply, horses neighing to a halt, the driver shouting angry and worried orders to his team—Hoffstaff craned his head out the window, curious as to what the problem was Not a bear this time, far worse, in fact—blocking their way, standing in the middle of the road was a huge blue-skinned ogre, tattoos shimmering off his muscled arms, bellowing at something up a nearby tree The women tried to muffle their screams as they became aware of the obstruction, unsuccessfully—the married man shoved his hand and arm over his wife’s mouth, mostly stifling her shriek, but the other woman’s cry whisked far into the hills before Hoffstaff’s hand found her mouth This alerted the giant beast who shifted his head downward, eyes beginning to bulge over the appearance of new, easy targets Petrified, the driver attempted to coax his horses backwards in an effort to turn the carriage around, but the horses refused to obey his commands—they jumped and neighed, increasingly unmanageable Suddenly the horses broke their harnesses and took off down the hill towards what they hoped was safety, leaving their passengers behind, stranded—the cart wheels had been shifted to the side, against the slope when the horses broke free, and there it stayed, adrift on the hillside The ogre threw back his head and roared, a classic, throaty war cry, and began thumping down the hill towards the isolated carriage full of fearful, meaty creatures The driver panicked and ran, following the horses—the married couple followed, leaving behind all their wares as they fled headlong down the slope The remaining woman looked to the Nord for help, suddenly losing all vestiges of privileged pomp as she cried and begged her fellow traveler to save her—the dress she was wearing was not made for flight and she knew it—Hoffstaff watched her grow redder and redder, clawing at his clothing; then she fainted, slumping down to the carriage floor, hands breaking loose from the Nord’s tunic Great Malacath’s minions, he thought, choosing an oddly appropriate expression, what to do? I am no match for that beast, even a competent archer runs the risk of it shrugging off repeated arrow strikes to its armor-like skin—the ogre grew ever closer to the carriage, still thinking it contained a full complement of squealing, meaty limbs ripe for the taking, its poor eyesight hiding the image of the escaping humans Carefully, Hoffstaff stepped out behind the carriage, making sure to cover his exit with the bulk of the vehicle—he knelt down, pulled his experiment from behind his back, looked at it, and prayed to his ancestors—metal bits from a pouch were stuffed into the muzzle, powder emptied into the ignition mechanism, and a single, burly Nord stepped out from behind the carriage with the barrel leveled at the onrushing titan

Thanks! Nice to see a comment finally, haha. Having fun writing it, have a lot of ideas of where to go, I think most TES fans will be satisfied with the events. Trying to make it what I personally would want a grandiose, epic TES game to be, albeit more character-driven, of course. Keep reading. It gets better. Real juicy.

It needed a name—the thing, the contraption, it needed a name—Hoffstaff was befuddled—he was a blacksmith, not a novelist, what did he know of creative practices? Spite? Burnshaft? Were those decent? The tavern in Cheydinhal was only half-full—Hoffstaff sat by himself at the bar, sipping his ale slowly, contemplating the infernal name question—he had finished delivering an order here and planned to spend the night before catching the caravan back north to Bruma—Mary? Cynthia? A former loves’ name perhaps? Cynthia the Explosive Canister—Hoffstaff scratched his head A figure glided behind Hoffstaff and took a seat a few spaces away at the bar, kitty-corner to the gruff Nord—he was hooded, which he kept on while he ordered—his bright red eyes were the only thing giving away his shrouded appearance—the eyes casually shifted over the interior of the dim room, taking in any and all—intelligence types needed to know, after all, and Zeel especially needed to know—and what did Zeel do when he wanted to learn? He struck up a conversation ‘Hail there, friend,’ Zeel smiled in Hoffstaff’s direction, ‘How ye doing tonight?’ Hoffstaff started, breaking his concentration—he looked at the speaker, surprised at seeing a ‘friendly’ Dark Elf and even more surprised this ‘friendly’ Dark Elf was addressing him in a pleasant tone—‘Oh, fair, I suppose’ ‘You look a bit glum,’ Zeel prodded ‘Indeed, the beer house is a sanctuary to the glum’ Hoffstaff responded rhetorically Zeel chuckled, ‘Quite right, my northern friend—heard any news of late?’ Time to get down to business ‘Only some uncertainty in the east—I’ve read Akavir may be up to no good—the Emperor’s called up the troops in case of a conflict’ Zeel grimaced inwardly—Old news, he thought—craftsmen and tradesmen were often good sources of news and gossip and this brute looked to be a craftsman of some sort, large brawny arms, a dirty face and hair, sweat streaks down the neck—Mason or potter perhaps? Smith maybe? Pushing forward, Zeel asked ‘Where you from friend?’ ‘Bruma, myself, parents out of Whiterun’ ‘Ahh, I thought I sensed a true northerner in you,’ Zeel smiled self-assuredly Hoffstaff posed his own query—‘Yourself? What do you do?’ Zeel gave his practiced response: ‘Kragenmoor, just across the border—and I am a merchant’—a merchant of deceit, he didn’t say Hoffstaff harrumphed—‘Merchant eh, merchants usually wear much more elaborate clothing, trinkets and such—I’d have taken you for, well, an assassin or some such thing, no offense of course’ Zeel coolly regarded the pale brute—‘None taken, of course’ was the polite response—this brute was a bit smarter than the average Nord, that much was obvious—perhaps . . . The Dark Elf changed topics—‘So are you a . . .’ gesturing to Hoffstaff’s outfit ‘Smith? Yes, best in all Bruma, to be sure—and I have the certificates proving it’ Hoffstaff’s eyes twinkled ‘What be ye working on, might I ask?’ ‘Well, many things, actually—it’s just me at the smithy so I’m always busy doing some such thing for some such person—just dropped off some reinforced hide shields to a nobleman here in Cheydinhal, then the usual contingent of swords, axes, and spears, usual dribble—no armor for me, though, too labor intensive for a single-man operation’ ‘Ahh,’ Zeel nodded sleepily, perhaps this man was not worth the trouble after all . . . ‘Then there’s my special . . . ahh, <cough>’ Hoffstaff trailed off uneasily, grabbing his mug and taking a long draw Zeel’s ears perked up at this gaffe—the brute obviously went too far and was trying to cover his mistake; Zeel needed to circle carefully here, get what he could . . . ‘What was that?’ Hoffstaff stammered ‘Oh, well, just a little side project I’ve been working on, nothing too big really—a handy deterrent for local wildlife, is all,’ trying to downplay his verbal misstep Zeel paused, then said ‘One of my side duties is the acting local animal control chairman and we would love to see this new project of yours in action, if you would concede to show us perhaps . . .’— acting is right . . . Hoffstaff smiled at the mischievous Dark Elf’s attempt at subtlety, his previous sense that this figure was not all he claimed to be becoming all the stronger—‘Sorry friend, it is in no shape yet to be viewed—I have much perfecting to do yet before I can even consider showing it publicly—who knows, maybe I’ll just keep it to myself and not let it get out in the world’ Not if I have anything to do with it, thought Zeel, his mind working—a superbly talented smith working on something secret? The chance this random find could be something valuable to himself or his organization was a chance he could not pass up ‘Ah, that saddens me friend, hopefully some day you will feel up to showing the world your unquestionable mechanical genius, so that they may laud you and that you might assist others with your undeniable talent’— Guilt-trip might work . . . maybe… Hoffstaff downed his mug, sighed heavily, and stood up, turning toward the would-be merchant—‘Perhaps that day will come but it is a long time ahead so I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were ye,’ his polite smile said—‘So long, friend Elf, and may the gods bless your sales,’ and walked out of the tavern Zeel watched the Nord go, then sat fuming—that hadn’t worked out as he had hoped but one must be realistic in intelligence gathering; sometimes you came home empty-handed—he thought over his options: accost the man outside, demanding whatever information he had on his ‘side project;’ go around asking questions about the smith and his past, preferably in Bruma where he was more well-known, or… Zeel nodded resolutely to himself, threw some coins on the bar, and walked out into the dark night He would do what a good scout would do in order to gain firsthand information He would pursue and watch

MG, what is this, War and Peace? I don't even want to buy Skyrim now till these are fixed. Bethesda can consider it a lonely boycott.

Either have I: I don't know how to. I pay for what I want. But don't be offended. This is just another case of the minority ruining things for the majority. And they don't care.

Here you go, the truth And don't say Wikipedia isn't reliable anymore! :pinch: Seriously tho, just goes to show how much traffic a site can make by showcasing both religion AND politics; they'll probably change their name and start selling stocks & bonds in a few months: Christwire.com, where JESUS Buys and Sells HIS stocks! Funny waste of time, tho

In 'Add Reply,' go to the 'Attachments' field near the bottom of your text window. Hit 'Browse' to add your file from your computer. Select your pic and hit 'Open.' Then on the text screen again, hit 'Attach this file,' then the normal post

That's when the drowsiness from all the tryptophan and carbohydrates kicks in! Remember kids, never feast and Skyrim...they don't mix!

Not sure in Skyrim but switching screenies to ON in Oblivion was a bit of a hassle Had to go into both game files ('both files' for me were in default Obliv directory as well as under Microsoft Games directory, different entries there), search through the .ini file, and turn takescreenshot=0 to =1 or something, in both files real pita, but it worked, with PrintScrn being the ingame screenie button, files saved as .bmps; again, not sure if this is the same with Skyrim as it may default to the Steam F12

Well, good luck finishing sometime in 2017. But it sounds like you're not into finishing so never mind. Little extreme for me but each to his own.

Hand egg/Swine bladder is better! (US citizen replying) On topic, glad the patches are starting, means the sooner I can purchase and play Skyrim

This is good. Perhaps spawn 25-50% larger packs of enemies to make it really nuts. Good stuff.