Dragon of the East - Arc 2, Chapter 18

  • Chases-The-Wind

    ~ ~ ~

    I left Grosta to her mourning. She called for her son and took him inside their house. They had a good reason to postpone their woodworking, if only for a short while. Conveying the news of her husband’s fate had reopened my guilt anew. I saw a glimmer of sunlight reflecting off the nearby river. The water rushed onward toward its final destination, unhindered, in spite of everything that sought to stop it. I knew I needed to be as water.

    A failure is only that if you learn nothing from it, I reminded myself, quoting the words of a man I killed long ago. Learn from this. Ensure that it never happens again.

    Never. Again.

    Dar-Meena waited for me among the stumps of a cleared forest. The sun was high with thick clouds emerging beyond the skyline. I told her I needed to make this stop before we reached Ivarstead, that it was too important to neglect. I did not, however, tell her why.

    “Who was that?” she asked.

    “A woman who knows now of her widowhood,” I replied.

    I was almost surprised by the look she gave me. Then I remembered how smart she was. She put together the pieces quickly.

    “You mean… the man back at Stonefalls? The one you were searching for...?”

    “Yes.”

    “What did she offer you to find him?”

    “It was I who offered.”

    “For what?”

    “Nothing.”

    Dar-Meena leaned on a leg. Her piercing yellow gaze seemed to find new ways to corrode my defenses. It was becoming harder and harder to deny her information, and I refused to lie outright.

    “You went to all those lengths to find a stranger’s husband. Why?”

    “Because I thought I could.”

    The young thief glanced over her shoulder at the family’s log cabin, lips slightly parted, arms wrapped around her waist.

    “Shit… She couldn’t have taken it well. Did you explain what happened? Was she resentful?”

    I let out a low hum. Dar-Meena narrowed her eyes.

    “Chase…? What exactly did you tell her?” she asked.

    The guilt reopened again.

    “What she deserved to hear.”

    We had a river to follow. It was time to move on.

    ~ooooo~

    The Throat of the World was enormous enough to swallow a city. It dwarfed the height of the White-Gold Tower by miles. Such a thing of impossible size only nature could construct. Standing at the base of the mountain, in the village of Ivarstead, I could not see its peak. It appeared to fade away and become one with the sky itself. The spired tons of snowy rock were dappled with pine trees at its lowest elevations. The upper crags by contrast bespoke a more barren and harsh landscape.

    A whine reached my ears. “Is it too late to try and change your mind?” Dar-Meena asked.

    “You are free to stay in the village and wait for me,” I said. “I can make the journey alone.”

    “Augh, nevermind… Let’s just get this over with.” She had the look of one being forced against her will to complete an arduous chore, like housecleaning. I sighed.

    You are the sower of your own distress, Keerthelh…

    We purchased new garments from a local merchant, furred and layered to fend off the cold that awaited us. Though I should correct – Dar-Meena­ purchased the garments. All of the money Jarl Balgruuf had gifted me was officially hers as payment. I retained merely a handful of Septims. The tailor had demanded a steep price for the garbs, which the young thief indignantly contested. I was listening from a window outside the store.

    Somehow Dar-Meena haggled the wares down to half price. I would have never thought it possible. I learned more about bargaining and fur trade from listening to her than I ever might have under the An-Xileel’s tutelage, and they spared no expense covering many disciplines. Dar-Meena continued to defy my expectations.

    Though the real trials were yet to come.       

    We were ready to confront the Seven Thousand Steps. Rushing rapids divided Ivarstead from the base of the mountain. Dar-Meena and I came to a stone bridge that crossed the torrential waters, where on which a pair of men were talking. One was a Nord leaning against the parapet and the other a Bosmer standing in the roadway. The Bosmer left, waving to the Nord and wishing him farewell. As the young thief and I arrived at the bridge, the Nord beheld us with interest.

    “Well now… This is new,” he said. “Never known any of your kind to make the pilgrimage before.” The Nord wore a set of winter clothing similar to ours. He had a shaved head and a thick brown beard hanging off his chin.

    “That shouldn’t come as a surprise,” Dar-Meena remarked dully.

    I held in a slew of unpleasant emotions. Necessity dictated that we keep our trail as concealed as possible, yet a simple fact made this task problematic: Dar-Meena and I were Argonians. The rarity of our kind in the north was working against us. We were oddities to the Nords, more likely to be remembered. The best we could do was act in an unsuspicious manner and make minimum contact with locals. But even then…

    My thoughts drifted to the Dark Brotherhood assassins. The ones that should not have existed.

    The only way they could have found me in Riften was if they had been searching before the events at Whiterun. Which means a black sacrament was performed within my first days in Skyrim at the latest… by someone who knew I was here.

    But no one should have known I was here. No one followed me. My identity as Dragonborn had not been revealed… and none in this province should know of Okan-Zeeus. I have no enemies in Skyrim, no acquaintances…

    Those assassins were a truth amidst a dozen impossibilities.

    How did it happen? This shouldn’t be! There is no explanation!

    “Chase! Are you even paying attention?” Dar-Meena snapped at me.

    I broke out of my thoughts. The Nord at the bridge had been talking to us. I missed the entire conversation, to my embarrassment.

    “I’m… sorry,” I said, still distracted. “What were we talking about?”

    Dar-Meena rolled her eyes. “He gets like this a lot,” she grumbled.

    “I wanted to ask a favor,” the Nord said, looking at me, “since you’re both heading up on your way to the monastery.”

    I brought myself back to focus. I could not remain in the world of feints and shadows. The real world was calling.

    “A favor? Of what sort?” I asked.

    “I was about to make a delivery. The Greybeards are expecting some supplies.”

    “What kind of supplies?” Dar-Meena interjected.

    “Mostly foods like dried fish and salted meats. You know, things that keep fresh for a long time. The Greybeards tend not to get out much, if you catch my meaning.”

    “And what do you get out of all this?”

    The Nord shrugged. “Well, it’s kind of an understanding between us… I mean, it wouldn’t feel right to charge them for a bit of preserved food.” He sighed. “Trouble is, my legs aren’t what they used to be and climbing the Seven Thousand Steps takes its toll.”

    I see. The Greybeards must live solely off of charity offerings from this village, I thought. They could never grow food or provide for themselves up on a mountain.

    “We’re not free labor. What’s the compensation?” Dar-Meena asked. I frowned at her.

    aside for you when you come back.”

    “How much?”

     “Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to do this for free,” the man said. “I’ll have some gold set

    The Nord’s features knotted. He was dealing with a hard businesswoman. I felt sympathy for him.

    “How about three hundred?”

    Dar-Meena beamed. She was prepared to bargain with the man, but his first offer was already higher than she anticipated.

    “In that case, Chase would be more than willing,” she replied, grinning at me. “Wouldn’t you?”

    I would have been willing at any rate. That did not stop me from shooting Dar-Meena a mild glare. “I can speak for myself,” I muttered to her, addressing the man more warmly. “But yes. I will gladly make this delivery for you.”

    “Much appreciated,” he said, handing me a large leather knapsack. “Take this bag. At the top of the steps you’ll see an offering chest. Just leave the bag inside, and you’re done.”

    My tail stiffened as I slung his bag over shoulder beside my own. It was heavier than it first appeared. I could see the bottom of the Seven Thousand Steps across the bridge ahead of us. The climb up to High Hrothgar was quickly losing any semblance of appeal. Pulling a skidder full of trees was one thing… now this?

    I resigned nonetheless with a deliberate smile. Sacrifice is part and parcel when it comes to helping others. I accept this fact willingly.

    The Nord’s name was Klimmek. He cautioned us to be on guard for wolf packs or strays while climbing the Throat of the World, as well as to watch our footing along the icy slopes. Beyond that there were no dangers to anticipate. The distant clouds concerned me, but they did not appear to be moving in toward the mountain.

    With a final send off, we began climbing the stone steps. They were weathered and uneven along the side of the mountain, coiling up steep slopes where the wind blew strong. Ivarstead slowly shrank beneath us. I grunted under the weight of two bags on my back and saw the young thief in the corner of my eye, still grinning at me as we hiked.

    “You are enjoying this,” I hissed.

    “Only a little,” she chirped sweetly. “Just think: this way you’ll be able to pay me back for those clothes I bought you.”

    I stumbled. “Xhuth, what!? You said nothing about paying you–!”

    Dar-Meena snickered. My brow drew low.

    “You are joking.”

    “I’m joking.”

    I forced a sharp breath out of my lungs, taking a long stride up multiple steps.

    “Was this a part of your vision for our partnership? Unceasing bouts of mockery?”

    “Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

    ~ooooo~

    Our climb persisted unto the evening. My ears felt plugged and the air was thin to respire. The sky was growing dark. I had been wrong about the clouds. They were nearly upon us, bringing with them a violent snowstorm. We needed to reach High Hrothgar quickly, lest the weather catch us and send our spirits to the Hist.

    “Dar-Meena, we cannot rest any longer,” I urged, breathing heavily.

    She was sitting down next to a stone monument beside the path. Rocks loomed to our right. Strong gales blew snow over our heads, flakes fluttering in areal loops.

    “I’m an idiot… I should’ve taken your offer… stayed at the village,” she huffed, rising to her feet. Dar-Meena was not as physically fit as I, accustomed more to walking city roads than hiking mountain crests.

    “We must be getting close. Come on. I won’t let you fall behind,” I said.

    The steps continued to curve in an upward bend. I led the way, staying as close to the inner mountain as possible. My arms and legs ached fiercely. The climb was becoming a serious test of endurance, akin to those I suffered as a hatchling. I would have taken the bogs of Archon if given a choice between them and the mountain, and that is no small admission. Be thankful, I thought. Here, at least, no swamp leviathans can chase you. If there was ever a memory I wished to suppress…

    I slipped on a patch of ice and caught myself against the side of the mountain. Klimmek’s bag pulled me down into the snow. It was too much extra weight.

    Dar-Meena rushed up to me. “Are you okay!?”

    I laughed, partly at my own clumsiness, partly at the chaos of the coming blizzard.

    “Still alive,” I huffed. “For what that is worth.”

    I rose, hauling up the delivery bag.

    “Just leave it! We don’t owe that Nord anything,” Dar-Meena barked.

    “The Greybeards still need this,” I panted. “Are they not the ones who will be taking us in in this storm?”

    “Chase, you’re getting tired!”

    “A slight setback. Easily ignored.”

    She bit her lip and grabbed the bag’s other strap. We held it together between us.

    “You ignore it all you want to,” she said. “I won’t.”

    Our eyes met. There was a surprising intensity about Dar-Meena in that moment. I yielded to her. Minutes passed by. Higher we ascended. Yet the end did not seem to come.

    The snowstorm suddenly blustered with all its might. Visibility was reduced to two yards. We could barely see the steps before us. I raised my hand up in a feeble attempt to block the wind. It was all-consuming to the senses, a constant press against my body, a wall of noise against my ears. Our hike became a slow plod. The arctic cold was numbingly painful, sapping away heat and strength.

    “What now!?” Dar-Meena cried above the storm.              

    “Don’t let go! Mirror my steps!” I called back.

    We used Klimmek’s bag as a line connecting the two of us, ensuring we would not get separated. I followed what was left of the path ahead as I had drawn in my memory, before the blizzard concealed it, until we reached another curve. The remaining way forward lay shrouded by the flurry of snow. With the sun setting and withdrawing its light, the Throat of the World became a closing set of icy jaws, from which soon nothing could escape.

    I allowed my eyelids to close. Darkness came.

    “Laas!!”

    My eyes snapped open as the Thu’um encompassed my vision with a hazy red tint. I could see four glowing vaporous figures. They were bright scarlet lights shining through the dark grey of the storm. Though the auras gave no heat, seeing them seemed to stave off the cold.

    “I sense life ahead!” I shouted. “The monastery is up the path! We’re nearly there!”

    One last push. Dar-Meena and I trudged on through the deep snow. A stone tower faded into view, followed by a larger building connected behind it. Steps wound their way to a set of large heavy metal doors. With great effort we pushed through into High Hrothgar. The brassy door scrapped against the ground as I opened it; then again as I drove it back into place. The howl of the wind shrilled higher and higher, until the door was shut and only a muffle remained.

    Klimmek’s bag fell on the floor with a thud. No one would mind if we left it there for a while. It felt too good to be out of the storm. The scales on my snout could finally thaw. Dar-Meena and I rested against a wall, our winter garbs damp and heavy. We held on to each other, sharing warmth.

    “I’ve made up my mind,” she shivered. “I don’t like hiking. I will never like hiking.”

    I chuckled. “You do not like hiking in blizzards. I promise there’s a difference.”

    “I don’t care if there’s a difference!”

    My gaze went ahead into the chamber. I grew silent. A large pit of flames crackled near the back of the stone brick monastery. Bright banners hung from the ceiling, bearing words written in the language of the Thu’um, as I had seen in Bleak Falls Barrow and the mining camp. Candles burned along a praying alter. A soft orange glow blanketed the room, casting dark shadows on elaborate wall carvings.

    In an open center space stood four men. Their thick grey robes trailed down to their feet, sleeves draping over their hands. Their faces could be seen underneath their hoods, each wearing long full beards. They did not approach us. Instead they stood there, waiting patiently.

    “Those sure look like Greybeards,” Dar-Meena whispered.                            

    I pulled away from her. “Wait here. I will speak to them,” I said quietly, taking my first steps forward. My wet boot clops echoed, leaving prints and puddles of water on the floor.

    This place… It feels calming… tranquil…

    One of the Greybeards stepped up to greet me.

    “So… a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age.” The man spoke with calm tone and graceful rhythm, implying wisdom that could only come with age. “Your fortitude is commendable. Few would dare to climb our mountain in such a storm… and fewer still could survive.”

    I came to a stop, leaving a gap between me and the holy man. His cheeks were gaunt and his beard was tied at the bottom in a knot.

    “You call me Dragonborn,” I said, side-eyeing the Greybeard. “What does that mean?”

    He brought his arms together in the sleeves of his robe. The other Greybeards gathered behind him.

    “First, let us see if you truly are Dragonborn. Let us taste of your voice.”

    My wet boots squeaked. “Pardon?”

    “Shout at us. Do not be afraid. Your Thu’um will do no harm.”

    I looked back at Dar-Meena. She sat down on the floor in a heap of warm furs and shrugged at me. With hesitance, I complied with the Greybeard’s request.

    “FUS!!!”

    My ring of force collided with the men. It fluttered their robes, yet they did not flinch. The Greybeards stood unmoved like columns of stone. I stared with a small feeling of awe. The man with the knot beard smiled. I could see the aged bags that hung beneath his eyes.

    “Dragonborn. It is you. Welcome,” he said, bowing. “I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. You stand in High Hrothgar, on the slopes of Kynareth’s sacred mountain. Now tell me, Dragonborn… why have you come here?”

    I stiffened, pondering his question perhaps longer than I needed to.

    “Hakkuut… I answer your summons,” I finally said.         

    “Hakut?” he pronounced incorrectly.

    Teacher,” I translated. “This one would speak it in his native tongue, to denote respect.”

    Arngeir’s smile returned. “We are honored to welcome a Dragonborn to High Hrothgar. We will do our best to teach you how to use your gift, in fulfillment of your destiny.”

    I glared. “Do you know my destiny?”

    He brought his arms together. “It is for you to discover. We can show you the Way, but not your destination. Do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out before you? That remains to be seen.”

    “I will do as I must,” I said. “I wish to discover what it means to be Dragonborn.”

    “And we are here to guide you in that pursuit, just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood who came before you.”

    “Am I not the only one?”                                              

    “You are not the first. There have been many since Akatosh first bestowed the gift upon mortal kind. Whether you are the only Dragonborn of this age… that is not ours to know.” He walked to the other Greybeards. I followed.

    “Xhu. The hour grows late, but… when will the training begin?”         

    “Whenever you are ready, Dragonborn.”

    I checked back to see Dar-Meena dozing off. Despite my exhaustion, I felt awake and alert. The longer it took me to complete my training, the more harm dragons could do in my absence. This was not a time for rest or idleness.

    “I am ready now,” I said determinedly.

    ~ooooo~

     

    Arngeir and I walked down a long hallway to return to the open chamber. I left behind some of my clothes to dry back in another room. Dar-Meena stayed as well to sleep. She thought it was senseless of me to try and train after the ordeal we had just survived, but I assured her I was willing. And able.

    “Without training, you have already taken the first steps towards projecting your voice into a Thu’um,” Arngeir explained. “When you Shout, you speak in the language of dragons. Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power.”

    “These words… they are unique somehow, yes?” I said. “How is it that they manifest as magic?”

    “The magic is intrinsic to the language itself, just as the language is to dragons. There is no difference in the dragon tongue between debating and fighting. Shouting comes as naturally to a dragon as breathing, or speaking. It was the goddess Kynareth that granted mortalkind the ability to speak as dragons do.”

    We arrived in the chamber, where the other Greybeards rejoined us.

    “Can anyone learn to Shout, then?” I asked, surprised.

    “Yes. For most people, long years of training are required to master even the simplest Shout. But for you... the dragon speech is in your blood, and you learn it almost without effort.”

    “Then I learn effortlessly what you have all have spent your lives pursuing. This thought instills no joy,” I spoke glumly, eyes resting upon the other Greybeards. I tilted my head. “Do none of you have words to say?”

    “The others do not speak,” Arngeir said. “Their Voices are too powerful. Even a whisper could kill you.”

    I shuddered. These peaceful men were not to be provoked. Arngeir turned and nodded to one of the other Greybeards.

    “Master Einarth?”

    The thick bearded elder stepped forward and breathed quietly upon the ground.

    Ro…

    I felt a shake under my feet. A word suddenly pressed into the stone floor like a footprint. I reeled back at the sight.

    “All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power,” Arngeir lectured. “As you master each word, your Shout will become progressively stronger. The word you see before you is ro. Ro means ‘balance’ in the dragon tongue. Combine it with fus – ‘force’ – to strengthen your Thu’um.”

    He gestured to the floor with his hand. I was to approach the word. It pulsed with rhythm and began to glow as I knelt down, my vision blackening. The word imprinted. I felt it within me.

    Ro. Another meaningless husk.

    “You learn a new word like a master…!” Arngeir sounded reverent. “You truly do have the gift.”

    I stood as my vision returned, wearing a cynical frown. “But learning a word is not enough. Is it?”

    “Correct. You must next unlock its meaning.”

    “By… killing a dragon?”

    “Or through meditation and practice. But of course, as Dragonborn you can absorb a slain dragon’s life force and knowledge directly.” Arngeir turned to Einarth. “As part of your initiation, Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding of ro.”

    Before I could question the sense of that, a rush of light like wind surged into me. I stared wide-eyed at Einarth as the knowledge of the word simply came unto me, as though he himself were a slayed dragon. Yet no visions or memories accompanied the knowledge. Perhaps those were tied to a dragon’s life force… or, in other words, the dragon’s soul.

    The transfer completed. I turned to Arngeir.

    “How…?”                                                                                   

    His silence was my answer. It seemed there were secrets the Greybeards meant to keep. There was a diamond square of tiles on the floor. The four men repositioned, each standing upon an angle. I stood facing the diamond’s center.

    “Now, let us see how quickly you can master your new Thu’um,” Arngeir said. “Strike the targets as they appear.”

    “Targets?” I repeated.

    One of the Greybeards stepped into the diamond and Shouted.

    “FIIK… LO SAH!!!”

    He stepped back. There was a warp in the air. A doppelganger manifested in the center of the diamond. It bore the guise of the Greybeard who summoned it. His Thu’um had produced a decoy, an illusion of light.

    What the Iyorth!? How different do these Shouts become?

    I calmed my nerves and breathed in. The first word of my Shout welled up inside me, ready to burst. But the second word was right on its heel, even more vigorous. The word felt like a charging beast that needed to be caged. I blocked ‘ro’ before it could escape.

    “FUS!!!”                                                                                                            

    The Shout burst from my mouth and pushed the doppelganer, causing it to stumble and fade away with a wisp of dim light. Beginner’s error. I scorned myself for showing incompetence.

    “Your Thu’um contains tremendous power,” Arngeir said sternly to me, “but you must not hesitate. Try it again.”

    Hold yourself together.

    Another target was set by another Greybeard. I attempted to well my Shout again, but found that I couldn’t. Something was stopping me from performing multiple Shouts in rapid succession. The only way I can describe it is to compare it to a feeling of breathlessness. A shout relies on a breath of the soul as well as the body, a parallel to magicka.

    I waited for my Voice to return. The second time I did not hesitate.

    “FUS… RO!!!”

    The ring of force was bolstered in strength. It struck not only the doppelganger, but also the stairwell behind it and a few clay pots set on the outer edges. Some rolled and fell over. They would have shattered if I had Shouted closer to them.

    “Well done. Again.”

    I inhaled and spoke the words with more confidence.

    “FUS… RO!!!”

    My blast hit the next decoy and the stairwell, but not pottery. It had shrunken in size.

    What…? Did I change it?

    “You learn quickly. Once more.”

    …Strange… I must see…

    I Shouted again, trying a different vocal inflection, more clipped and staccato.     

     “FUS… RO!!!”

    The Thu’um was even narrower. It struck only the doppelganger. I felt a thrill of discovery.

    Shouts can be altered by changing the way they are spoken! I could expand the blast to sweep a wide cone, or shrink it to strike a single target with greater force. It fit perfectly with what I witnessed of the dragons, the way they could condense their fire breath or exhale it in streams depending on the need. There were more ways to control the magic.

    “Impressive. Your Thu’um is precise,” Arngeir said with a knowing smile. “You show great promise, Dragonborn.”

    “Time will tell if I live up to that promise,” I replied, not inclined to congratulate myself. A new skill is useless until it has been used apart from practice.

    I heard soft footsteps and turned around. Dar-Meena leaned against the entrance of the hallway behind me. Her eyes were heavy.

    “Restless?” I asked.

    “You try sleeping while somebody’s shouting the walls down,” she muttered

    “Oh…” I meekly lowered my gaze to the floor. “I apologize. I didn’t think of that…”

    Arngeir came up to me. “Dragonborn,” he said. “We will perform your next trial in the courtyard. Follow Master Borri.”

    I sifted his words.     

    “The courtyard? Outside? But… there is a blizzard…!”

    The Greybeard named Borri walked up a small flight of stairs to the courtyard exit. The others trailed behind. Dar-Meena and I exchanged worried looks. I joined the men as they climbed the steps and approached the large metal doors.

    “Wait! I said there is a blizzard outside! We mustn’t–”

    The doorway swung open and a loud moaning gale rushed into the monastery. There was a black curtain of vicious snowfall where the courtyard supposedly laid. I squinted as the wind blew in my eyes and snarled as it touched my scales.

    “Waxuuthi, xhuth!” I swore. “This is madness!”

    Borri walked straight and disappeared into the storm.

    “LOK… VAH KOOR!!!”

    The air distorted, a Thu’um visibly ringing out. The blizzard stopped. Storm clouds dispersed. In an instant the outdoors were clear and calm without a hint of snowfall. A vibrant cyan aurora was shining in the sky, no longer hidden behind the weather’s dark veil. I slowly stepped into the mild chill of High Hrothgar’s courtyard, transfixed on the brilliance of the stars, utterly dumbfounded.

    It was quiet. So quiet…

    “I… never realized…”

    “You have much to learn, Dragonborn,” Arngeir said, standing beside me.

    The Greybeards. I finally understood why the Nords of Skyrim revered them. They were men of power without reckoning. Even the skies themselves obeyed their command.

    These men summoned me, sought to train me in their arts... And I rejected their call…

    I beheld that night the true measure of my folly.

                                                                    

    AUTHOR’S NOTE

    It goes without saying that I’m expanding DOTE’s lore in this chapter. Allow me to explain:

    The major change is to the thu’um. The idea that shouts can be altered by changing the way they are spoken seemed like fun to me. It adds an extra element of depth of the system and gives me more interesting scenarios to work with. I want to expand Chase’s shouting abilities in a way that will ultimately enable him to perform incredible feats, even more incredible than those seen in the game.

    My goal is to maintain the feel of shouting as it is in Skyrim, while pushing the boundaries of what it can do. I’m straying farther and farther from TES lore, but I promise it’s all in the interest of the story.

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Comments

6 Comments   |   Fallout Night likes this.
  • Fallout Night
    Fallout Night   ·  November 15, 2016
    I know I'm a little late but I noticed that sentence was out of place: “We’re not free labor. What’s the compensation?” Dar-Meena asked. I frowned at her.
    aside for you when you come back.”
    “How much?”
     “Oh, I wouldn’t expec...  more
  • Tolveor
    Tolveor   ·  August 3, 2015
    My first trek up to High Hrothgar running frostfall comes to mind *shiver* Thats an experience worth having. I think i died from freezing at least twice
  • The Wing
    The Wing   ·  July 23, 2015
    No worries, Okan!  I know you get a bit frustrated sometimes - and we all do, anyway! It was nice of you to refrain from swearing! XD
    On a side note, I realise I sounded a bit apathetic in that first comment. I loved the chapter too! Sometimes I jus...  more
  • Andrew Paredes
    Andrew Paredes   ·  July 23, 2015
    Another great chapter. I can't help but to smile at any interaction between Dar and Chase. They're fun.
  • Okan-Zeeus
    Okan-Zeeus   ·  July 23, 2015
    *sigh* Fixed. I'll just imply that I'm angry and refrain from swearing profusely.
    I was consistent with the spelling. I just had two vowels switched. Naturally I would screw up something so semantically insignificant.
    EDIT: Sorry, was tired an...  more
  • The Wing
    The Wing   ·  July 23, 2015
    You might want to check how you spell 'Arngeir'. It might help if you add names to the Microsoft Word dictionary.