Rioghnan wrote: »

The first thing I thought of when I saw this was the Japanese thunder god Raijin (aka Raiden in the west...)
Sorry I thought it and had to say it, I have a problem with that.

Hahaha, yes I too had the thought cross my mind. Then of course the connection of Raijin as MKs Raiden.. vs the Thief-god himself. Who would win I wonder? I would wager that Rajhin, being the best thief of all would be able to steal the Thunder god's very thunder without ever being the wiser. Thus winning!

If anyone would be able to steal the thunder from Raiden it would, and could only be Rajhin.
He is after all the Thief-god of the Khajiit. So skilled was he, that he was able to cut the very shadow from a giant merchant, to provide himself with shade in the hot desert.

http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:The_Seven_Shadows_of_Rajhin,_Pt._1

^Great little lore book if no one has read it yet. Also the jumping point and reason I started The Eighth Shadow.

Hahaah! I totally already did that, well to a point.
Have a lvl 20 Breton Mage that pretty much only uses Storm Calling and have him geared/skilled to gain Ultimate fast. This way I can use the Ultimate to have his hands constantly surrounded by lightning. Also made a Dragon Knight that looks like Scorpion, with that chain pull move.... "Get over here!"
lol.... I loved MK before the new generations. Growing up around the worlds largest classic arcade, MK was my jam! I had the top score on lock down for MK2, MK3... and I used to make people cry trying to play me on MK Trilogy..
"Noob Saibot Wins... Flawless Victory"

Seems like a nice thread.

((Thanks as well! Perhaps to add some more excitement to the thread, I decided to post Pt.1 of one of several TES RP stories I have or I'm currently making. See how it goes over and I might add more.))


The Eighth Shadow - Pt. 1

As a small Khajiit cub Zarum found himself nameless and alone. The young Khajiit learned how to survive through emulating and escaping other wild predators, such was the only way to stay alive in the Tenmar Forest. He would spend days tracking predatory animals from a safe viewing distance, noting tactics, stealth, and timing of a perfectly unsuspecting strike. The young Khajiit however would primarily stick to scavenging off other hunter’s kills, he was not strong enough yet to step out of hiding.
Once the nameless Khajiit grew into his claws, it was his turn to move out of the shadows where he learned, and to become a predator himself. He would start slow, pouncing upon unsuspecting small game, with surprising efficiency. During a hunt for larger game of a Tenmar Whitetail, the young Khajiit would be forced into a fight or flight situation for his meal.

“….Through the forests came a crashing force, knocking limbs and small saplings clear from its path. The young Khajiit was frozen-footed at the sight of an oncoming and hungry forest troll. Fight or Flight, the young Khajiit looked down at his freshly caught deer, for he was as well hungry, perhaps it was desperation which drove his actions.
The troll easily crushed through the last set of trees leading into the small open field, where the Khajiit and his meal awaited. The troll came to a savage pause, just to release a bellowing roar towards the Khajiit, striking a deep and primal fear. The lumbering beast seemed to toy with the thought of two easy meals as it intimidatingly skirted around the perimeter of the Khajiit. Only a small dagger was tightly clenched into the Khajiit’s hand, not much use against a troll. The Khajiit’s crimson eyes narrowed as something started to build within his chest, his lips curling up to bare his fangs before letting out a shrieking hiss.
The young Khajiit in a single instant, was gone. Nothing but a distortion of shadows of where he was confused the troll into assuming the Khajiit had fled. Yet it was time for the young Khajiit to fight. Anger from his abandonment, the strife of a hunter came to full fruition. Before the troll realized what was about to happen, a slice and stream of blood was torn from the troll’s arm. Then another flash of distortion and another slice to the beast’s chest. Then another, and another…. and another.
The young Khajiit finally came to a moment of self-realization, and knew where the light of moons would lead him to…”
(Excerpt from “Fight or Flight – Khajiit Birthrights”)

By now the young Khajiit had proven his hunting skills to the moons, the gods, and most importantly himself. Yet despise his ability to survive the life in the Tenmar Forests, he was still alone and often thought about companionship and of the other civilized races. Perhaps it was time for the young Khajiit to study a new experience and venture towards Haven…


The Eighth Shadow - Pt.2
Coming soon, perhaps?

((Been slacking... Though I have a good 4-6 active stories I'm working on, just seems like I never get around to finishing most of them before starting on another. This quick tale has some mechanics and actual locations for those who know crafting spots, it's also a dead give-away in the title.))

Zarum's Adventures - Night's Silence

“The Last Light of the Last Seed… Follow the Path to the Sea.”
Zarum had memorized the hidden Ayleid etching inscribed onto the head of a runic smithing hammer the moment he lifted it from the belt of some old, haughtily high elf. Which turns out is a good thing when one is pickpocketing from a Dominion Champion’s personal blacksmith. Zarum had only a few moments to enjoy his newly acquired and seemingly valuable elven trinket before having to find a place to lurk in the shadows for a moment.
Turning the hammer over a few times in his paws for a closer inspection. Its practical use at a quick glance seemed rather limited, more of a show piece than anything he thought as he casually walked his way out of the crowd. Making sure not to draw any more unwanted interest to his trinket, Zarum ducked down an alleyway and into a more secluded garden area behind the market. With a single graceful step he hopped up on a low hanging oak branch and sat himself with his glimmering trinket in hands.
Zarum curled his lip a moment with a slight scoff, as it was not quite a useful tool, but it sure was old… perhaps older than that old High Elf he borrowed it from. Such perked Zarum’s instinctual cat-like curiosity. He began to pry at the tool, searching it over again, and finally started to wipe off some layers of soot away. Zarum’s scoff now turned up into a grin as he thumbed over some faded etchings along the top rim of the hammer that glimmered as they were revealed into the sun’s light. The words were far too foreign for Zarum to decode himself, luckily he knew a certain well connected Khajiit he could ask for assistance.
His joy was quickly dashed as he started to hear an uproar and the annoying armored clank of guards. As soon as Zarum stepped back into the main streets of the market from the shadows behind, he realized that he may have lifted an object from the wrong high elf. Swarms of guards seemed to be combing through the streets on the lookout for something, or someone in particular. Zarum thought it best to take a quick moment to scribe down the etchings on the smithing hammer to a scrap of vellum. Perhaps not as great of an idea at first, he decided his interest was now only in the words and not the runic Ayleid hammer that garnished so much attention. As such Zarum no longer required to carry around such a burden… and promptly gave the hammer a good toss into a crowd. Rajhin must have been watching Zarum, as luck had played right into his paws. The hammer had caused quite a useful distraction for the Khajiit to slip out into the wilderness unnoticed.

A few days of rather expedited traveling later…
Zarum had finally met up with his mentor at an undisclosed camp site, used for “official” Eyes of the Queen business that needed to be “off the books”. Despite his best efforts to arrive first Zarum always seemed to be a step or two behind Razum-Dar, who was awaiting at the camp preening his claws. The two Khajiits exchanged welcomes and a bit of moonsugar before delving into business. Zarum unrolled the small bit of vellum with the strange Ayleid markings from the hammer, sprawling it out across a worn table adjacent to the fire. The two read over the markings or more so, Razum-Dar examined the scroll while Zarum tried to look intellectual.
“This one can put the letters together, but it makes little sense to Raz without knowing everything” He continued as his finger followed slowly along with the markings. “The Last Light of the Last Seed Follow the Path to the Sea” Razum-Dar concluded with a bit of a puzzled look on his face, tapping a finger in thought. “A puzzle yes? The Last Seed is this month, Last Light perhaps means the last day..” Zarum stood with a rather blank look on his face as his mentor seemingly was babbling on to himself about the puzzle before them. “Raz believes you will need to know where your high elf friend found this hammer you were speaking of. Perhaps that is where this path will be revealed?” Zarum sighed with a wrinkle in his nose as any stubborn student would, knowing that he would have to go back and snoop around in Vulkhel Guard.

A few days of rather careful sleuthing later…
Zarum was able to pry the information from a rather loose tonged Bosmer who worked as an apprentice for the old High Elf blacksmith after a number of free drinks and multiple times ducking under tables from wandering guards. An old and ruined keep long lost to the sea and the coast surrounding it cursed with undead. The Bosmer spoke of a strange power at the site dark and strange sounds accompanied with constant chill in the spine. Zarum took the heeded words of the drunk Bosmer with a large grain of moonsugar, grinned, and darted back out of the city as quickly as he could.

Finally, it was the last day of the Last Seed…
Zarum was perched up on a rock cropping out looking the ocean, his crimson eyes surveying the coast line for any signs of movement for hours. Concerns started to slowly creep in upon his mind as the sun began to set, the orange and red hues of the sunset showing no clues. Wondering now if he had missed something, he hopped down from the cropping and began pacing along the coastline. His gloomy pondering was quickly raised as the moons rose into the night’s sky. As Zarum took his eyes away from the now sunless skies down towards his feet, his head tilted to the side in curiosity. The glow from the moons shined along the coast to reveal a dimly lit path coursing just beneath the water and down the coast towards the moons above. With a renewed swiftness, Zarum took to a quick pace and raced along the coast line towards the rubble of the long forgotten ruins now in the distance. The dim glow was just under a few inches of water, a ghostly white flickering in and out under the tide illuminating the way.
The dimly glowing path lead Zarum right to the supposedly cursed shore of the ruins and ended at a large, sealed stone door with the same Ayleid markings from the hammer. It was the light of the two moons during the last day of the Last Seed, how clever he thought while standing in front of the stone doors admiring the etchings and the clear lack of undead. Pressing forcefully with a smirk through the large stone door to find a descending staircase leading below the level of the water, accompanied with odd and haunting sounds fitting for an old forgotten ruin. Downward he stepped into the ruins. Though as Zarum’s foot landed to the base and made a turn around the corner, he was in awe with what his adventuring and puzzle lead him to.
A small and eerie crafting haven fit with everything a swordsmith and leatherworker could ask for, the random haunting voices seemed to just be an extra bonus. Zarum had thought this very strange and began to look for treasures of noticeable value and paying little attention all the crafting stations within the small ruins. Though after his searching turned up little but crafting scraps, he figured while he was here, might as well shape up his own gear. Zarum was already quite an accomplished swordsmith with a reasonably steady hand, though upon taking his own hammer up his paw could not stop moving. Not shaking, but almost being guided by something he could not see.
For hours Zarum tried to struggle with this odd presence interfering with his crafting. The harder he tried the heavier the hammer felt, growing frustrated Zarum just dropped his paw and hammer onto the anvil. He knew something was different about these ruins and in thought looking down to his hammer, now perhaps he should try a new approach. He took a step back with a deep breath, looking around once more with a slow and somber nod. As he stepped back to the dull glow of the forge and anvil, lifting the hammer once more carefully. Zarum tried embracing the shadows that were ever present within the ruins, rather than fight against the current. Not to his surprise but still quite unexpected the hammer felt as light as a feather, and Zarum’s paw moved with it as one with great swiftness, seemingly weaving in and out of the very shadows themselves.
Everything was silent for the entire night, the clanking of hammer to metal became a deft stoke producing nothing but perfection. His focus became obsessive as his hands moved at such an abnormal pace, drawing him into a trace like state. The results of Zarum’s intent focus turned a night into two, into four. Though after completely tearing apart his gear and every scrap of material he could reach, the fruits of his intense labor was greatly rewarded.

The armor felt as if the moons embraced him, the blade whispered with each swing, Zarum was pleased.