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Legends of Tamriel


BaldurAnthology

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Dirmire Dispelled another group and looked up at cyrus,"Youu know killing a town is going to attract atention as you can already." Dirmire turned around and reformed the bones into a massive monstrocity,"Also wars are won on who has the bigger thing. And as you can see I have the bigger thing."
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Sahvithzoor, tired of the foolishness going on around him, flapped a few times, lifting from the roof of the inn, "To Shearpoint, dovahkiin. I will meet you there. And Vulviingkonahrik, should he come as well."

 

He circled above the joorre for a moment, calling, "Your petty squabbles are for naught. They do not matter in the turning of the universe...and with time, they will easily be forgotten."

 

With that, he let out a rumbling roar and swiftly gained altitude, heading towards Shearpoint.

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Fortunately for Cyrus, the gauntlets contained a spell shield, which absorbed most of the lightning, he summons a sword as he turns around and blocks the slash from the woman. "Impressive, but not good enough! There is a reason I retain control over so many undead! ARCHERS! Turn her guards into pincushions!" The undead archers at the back of the army begin raining arrows on the guards. Cyrus fires the Staff of Molag Bal at the woman, hoping if not to destroy her, to knock her away. Hearing the other necromancer, he says "If that is what you desire.." He waves his hand, and summons a few Dremora, who begin circling the monstrosity.
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The monstrocity picked up the Dremora and slowly squashed them in its hand before throwning them through the wall of a house. Dirmire then threw shadows into a group of Skeletons and they crumpled and then added to the monstrocity it slowly getting bigger and stronger.
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Before long, Sahvithzoor had reached Shearpoint. The Word Wall was long vacated, and he perched atop it, wings relaxing to the sides. His tail twitched as he looked around. It appeared safe for now. He began humming to himself, as he often did when he was alone. And as he sat there, he pondered his new acquaintances. Perhaps the secret to success did not lie with "ordinary" joorre. Perhaps his brothers and sisters of the jul...the dovahkiinne...were the keys to all of this. He hoped that Rorik would prove this theory to be true.
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Iodiria had reached Shearpoint herself, clad in her Adamantine armour, tightly fitted to her body, and adorned with white fur, she had Trueflame and Hopesfire resting together on her belt, as a clear sign of who she really was... so an alliance was to be forged between two dovah, a dragonborn, and the former Nerevarine turned god?
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"This battle is pointless! The land is mine by rights anyway, but whatever. Take it for now. I'll be back for it soon." Cyrus waves a hand, and the rest of his undead collapse in a cloud of darkness, dust and smoke. He runs off to Volkihar to destress and to begin his rituals to achieve immortality. Within a few hours he arrived at Castle Volkihar, and was approached by the vampire that tried to kill him previously, who was strangely subservient, and ran off to find Selene for him.
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Sahvithzoor turned his head upon hearing a noise. There, his newfound ally had presented herself, far more quickly than he had expected.

 

"Ah, brit zahkrii, fahdoni," he remarked, "You are more than you appear, hmm? Many luftte...faces...you have, but are any your own?"

 

His long, curved talons clicked on the stone as he drummed them absentmindedly.

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