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A small journal
Neiska
✭✭✭✭
(Hello Forums,
Last time I played, I kept a Journal on the forums from the viewpoint of my character which many people seemed to enjoy. I have decided to do this again with my new character now that I am playing again. Many are based off things that happened in-game, but others are purely fictional creation. Comments are quite welcome, and I do hope these stories amuse and entertain, and thank you for taking the time to read them.)
Forward - In the unlikely event that someone wishes to read about my early years I have decided to keep a Journal to record my beginnings as an Adventurer.
Signed, Lady Makes-Bones-Dance
Part 1 - New Names, Staffs Most Un-Powerful
Today has finally arrived! I have proven myself as an adult member of the community and will finally learn what role or path the Hist Tree has in store for me. Every Saxhleel (Hereafter, shall be referenced as Argonian) looks forward to this day to learn their destiny. With no small amount of trepidation, I stepped forward to receive an envelope with a seal. How I yearned for this moment! I hoped I might be destined to become a Dragonknight, or perhaps join the ranks of the Wardens. Maybe even I might be lucky enough to be a Sorcerer! I held my breath, and slowly opened the envelope. And my mouth fell open in shock at what was written.
"Necromancer."
Of all the possibilities, I had never imagined such a thing! The possibility of being a Necromancer had never even entered my mind until that point, that I was destined to be one of the corpse-takers. I shuddered, and imagined myself in a grandiose lair, dressed garishly, monologuing and overly dramatically gesturing as I share my evil plot to the heroes. With a shudder, I banished the image from my mind. At worst, I had expected to end up as a bar wench or perhaps a miner or woodcutter. There just had to be a mistake! I wasn't even fond of cleaning fish for my dinner and usually rushed through the process. I protested to the Evaluators, and they said there was no mistake. I was destined and fated to be a Necromancer. It was ordained by the Hist. An Argonian Necromancer was rarer than even the Shadowscales. He pointed with a finger, and I meekly shuffled over to the line of my would be "colleagues." Some of them certainly looked the part. Many of them wearing dark hoods and capes. One with hunched shoulders and constantly rubbing his hands in a calculated plotting-like manner. If you ask me, the lot of them could use some better food and some time in the fresh air and sunshine. And more than one of them certainly needed a bath. So there I was, the single splash of color in my favorite powder-blue dress among a line of dubious looking individuals.
I was given a staff, which looked like it was ancient during the time of my mother's-mothers. But there yet remained a tingling spark of Magica within the wood. I was given some adventuring clothes, that smelled they had already been used previously and had stains upon them that looked suspiciously like bloodstains. With a sigh, I asked where I should go, for Necromancy was all but absent within the Black Marsh. After some thought, I was told there is lots of Necromancy and restless dead in Skyrim. That made me feel a little better, for even I had heard of the City of Solititude, at least a City whose name was known to me. So I gathered my meagre belongings and said my farewells and left for the Land of the Warmbloods. I made it almost out of the Black Marsh before coming across my first real enemy. I noticed a Swamp Cat that looked like it wanted to make me it's next meal. I brought the Magical Implement gifted to me for this very occasion, and with a cry I called upon its power to smite my foe. And with a glow, it responded.
Some staffs are capable of shooting Fire. Others can call forth bolts of lightning. Some are used for healing, but even they are capable of smiting a foe. But what came out of my staff? It was no blaze of fire. No thunderous bolt of lightning. It was no great gust of cold power. Nor was it Ice. Not even an icicle. Cold did emit from my staff, but I it would be an insult to children everywhere to call it even a snowball. I am fairly certain Nord's fall asleep with more ice on their facial hair than what came out of my staff. No, what came out of my staff looked like something before-mentioned Nord would scrape off his the bottom of his boot and throw at some offender.
And so, with a very un-mighty sound of "Phtht" I conjured a slush-ball which hurtled into the face of my feline enemy. The sound it made, resembled the most daintiest passing of flatulence. With each slush ball, yet another "Phtht" came from the staff. "Phtht, phtht, phtht." Splat splat splat, as I pelted the face of the Swamp Cat with repeated slush balls. It did not seem amused, or even injured really. It looked merely annoyed. So with a small yelp I began to run in circles, the hem of my dress hitched up my legs, shooting those very unimpressive slush balls. I imagine now it must have been quite the sight. An Argonian in a dress running in circles to the sound of "phtht, phtht, phtht" pelting a pursuing Swamp Cat with slush balls. After some time I realized it was no longer chasing me, and there was a suspicious looking remains of a slush ball on the ground. I could only conclude it somehow slipped and hit its chin on a rock or the like, for there was no way such a weakly conjured slush ball could take down such an enemy as a Swamp Cat.
With a sigh, I continued my journey. Not long after I found the old Warm-skin Road I was told of and instructed to follow. Sitting down with a sigh and looking down at the staff in my lap, frowning and feeling extremely disappointed. This is not how I had imagined this day going at all. Grumping a little, I took a bit of charcoal and wrote upon the staff "Staff of Phtht". Well, if this was my fate then so be it. I shall make the most of my circumstances. After a brief rest I stood back up and once again set off down the road to safer lands. As I walked, I decided to change my name, to suit my new purpose. Necromancer names tended to be icky, or unappealing. After some thought, I decided upon the name "Makes-Bones-Dance." I thought it was much more appealing, even cute in a way.
From then on no matter what might come to pass, I would be called "Makes-Bones-Dance."
Edited by Neiska on February 15, 2024 10:38PM Last time I played, I kept a Journal on the forums from the viewpoint of my character which many people seemed to enjoy. I have decided to do this again with my new character now that I am playing again. Many are based off things that happened in-game, but others are purely fictional creation. Comments are quite welcome, and I do hope these stories amuse and entertain, and thank you for taking the time to read them.)
Forward - In the unlikely event that someone wishes to read about my early years I have decided to keep a Journal to record my beginnings as an Adventurer.
Signed, Lady Makes-Bones-Dance
Part 1 - New Names, Staffs Most Un-Powerful
Today has finally arrived! I have proven myself as an adult member of the community and will finally learn what role or path the Hist Tree has in store for me. Every Saxhleel (Hereafter, shall be referenced as Argonian) looks forward to this day to learn their destiny. With no small amount of trepidation, I stepped forward to receive an envelope with a seal. How I yearned for this moment! I hoped I might be destined to become a Dragonknight, or perhaps join the ranks of the Wardens. Maybe even I might be lucky enough to be a Sorcerer! I held my breath, and slowly opened the envelope. And my mouth fell open in shock at what was written.
"Necromancer."
Of all the possibilities, I had never imagined such a thing! The possibility of being a Necromancer had never even entered my mind until that point, that I was destined to be one of the corpse-takers. I shuddered, and imagined myself in a grandiose lair, dressed garishly, monologuing and overly dramatically gesturing as I share my evil plot to the heroes. With a shudder, I banished the image from my mind. At worst, I had expected to end up as a bar wench or perhaps a miner or woodcutter. There just had to be a mistake! I wasn't even fond of cleaning fish for my dinner and usually rushed through the process. I protested to the Evaluators, and they said there was no mistake. I was destined and fated to be a Necromancer. It was ordained by the Hist. An Argonian Necromancer was rarer than even the Shadowscales. He pointed with a finger, and I meekly shuffled over to the line of my would be "colleagues." Some of them certainly looked the part. Many of them wearing dark hoods and capes. One with hunched shoulders and constantly rubbing his hands in a calculated plotting-like manner. If you ask me, the lot of them could use some better food and some time in the fresh air and sunshine. And more than one of them certainly needed a bath. So there I was, the single splash of color in my favorite powder-blue dress among a line of dubious looking individuals.
I was given a staff, which looked like it was ancient during the time of my mother's-mothers. But there yet remained a tingling spark of Magica within the wood. I was given some adventuring clothes, that smelled they had already been used previously and had stains upon them that looked suspiciously like bloodstains. With a sigh, I asked where I should go, for Necromancy was all but absent within the Black Marsh. After some thought, I was told there is lots of Necromancy and restless dead in Skyrim. That made me feel a little better, for even I had heard of the City of Solititude, at least a City whose name was known to me. So I gathered my meagre belongings and said my farewells and left for the Land of the Warmbloods. I made it almost out of the Black Marsh before coming across my first real enemy. I noticed a Swamp Cat that looked like it wanted to make me it's next meal. I brought the Magical Implement gifted to me for this very occasion, and with a cry I called upon its power to smite my foe. And with a glow, it responded.
Some staffs are capable of shooting Fire. Others can call forth bolts of lightning. Some are used for healing, but even they are capable of smiting a foe. But what came out of my staff? It was no blaze of fire. No thunderous bolt of lightning. It was no great gust of cold power. Nor was it Ice. Not even an icicle. Cold did emit from my staff, but I it would be an insult to children everywhere to call it even a snowball. I am fairly certain Nord's fall asleep with more ice on their facial hair than what came out of my staff. No, what came out of my staff looked like something before-mentioned Nord would scrape off his the bottom of his boot and throw at some offender.
And so, with a very un-mighty sound of "Phtht" I conjured a slush-ball which hurtled into the face of my feline enemy. The sound it made, resembled the most daintiest passing of flatulence. With each slush ball, yet another "Phtht" came from the staff. "Phtht, phtht, phtht." Splat splat splat, as I pelted the face of the Swamp Cat with repeated slush balls. It did not seem amused, or even injured really. It looked merely annoyed. So with a small yelp I began to run in circles, the hem of my dress hitched up my legs, shooting those very unimpressive slush balls. I imagine now it must have been quite the sight. An Argonian in a dress running in circles to the sound of "phtht, phtht, phtht" pelting a pursuing Swamp Cat with slush balls. After some time I realized it was no longer chasing me, and there was a suspicious looking remains of a slush ball on the ground. I could only conclude it somehow slipped and hit its chin on a rock or the like, for there was no way such a weakly conjured slush ball could take down such an enemy as a Swamp Cat.
With a sigh, I continued my journey. Not long after I found the old Warm-skin Road I was told of and instructed to follow. Sitting down with a sigh and looking down at the staff in my lap, frowning and feeling extremely disappointed. This is not how I had imagined this day going at all. Grumping a little, I took a bit of charcoal and wrote upon the staff "Staff of Phtht". Well, if this was my fate then so be it. I shall make the most of my circumstances. After a brief rest I stood back up and once again set off down the road to safer lands. As I walked, I decided to change my name, to suit my new purpose. Necromancer names tended to be icky, or unappealing. After some thought, I decided upon the name "Makes-Bones-Dance." I thought it was much more appealing, even cute in a way.
From then on no matter what might come to pass, I would be called "Makes-Bones-Dance."
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