V
Vexor
Guest
Original poster
https://www.iwakuroleplay.com/threads/for-the-sake-of-skyrim-ooc.35943/
Derei had often heard tales of Skyrim, how the majority of people there had no respect for Sithis, how they considered him evil, and how they had completely destroyed one of his more devout followers' few remaining sanctuaries, and the supposed last of the Shadowscales with it.
He knew he would never again be accepted by the other Sarpas once he set foot on that cold, cold land. That he could possibly lose all ties to his culture, hell, he was already considered to be taboo for his fondness of male company over female, but he could NOT allow his species to die the way it had lived, in the shadows, eating their own dead, and whoever strays too deep into the marshes for survival. No. Leave that to Namiira's followers, for he would have no more part of it! He stepped off the East Empire ship and took a deep breath of the cool, crisp air...
———————————————————————
He woke up in a panic, wondering where he was, then relaxed as he saw the still just barely familiar walls of his bedroom, in his house, in, what was that name again? One of those silly Nordic names... Whiterun, that's it. Such a contradiction to his native city of Blackrose. Paved streets, high, sturdy walls. Whereas most of his old town was half-sunk into the mud when he'd left.
He spread his wings wide and gave them a few quick flaps. They weren't any good for flying, but they certainly helped scare off the more violent Skyrim beasts, and he wasn't thinking of the animals, either.
He got up with a grunt and donned a plain shirt, leather apron, and pair of trousers, then slipped on his boots for his day working the forge at Warmaiden's. Oh, how he loved the heat from those fires warming his scales. Such a nice contrast from the cold Skyrim weather.
He stepped downstairs and caught sight of his armor on a nearby mannequin. Memories surfaced in his mind. His first kill. A Dunmer who had tried to restart the use of Argonians as slaves. He'd woken up with the armor on after his commemorative drinking of the Hist's sap. He turned quickly away before memory lane extended too far, and stepped out his front door into the bustling city streets.
Derei had often heard tales of Skyrim, how the majority of people there had no respect for Sithis, how they considered him evil, and how they had completely destroyed one of his more devout followers' few remaining sanctuaries, and the supposed last of the Shadowscales with it.
He knew he would never again be accepted by the other Sarpas once he set foot on that cold, cold land. That he could possibly lose all ties to his culture, hell, he was already considered to be taboo for his fondness of male company over female, but he could NOT allow his species to die the way it had lived, in the shadows, eating their own dead, and whoever strays too deep into the marshes for survival. No. Leave that to Namiira's followers, for he would have no more part of it! He stepped off the East Empire ship and took a deep breath of the cool, crisp air...
———————————————————————
He woke up in a panic, wondering where he was, then relaxed as he saw the still just barely familiar walls of his bedroom, in his house, in, what was that name again? One of those silly Nordic names... Whiterun, that's it. Such a contradiction to his native city of Blackrose. Paved streets, high, sturdy walls. Whereas most of his old town was half-sunk into the mud when he'd left.
He spread his wings wide and gave them a few quick flaps. They weren't any good for flying, but they certainly helped scare off the more violent Skyrim beasts, and he wasn't thinking of the animals, either.
He got up with a grunt and donned a plain shirt, leather apron, and pair of trousers, then slipped on his boots for his day working the forge at Warmaiden's. Oh, how he loved the heat from those fires warming his scales. Such a nice contrast from the cold Skyrim weather.
He stepped downstairs and caught sight of his armor on a nearby mannequin. Memories surfaced in his mind. His first kill. A Dunmer who had tried to restart the use of Argonians as slaves. He'd woken up with the armor on after his commemorative drinking of the Hist's sap. He turned quickly away before memory lane extended too far, and stepped out his front door into the bustling city streets.