Rieklings: A Tiny Civilization, Unmasked.
Rieklings, the tiny, blue goblin-like beings that inhabit the island of Solstheim are grievously misunderstood and ignored for being "Stupid" or "a nuisance". I, Crassus Lanius, (author of "The Thousand-and-One uses for Horkers: A Primer") set out to investigate these mysterious beings on their home island. What follows are my findings.
Rieklings have a simplistic architecture, consisting of rounded huts and tents. These structures are primarily made from the bones and hides of animals that they've raised or hunted. This includes (but is not limited to) Boars, Foxes, Deer, Skeevers, and more. The huts, generally rounded with an entrance protruding from one side have loose fitting roofs and are only attached to the ground with bone or wood stakes, giving the impression that they can be easily disassembled and moved, should the need arise. Which would insinuate a mostly nomadic culture, however other habits of Riekling society tell otherwise.
Riekling religion is a complicated thing and not much is known to us, what we do know however, is the Riekling have a "godspeak song" that they perform ritually. The godspeak song involves burning considerable amounts of Scathecraw, native to Morrowind and Solstheim. Scathecraw is dreadfully toxic, so much of the ritual, including how the Rieklings survive it, remains a mystery to us. Popular theory has it that the Rieklings are simply immune to the airborne variants of the Scathecraw toxins, while another theory argues that part of the Riekling godspeak ritual involves a potion which keeps them safe from the toxin. Regardless, more study is required.
Rieklings have no known religious figures, such as the shamans, priests, witches, or medicine men that can be found in other savage cultures like Orcs, and Goblins. When Rieklings wish to perform the godspeak ritual, they simply gather round a fire, burn the Scathecraw and chant in unison, there is no leader.
Who the Rieklings speak to and worship in the godspeak ritual is another topic of much debate, there are two likely contenders for who the Rieklings worship, the first being Hircine, Daedric god of the Hunt, given his history on Solstheim and the Rieklings' hunter-gatherer culture. The other choice would be the All-Maker of the Skaal religion, seeing as the two share an island heavily influenced with shrines of this "All-Maker" and the Rieklings have a habit of adopting the cultures and items of those they live close to (see culture). Another theory has presented itself that Rieklings may worship the Orcish Daedra-God, Malaclath. I find these theories to be highly preposterous, as Rieklings live so isolated from his other followers, and so deep in the influence of many other gods and Daedra.
Rieklings live in tribal villages or groups of 10-50 Rieklings, each filling a specific role in society (Warrior, Hunter, Worker, Boar Breeder) and one leading Chief of the tribe. The chief chooses the days on which godspeak rituals will occur, and leads the Rieklings in whatever endeavors they may be preforming (a hunt, a raid, construction). Rieklings are highly social creatures, who communicate often and quite loudly in their guttural language consisting of clicks of grunts. There are recorded instances of intelligent Rieklings using Tamrielic to communicate with travelers and locals who encounter them.
Riekling leaders are chosen in a way that can be called similar to the way that Orcs choose their chieftains. If and when a Riekling wants to become chieftain, he challenges the current chief to single combat, and, if victorious, becomes the new chief, this way only the strongest rule. There have been extreme and highly unusual and rare scenarios where a non-Riekling can become a chieftain of a Riekling tribe, recorded incidents of this are often ridiculously over exaggerated, but truth can still be found in some.
Rieklings raise and domesticate Bristleback Boar, which are native to the island of Solstheim. These boar are used in everything from warfare, acting as riding beasts for Riekling warriors, to agriculture, where they are used for meat, to architecture and clothing, where they are used in Riekling huts and armors.
Riekling clothes and armors are primarily made of bones and furs from the creatures they raise and hunt, most notably Bristleback Boars. However it isn't unusual to see a Riekling wearing a Skeever skull or a feathered headdress. Rieklings have also been known to fashion leather armors, but not regularly enough to be considered commonplace, as the practice of creating such armor has fallen out of, well practice, sometime after the late Third Era. Despite the cold climate of Riekling dwellings in northern Solstheim, Rieklings often only cover about half their bodies in furs and bones, leaving much of their chest, stomach, and arms exposed.
Rieklings have a very simple, yet effective weapon. Tried-and-true, the Riekling spear is a versatile projectile or hand-to-hand weapon fashioned from a sharpened rock attached to a sturdy and straight stick. This weapon proves equally effective being thrown from range, jabbed from up close, or used like a lance while mounted on a Bristleback Boar. Rieklings have also been known to use arrows fashioned by more intelligent races as spears, much to the same effect.
Most notably in Riekling society, is their apparent kleptomania. Rieklings will randomly hoard objects made by others in large amounts in their tribes, sometimes building bizarre shrines from the items they prospected. Rieklings of late have been known to steal ancient weapons and tools from nord crypts, random, generally useless items from the newer Dunmer settlements on Solstheim, tools and animal skins from the northern Skaal, and even scraps of metal from Dwemer ruins. The purpose of this hoarding is as of yet unknown, yet the use of these stolen items in shrines insinuates a religious connotation.
Reikling Biology is indeed fascinating, but without the ability to properly sit down and dissect a Riekling myself, there is much I don't know, and other scholars don't care to know. However, a lot can be inferred from just observing Rieklings from a bush outside one of their camps.
The heart of a Riekling is a powerful thing, working very hard to keep a Riekling warm in the frigid climate of northern Solstheim. It beats much more quickly than the heart of a man or mer, resulting in a very short lifespan for a Riekling. The amount of energy the heart produces results in a great need for energy input. The average Riekling eats as much as a man would in day, despite their small size.
Most interestingly is the sickening crunching noise a Riekling makes between minutes and hours after dying. This writer's best guess is that it has something to do with the cold of the snow, ice, outdoors, or a combination of the three flash-freezing the Riekling's previously hot bones (no doubt so hot from the Rieklings hot blood, being pumped from their immensely powerful hearts). Now, if you've ever dropped a scorching hot rock into water, you've no doubt seen as the rock cracks and sometimes even explodes. I believe that Riekling bones may behave somewhat in the same way; when a Riekling dies, their bones chill very quickly and crack, shatter, or break, creating the noise.
I hope that this was both an enlightening view into the uniqueness of Rieklings, and an excellent (if I do say so myself) dissertation on the lives and culture of these remarkable little creatures. I would however like to remind you all that Rieklings are dangerous and unpredictable, so if you should see one, approach with caution, or run away.
Yours Unequivocally, Crassus Lanius
16th of Sun’ Dusk, 4E 203
Control. The whole world is based around control. All sentient beings seek control and ultimately it didn't matter in which form it came. It didn't matter because sooner or later one has to take control which comes through the control of others around him. The manipulation of other beings is in everyone's blood, the feeling of ordering them around, making them do the dirty work while one's hands stay clean.
Some are just better at it than others, Mogrul thought and snorted which got the attention of the others in the room.
“You have something to say, Sera?” Councilor Morvayn said with irritation in his tone, particularly on the word ‘sera’. Yeah, I earned that title, don’t ever forget it, he sneered. Mogrul looked at the Dunmer sitting on his sorry-ass throne and snorted again. To the Councilor's left was his steward, that slimy crooked Adril Arano, and to the right was captain Veleth, standing there in all his Bonemold glory.
“Just look at you,” the Orc said, pushing himself off the wall he was leaning against. “People build some shit when they sleep… so what? I say let them, who gives a shit? Am I right, Slitter?”
“Yeah,” the Dunmer shrugged.
“See? Even Slitter doesn't give a flying shit about that,” Mogrul continued, looking at Veleth. “And you just got your whole patrol slaughtered by those damn Ash Spawn. It makes me wonder whose fault that is, huh?” The corners of the Captain’s lips turned downwards, making Mogrul pretend to frown, furrowing his brow in mock-sadness. “Oh, don't go all sour on me, captain.” He then made a clicking noise with his tongue. “Aww, did I hurt your feelings?” He then grinned. “Well, I don't give a damn. The farms out there have already been lost for some time, there's no point in going back out there. So just focus on defending the wall and maybe there will be at least few guards alive by the end of the year.”
“So we should just sit and do nothing?” Councilor Morvayn rose from his throne and poured some mazte into his earthenware cup. “The people are concerned about the sleepwalking and the Ash Spawns attacks are becoming more frequent. If we do nothing there may not be much left by the end of the year-”
“And yet you just talk and talk,” Mogrul growled, running out of patience. “Whatever the people are building in the night, it won't take forever. Once they finish, everything will go back to normal-”
“You seriously don't believe that!” Veleth barked. “Whatever is happening isn't good. Something's coming, I can tell. It's almost as if Dagoth Ur was returning, I'm expecting a Blight storm coming our way anytime soon. But you don't understand Orc, how could you?”
Mogrul's hand went to his belt, where Snaga was just waiting for him to use her, and he bared his tusks. “My my, do you hear that, Slitter? The dog can bark, but can he also bite?” He then looked at Morvayn. “Don't forget who saved your sorry-ass from those damn Hlaalu and Morag Tong. Don't forget who's getting this shithole through the winter. So pull the chain on that dog of yours there, otherwise I'll have to introduce him to Snaga.”
“Veleth,” Morvayn said calmly and the captain growled at that, clearly not very happy about being put into his place. “We're grateful for your efforts, Sera, but I have a duty to my people-”
“Then do your job better and leave me out of this mumbo-jumbo. Want to fight strange dreams and sleepwalking? Be my guest, but I have my own things to do,” Mogrul snorted. Without hesistation, he strutted out of the Councilor’s house, closely followed by Slitter. As soon as the door closed behind them, Mogrul turned to the Dunmer. “Would you believe that shit? I just don't get it. People are sleepwalking and I'm supposed to piss my pants? Daedra-fucking-worshipping grey-skins. Dagoth Ur my arse! You heard that idiot? They just keep forgetting who they owe for keeping an order around here!”
“Take it easy, boss,” Slitter murmured, throwing looks at the people passing by, which made Mogrul even more angry.
“Easy?! I'm keeping this boat floating and they bother me with this bullshit,” Mogrul growled and his hand went to Snaga at his belt, squeezing the wooden shaft, toying with the chain links. “But you know what? Let them worry about that shit. We have other matters to attend to. Let's go have a chat with Mallory.”
“Oh? You figured out what to do with him then?”
“Oh, yeah and you're going like it,” the Orc chuckled as he headed towards Mallory's smithy. Just as you said, Mogrul, you're bringing order into the chaos that is this shithole. Where would these people be without you? They should be thanking you. But you Mallory… How could I have known there was a serpent on my chest?
Glover Mallory was standing beside the forge, waiting for the metal to get hot enough when he noticed Mogrul coming towards him. He frowned. “What do you want now, Mogrul? I already paid you.”
“Glover, what's with the tone? Got up from the bed little bit sour, did we?” the Orc flashed a smile. “Look at you, beating metal for the whole day here, minding your own business, am I right? I'm really sorry for interrupting your really important work, but we need to talk.”
The Breton looked at him and then at Slitter, straightening his back and squeezing his fist. It didn't escape Mogrul's notice and his smile got even wider. “Well, talk.”
“Not here, inside,” the Orc shook his head and then leaned closer. “We don't want everyone to hear about your involvement with the Thieves Guild, am I right?” He saw how the colour drained from Glover's face and chuckled. “Oh, damn. Sorry, was that a secret? I guess we shouldn't be shouting that around, huh?” The Orc then pointed with his chin towards the door and Mallory reluctantly headed inside.
As they entered the house, Mogrul looked around, his eyes stopping at the table with a bottle of some Dunmer shit on it. When you have a sore throat you'll take anything. He walked to the bottle and opened it. “Just because this island belongs to the Dunmer doesn't mean that there can't be a bottle of something normal around here, am I right? Why is everything a fucking sujamma or stein?” he said loudly, taking a sip of the disgusting liquid.
“So what do you want from me?” Glover asked through gritted teeth. “Not sure how you got that into that head of yours, but I'm no thie-”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Mogrul clicked his tongue, waving his finger. “I don't like your tone, mister. Is that how you treat all your guests? Especially Orcs?” He then chuckled and looked at Slitter. “Right, Slitter? There was another Orc that spent the night here. Were you friendly to him? Tickled his balls maybe?” He then took a seat at the chair next to the table and sighed. “Anyway, I've read the letter. ‘Dear Rilikja’ and all that shit. So you have a daughter. Well damn! Congratulations! I'm all up for family reunions so I hope she shows up. That would be so great.” He then paused and just watched Mallory, how the Breton’s eyes began twitching around the room, always ending up on Mogrul, locked in a hateful stare.
“Slitter, tell me. What do we do with thieves?” Mogrul asked.
The Dunmer thought about it for a second. “Depends on what they stole. If it's something small, you usually crush their hands with Snaga. If it's big, it's their skulls.”
“Oh yeah, you're right,” Mogrul smiled, pulling Snaga out from behind his belt, the chain loudly ringing. The shaft was wooden, with a chain of blackened orichalcum slightly longer than a forearm hanging from it, and at the end of the chain was a head made of the same material, shaped into a human skull as large as a fist of grown up Orc with several spikes protruding from it. “She's a real vampire isn't she? A real bloodthirsty vampire, that she is.” His gaze than locked with Glover's and a vile grin spread on his face. “But you're lucky, Mallory, she's not thirsty today.” Mogrul then stood up and walked to Mallory. “But I am,” he growled into his face. “So I'm going to grab a drink!” he shouted, enjoying how Glover twitched as he took another sip of shein.
Mogrul chuckled and then looked at Slitter. “So as you can see, I don't want to waste time here. It's easy, Mallory. I want half of your shit, half of what you earn. Otherwise, the word gets out. Also, if anything disappears from this city, even one fucking silver fork or whatever, me and Snaga here will pay you a visit. ‘Cause a thief's a thief and you have to watch them, am I right?”
“Fuck you!” Glover spat at him. “Morvayn will hear-”
Before he could finish, Mogrul's fist landed on his jaw, sending Mallory to the ground with blood pouring from his mouth. “Damn! You see Snaga? She's getting jealous.” He looked at the flail, at the metallic skull and smiled. “I'm sorry, darling, but I still need him. If let you go on a rollick, there wouldn't be much left to pay me, so don't be mad at me, girl.” Mogrul cooed at the weapon as if it was a lover. He then faced the Dunmer. “Slitter? You remember what we were doing with the slaves that thought they could step out of line?”
“Yeah. The whip was useless, ‘cause they were really tough. They usually bled out on a pole with their backs ripped to pieces.”
“Ha, you're absolutely right. Those were fun times. So what did we do?”
“I remember we hit them once a day, straight into the jaw and then threw them into a hole. Then we dragged them out and hit them again. Hitting them real hard. That way the jaw could never really heal and it was getting weaker every day. So the bone would eventually give out and pop, but we didn't stop there.”
“No, we didn't stop there,” Mogrul smiled. “You hear that shit, Glover? I think we could apply the same for you here. And if you think the people will really give a shit about that, I can just mention that you're working with the Thieves Guild. So, like I said, half of your shit and I'll keep your secret, friend. That's pretty fucking kind of me, isn't it? So how about a thank you, hmm?” The Breton growled and Mogrul nodded at Slitter who kicked Mallory in the leg really hard. Glover rolled on the ground, holding his knee and groaning in pain. “Sorry, I couldn't hear you.” Mogrul crouched, leaning closer.
“Thank you,” Mallory gritted his teeth.
Mogrul smiled and stood up, looking at Slitter. “You heard that, Slitter? I just slid my dick down his throat and he thanked me for it. Bitches, right?” He opened the door and threw Slitter a look over his shoulder. “Damn, this is one thirsty job. Let's hope Sadri has some proper ale. See you around, Mallory.”
17th of Sun’ Dusk, 4E 203
Damn dumb idea, matey, Grulmar thought as he climbed a hill of ash. Studyin' with Telvanni. Yeah, sure. Nothin' better than that, right? And now ya are headin' to a sacred ground of Spriggans to get their tuskin' hearts so that ya could repair a damn mushroom tower. Just tuskin' lovely…
It wasn't exactly his specialty, so he had few reasons for worrying, but he was especially worried about how exactly was he going to put the Spriggans on their arses and get their Taproots. Maybe if I ask really nicely? So yes, it was making him worried, but it was somewhat distance, because his mind was alreadly occupied, thinking about the dream he had last night.
Oghma, Oghma. That rings a bell, doesn't it? Oghma...now where did I hear that? Hmm. It's somethin' from Aldmeri culture. One of the gods? Wait, that's it. Xarxes! Oghma was his wife or somethin'. Which still didn't explain how she got into his head, but Grulmar was already theorizing it was the Mask she was uisng to get inside his head. He had a feeling in his gut that she was actually much more than the Mask, a completely different level of power.
But how the tusk is he gettin' inside? Somehow, the Mask was controlling people when they slept, probably all over the island and it had something to do with those stones. He saw one in Raven Rock and then another near Tel Mithryn and Grulmar had no doubt both were being worked on by mind-controlled people.
Alright, so he controls people in their sleep. That can mean two things. Either Vaermina’s involved or the tusker isn't strong enough to control them otherwise. The stones are tied to all that. He stopped, ash swirling around his ankles and falling down again. “He's usin' the stones to free himself. When whatever is bein' built there is finished, he's goin' to set himself free.” Grulmar frowned and looked back, along the easter coast of Solstheim to where Tel Mithryn was lying and scratched his beard. And what's that to you, Grulmar? There's nothin' ya can do, matey. Someone will eventually come along, so leave it to them. And if the tusker breaks loose...well, that's a talk for a day when that happens, eh?
He spent the night at a camp near the coast, with a band of strange warriors with an even stranger sense of honor. They were from a Thirsk Mead Hall, which was some kind of offshoot of the Skaal village. They had kept babbling on about honor and glory, even more than Nords usually do - with Redguards in their midst. At first, they were fascinated by him, having never laid eyes on an Orc before, only knowing about their battle prowess from tales from the mainland. They even asked me to help them clear their Mead Hall of some Rieklings. Do I lool like a cleanin’ lady or somethin’? It’s none of my damn business. If they crave glory so bad they should do it themselves. So he left at the first sign of sun and continued along the path to the west.
According to his map the Skaal Village was to the north and frankly, he had no interest in meeting another group of crazy Nords - there were plenty of those back on the mainland. And to him, it didn’t really matter that they were more peaceful and close to nature - at least that’s what he heard about them. For all I care they can grow flowers out of their arses but they’re still Nords… What matters is that they are wary of outsiders. Well, I am wary of people wary of outsiders. So let’s take a detour, shall we? Just in case.
So he was climbing the hill to the west, towards a frozen lake and the vague outline of a building that, to him, looked like Jorrvaskr’s baby sister. Then he would change direction to the north, cross a bridge. That should put him very close to his destination. Easy peasy.
As he was ascending the slope, the temperature began to drop, getting colder and colder. Grulmar exchanged his cloth scarf and cloak for a proper fur one packed in his sack. Southern Solstheim wasn’t that bad, still little bit colder than his own liking, but not that bad. The temperature wasn’t all that different from Whiterun during autumn and considering it was already winter, that was a good sign. But northern Solstheim? Very close to the tuskin’ Pale. If ya would spit here it would probably freeze mid air. But it’s good to at least see the sun. . Not somethin’ that happens often down on the ash coast.
When he finally reached the top, a gust of icy wind blew snow into his face and he shielded his eyes until the wind decided to change direction. The light was still considerably blinding, sunrays reflected off a covering of snow. In front of him, in the distance, but clearer, was Jorrvaskr’s baby sister. A decent-sized building for this middle of nowhere, by the frozen lake to the north. Sturdy and made of wood, modeled after an upside-down boat. This must be Thirsk, Grulmar guessed. The Mead Hall the warriors talked about. And he had no interest going there, so he began picking his path through the snow towards the frozen lake, slowly changing direction due north, alongside the lake. To his right was a small forest of snow-dusted coniferous trees with a rocky ridge behind them and he was pretty sure the Skaal village was on the other side of the ridge.
The sun traveled across time, almost overhead, telling him noon was drawing near, just when he reached the northern end of the lake. There, the lake became a frozen river, flowing rapidly to become a waterfall, with a bridge over the the chasm. Which meant he was getting closer to his destination and he said to himself that once he crossed the bridge he should make camp. The cold was slowly getting to him, his fingers already numb and he breathed into his hands to get some warm into them.
He sniffed in the air and frowned when he smelled something that was slightly out of place in the forest. Horker skin. There should be no damn Horkers here… He continued carefully, but he couldn't shake the feeling that on his back was one big target, the hair on his neck standing up. His eyes scanned his surroundings without moving his head, so to not give away his suspicion. He noticed a movement from the corner of his eye, up in the forest. Ya are in Skaal land now. They're most likely watchin' ya. Don't give them a reason to attack and ya should be ok. He snorted and his hand unwittingly checked if the knives on his bandolier could be pulled out easily. Ya will have to oil them later… He had no other option than to go through the forest and he shrugged.
He was just few minutes into the forest when a grunt made him stop dead in his tracks. He heard something heavy approaching and he lowered his posture. There was the smell of old fur in the air, accompanied by...something.
From behind a tree strode the biggest tuskink pig he ever saw, a boar, with massive curved tusks and grey bristles. It looked at him and grunted again. It was almost as big as a bear and he gulped. He noticed there was a bridle in its mouth with a pair of reins hanging under its neck. Normally he would wonder who was mad enough to ride a boar, but right now, he would be glad to make it out.
It grunted again and Grulmar started slowly retreating, his hand close to his eyes, still watching the pig. “Come now, we don't have to fight. Ya have tusks, I have tusks. Ya have snout, I also have...a snout, kinda. So that makes us friends, right?”
“Buuuurraaaaa!” something yelled behind him in hoarse throaty voice and a suddenly a spear flew past him. The boar began running and Grulmar didn't think about it for too long, he just ran behind it. “Booneetay! Koowah!” the yelling continued, and another spear ended up in a tree two steps away from Grulmar.
What lousy aim! he thought as he sped through the forest. Stupid Skaal! What did I do to ya?!
Another spear flew over his head, landing several steps ahead of him and he frowned as he ran past it. It wasn't any longer than an arrow shaft. These are no damn Skaal, he realised. Grulmar’s mind reached into the streams of Magicka, his hands touching the stream hard as iron, feeling how the current dragged him along. He then shaped it, pulled it into himself and he felt his skin tingling as the spell washed over him, creating an invisible barrier around his body.
He let himself halt and turned around. And when he saw what was chasing him, he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. A creature, barely reaching his waist, with blue skin and white warpaint all over its body, a fur loincloth and a bone mask with feathers were the only things covering its body. It was holding a spear in its right hand and it yelled again: “Koolawasa!” The spear launched into the air and Grulmar watched it with raised eyebrows. It flew past him nearly three steps away and buried into the snow.
“Seriously?” the Orc asked and he now watched the small blue goblin speed towards him, its arms waving crazily. And it tripped. The goblin stumbled few steps away from him, rolled over his head and fell into the snow nearly at Grulmar's feet who burst out laughing. “I feel really bad now for runnin' away from ya, shrimp.” I think I've just ran into a Riekling. Not what I expected. Not at all.
“Huuuuuwaaaaa!” the Riekling yelled from the ground, quickly jumping to its feet. It started stabbing at Grulmar with another spear, but the Orc just dodged and then swept the second stab away with his forearm protected by the flesh spell.
“Hey. Watch where ya swing with that. Ya might poke someone's eye, probably yer own.” he chuckled and the Riekling stabbed again. Grulmar grabbed the spear just below its iron point and yanked, hoping he would rip it out of Riekling's hands, but the small goblin-like creature wasn't ready to let go. “That's enough, shrimp. This is gettin' rather tiresome.” It wrestled with him for the spear, spitting and growling, the sounds coming from it like a tusked-up mix between an angry cat and mating skeevers, and Grulmar sighed. “Alright.” He drew the Magicka from the streams and then cast a spell, reaching into the Riekling's mind. “Let’s see what ya got in there.”
He saw images of what could have only been Thirsk, with dozens of his kind around him, throwing their spears at running warriors. They had those warriors runnin' like dogs. That must have been really glorious… Then there was an image of all the Rieklings drinking the mead that was in Thirsk until they passed out. The image then morphed to the little tuskers dancing around a fire that smelled like burning Scathecraw. He noticed extra leaves and some of them were throwing more leaves into the fire. The smoke from the burning Scathecraw swirled above the fire, turning into strange shapes before becoming a big Riekling made of smoke and Grulmar could only guess these were hallucinations induced by Scathecraw. But whatever that was, it made the Riekling in front of him bow to the imaginary smoke and murmur some tune. Well, why not?
He projected the image into the Riekling's mind until the Riekling couldn't see anything else but the smoke. The Riekling's eyes widened as Grulmar turned himself into that smoke, and the tusker began bowing to Grulmar. “Run now, shrimp,” Grulmar commanded, projecting the image of Thirsk into the Riekling's mind, suggesting to go there. But the Riekling only kept bowing, his forehead repeatedly hitting the snow. “Oh, for tusk's sake.” Grulmar reached into the streams again, focusing on the pure form of the emotion called fear and projected an image of a dragon flying over the forest into the creature’s mind. That worked. It began screaming, got up quickly and started running away, speeding fast. Then it tripped again.
Grulmar shook his head and chuckled. “What a bungler…”
Comments
That was a cute scene with Grulmar and Riekling the Shrimp.
Huuuuuwaaaaaa!!!
Seriously, I would never expect Mogrul to have that much influence over Raven Rock.
Seriously, I would never expect Mogrul to have that much influence over Raven Rock.
You really know how to make me despise your characters, Karves.
You really know how to make me despise your characters, Karves.