The eyes of a fallen goddess lie before me,
A thousand blues and greens, reds and browns,
Cast asunder on a field of snowy white,
And though my faith is unshakable, unerrant,
It means nothing once the truth is known.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Monsters in the Dark
They had been tracking the she-orc through the dark passages surrounding their city for several days. Zakial knew these tunnels like the back of his hand, but always she seemed to be one step ahead, darting through side passages and avoiding terrible pitfalls and the sorts of horrors only one who lived in the deep could believe. Only once had they seen her, only for an instant, before one of his soldiers (Maklian, the fool) sprung a trap that cost him his life and nearly killed them all.
She had been striking at their patrols for some time now. She started off attacking slave caravans, likely out of some foolish notion of freeing her “people” from bondage. It was more likely that any who escaped were killed by the other dangers that called these caverns home. And yet she remained, even became bolder. She killed an entire patrol only a week before, which had in turn triggered this little expedition.
Zakial would not be so easily perturbed, however. The savage woman was feared by many of his brethren, called a monster, but he knew she was mortal. She would die like any other of a hundred lesser beings he had spitted on his blade.
Another day. More dangers. Jarelial, Maklian’s cousin, nearly stumbled headlong into a fungal bloom. Stupidity must run in the family, Zakial thought. No matter. The deep would claim the weak, the infirm, the foolish. And only the strong, capable, and ingenious would remain.
More hours passed. Zakial lost the trail. Actually, the trail was simply gone. He went over it several times. It was as if she’d disappeared. Then he saw something up ahead. Movement. Light.
A tiny fire, little more than a single ember burned on the ground. A sign? He led the group forward, only to realize his mistake too late.
The flame exploded into a brilliant flash. The denizens of the dark, unaccustomed to such bright lights, clutched their eyes. They had fallen into her web, Zakial thought. He heard the flash of blades, a scream of pain, and a body drop. When he could see again, he saw Carvian with a deep gash across his chest and Jarelial’s head laying several paces from his body. The she-orc was nowhere to be found.
“Spread out! Eyes open!” he shouted, realizing that his force would quickly be half what it was starting out but nonetheless refusing to retreat. He couldn’t retreat. In the eyes of the Matrons, retreat was failure, and failure would mean death.
At least here he had a chance.
To his left he heard the snap of a crossbow. Carvian fell, the bolt striking directly into the gash that had been left by her sword.
Though he still couldn’t see her, one of his men shouted “There!” and let loose his own crossbow bolt, which clinked off the cavern wall.
She jumped into battle, driving one of her swords into the crossbowman’s shoulder. She reflexively spun, bringing her other blade around her body and cut across his final soldier’s leg. Without changing direction, she let her momentum carry her blade out of the crossbowman’s shoulder, who fell to the ground, and straight at Zakial.
He cumbersomely dodged the blade, practically throwing himself at the wall to get away from certain death and try to get his bearings. His other man, apparently unable to get to his sword as he struggled to keep himself upright, struck out with the dagger he kept in his belt. He stuck it into her armor, but apparently was unable to force the blade through, because she didn’t even acknowledge its presence. She sliced downward, nearly cleaving his torso in two. She threw her other sword, overhead, straight at him.
It stuck in his chest. The pain was unbearable. It might have missed his heart, but surely broke his ribs and pierced his lung. As he lay there, bleeding on the stone behind and below him, he considered how it all went terribly wrong. It had been over in seconds.
He looked at her, examining his soldier’s corpses and retrieving everything useful they’d carried. Food. Water. Crossbow bolts. Several vials of poison, meant for her. She looked over at him, saw him still breathing. She stood up, walked over to him.
He looked at her as she approached, dagger in hand. She almost looked…Like him. Certainly she was larger, broader, had a different skin color, different hair. She was matted with filth and covered in the blood of his brethren, but she was a living, thinking, breathing person. A normal person, but stronger, more capable, more ingenious…Than he. And that scared him more than any monster would. She was over him. He saw the dagger plunging downward…
And all was black.
She had been striking at their patrols for some time now. She started off attacking slave caravans, likely out of some foolish notion of freeing her “people” from bondage. It was more likely that any who escaped were killed by the other dangers that called these caverns home. And yet she remained, even became bolder. She killed an entire patrol only a week before, which had in turn triggered this little expedition.
Zakial would not be so easily perturbed, however. The savage woman was feared by many of his brethren, called a monster, but he knew she was mortal. She would die like any other of a hundred lesser beings he had spitted on his blade.
Another day. More dangers. Jarelial, Maklian’s cousin, nearly stumbled headlong into a fungal bloom. Stupidity must run in the family, Zakial thought. No matter. The deep would claim the weak, the infirm, the foolish. And only the strong, capable, and ingenious would remain.
More hours passed. Zakial lost the trail. Actually, the trail was simply gone. He went over it several times. It was as if she’d disappeared. Then he saw something up ahead. Movement. Light.
A tiny fire, little more than a single ember burned on the ground. A sign? He led the group forward, only to realize his mistake too late.
The flame exploded into a brilliant flash. The denizens of the dark, unaccustomed to such bright lights, clutched their eyes. They had fallen into her web, Zakial thought. He heard the flash of blades, a scream of pain, and a body drop. When he could see again, he saw Carvian with a deep gash across his chest and Jarelial’s head laying several paces from his body. The she-orc was nowhere to be found.
“Spread out! Eyes open!” he shouted, realizing that his force would quickly be half what it was starting out but nonetheless refusing to retreat. He couldn’t retreat. In the eyes of the Matrons, retreat was failure, and failure would mean death.
At least here he had a chance.
To his left he heard the snap of a crossbow. Carvian fell, the bolt striking directly into the gash that had been left by her sword.
Though he still couldn’t see her, one of his men shouted “There!” and let loose his own crossbow bolt, which clinked off the cavern wall.
She jumped into battle, driving one of her swords into the crossbowman’s shoulder. She reflexively spun, bringing her other blade around her body and cut across his final soldier’s leg. Without changing direction, she let her momentum carry her blade out of the crossbowman’s shoulder, who fell to the ground, and straight at Zakial.
He cumbersomely dodged the blade, practically throwing himself at the wall to get away from certain death and try to get his bearings. His other man, apparently unable to get to his sword as he struggled to keep himself upright, struck out with the dagger he kept in his belt. He stuck it into her armor, but apparently was unable to force the blade through, because she didn’t even acknowledge its presence. She sliced downward, nearly cleaving his torso in two. She threw her other sword, overhead, straight at him.
It stuck in his chest. The pain was unbearable. It might have missed his heart, but surely broke his ribs and pierced his lung. As he lay there, bleeding on the stone behind and below him, he considered how it all went terribly wrong. It had been over in seconds.
He looked at her, examining his soldier’s corpses and retrieving everything useful they’d carried. Food. Water. Crossbow bolts. Several vials of poison, meant for her. She looked over at him, saw him still breathing. She stood up, walked over to him.
He looked at her as she approached, dagger in hand. She almost looked…Like him. Certainly she was larger, broader, had a different skin color, different hair. She was matted with filth and covered in the blood of his brethren, but she was a living, thinking, breathing person. A normal person, but stronger, more capable, more ingenious…Than he. And that scared him more than any monster would. She was over him. He saw the dagger plunging downward…
And all was black.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
You Probably Think This Poem's About You
You shut me up with your fist in my mouth,
Put there by your own mistrust and doubt.
You left me sitting in mud, down on my knees,
Blood in my face with the world to see.
You followed me home, wouldn’t leave me alone,
Wanted to make sure everyone would know,
The injury wasn’t enough for your pride to own,
The insult would be what killed old Joe.
You say you’re my friend but now I doubt,
Since you think you can hurt me without
Me fighting back in anger and pain.
Did you really think I’d just circle the drain?
You said you respect me, and that may be so,
But not more than the image you’ve fostered within.
I’ve unfairly judged you? Well you ought to know,
Hypocrisy is a God-damned sin.
The rage I built has not faded.
As my soul still feels so degraded.
I cannot imagine a more terrible end.
Cheated and betrayed by a friend.
Now friends are forever but this much is true:
If you’ve no time for me, I’ve no time for you.
Put there by your own mistrust and doubt.
You left me sitting in mud, down on my knees,
Blood in my face with the world to see.
You followed me home, wouldn’t leave me alone,
Wanted to make sure everyone would know,
The injury wasn’t enough for your pride to own,
The insult would be what killed old Joe.
You say you’re my friend but now I doubt,
Since you think you can hurt me without
Me fighting back in anger and pain.
Did you really think I’d just circle the drain?
You said you respect me, and that may be so,
But not more than the image you’ve fostered within.
I’ve unfairly judged you? Well you ought to know,
Hypocrisy is a God-damned sin.
The rage I built has not faded.
As my soul still feels so degraded.
I cannot imagine a more terrible end.
Cheated and betrayed by a friend.
Now friends are forever but this much is true:
If you’ve no time for me, I’ve no time for you.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Truth
I've long been a believer of Truth. The idea, as I see it, is that if you give someone the truth nobody can hold a lie against you. That doesn't mean, of course, that I don't lie. I do. We all do. We have to, in order to get by with all the other people, liars, that we see and deal with day to day. Not all lies are ultimately bad. It all depends on the reason behind the lie, as all actions depend upon reason. If we do something for a right reason, it's right. If we do something for the wrong reason, than not so much.
But how do we decide right and wrong. And what if we are incorrect? Well, for the first I have no answer. Which is to say, I have no answer for you. I know how I decide right and wrong. It's convoluted, messy, but for the most part it gets that job done. But that still doesn't mean I don't make mistakes. We all do. And with good reason. Nobody's perfect. The more we try, the bigger we're likely to screw up. Holding yourself accountable for those times when you messed up: that is important. But perhaps more important is figuring out why, and how not to do it again in the future.
Number 2 is where the Truth comes in. It is what makes it so difficult. If I lie to myself, certainly, it makes it impossible for me to learn from my mistakes. But if someone else lies, it is equally impossible. And "lie" is so often taken to be an active word. But in truth, omission is also lying. If we fail to freely give the important details, if they must be pried from us, than eventually or immediately, we have lied.
I strive to learn and tell the Truth as best as I can. As well as I'm able. Sometimes reaching Truth might even require a lie, although that is, as all things, conditional. There are more and less important things to be truthful about, regardless of what we are taught about "little white lies" and all of that nonsense. But there is a cool, serene truth about lying: Using our lies as a buffer, as we always have, has made us soft. Many of us are unwilling to accept the truths that we hide from. All of us eventually hide from truths that we know. Everybody lies, as Greg House would say. And, in that one instance at least, he was speaking the Truth.
But how do we decide right and wrong. And what if we are incorrect? Well, for the first I have no answer. Which is to say, I have no answer for you. I know how I decide right and wrong. It's convoluted, messy, but for the most part it gets that job done. But that still doesn't mean I don't make mistakes. We all do. And with good reason. Nobody's perfect. The more we try, the bigger we're likely to screw up. Holding yourself accountable for those times when you messed up: that is important. But perhaps more important is figuring out why, and how not to do it again in the future.
Number 2 is where the Truth comes in. It is what makes it so difficult. If I lie to myself, certainly, it makes it impossible for me to learn from my mistakes. But if someone else lies, it is equally impossible. And "lie" is so often taken to be an active word. But in truth, omission is also lying. If we fail to freely give the important details, if they must be pried from us, than eventually or immediately, we have lied.
I strive to learn and tell the Truth as best as I can. As well as I'm able. Sometimes reaching Truth might even require a lie, although that is, as all things, conditional. There are more and less important things to be truthful about, regardless of what we are taught about "little white lies" and all of that nonsense. But there is a cool, serene truth about lying: Using our lies as a buffer, as we always have, has made us soft. Many of us are unwilling to accept the truths that we hide from. All of us eventually hide from truths that we know. Everybody lies, as Greg House would say. And, in that one instance at least, he was speaking the Truth.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
But I Don't Know You
I saw you walking yesterday,
Wanted to stop and say hello.
But I just let you walk on by,
I guess you didn’t see me.
You know I think it’s kind of funny
The way you talk when you’re around.
You know I think, I think it might be,
A chance for me to leave the ground
I’d love to love you, but I don’t know you,
I’d love you to love me, but you don’t know me,
I’d love to know what I could do
To let you see who I am
Way back when we first met,
I sensed that you were a lot like me.
And I thought maybe if you wanted,
We would find the truth.
I think we could have had what it takes,
If only we’d spent more time together.
But always the fool that love makes,
I still feel it now.
I’d love to love you, but I don’t know you,
I’d love you to love me, but you don’t know me,
I’d love to know what I could do
To let you see who I am
I’d love to love you, but I don’t know you,
I’d love you to love me, but you don’t know me,
I’d love to know what I could do
To let you see just who I am
Wanted to stop and say hello.
But I just let you walk on by,
I guess you didn’t see me.
You know I think it’s kind of funny
The way you talk when you’re around.
You know I think, I think it might be,
A chance for me to leave the ground
I’d love to love you, but I don’t know you,
I’d love you to love me, but you don’t know me,
I’d love to know what I could do
To let you see who I am
Way back when we first met,
I sensed that you were a lot like me.
And I thought maybe if you wanted,
We would find the truth.
I think we could have had what it takes,
If only we’d spent more time together.
But always the fool that love makes,
I still feel it now.
I’d love to love you, but I don’t know you,
I’d love you to love me, but you don’t know me,
I’d love to know what I could do
To let you see who I am
I’d love to love you, but I don’t know you,
I’d love you to love me, but you don’t know me,
I’d love to know what I could do
To let you see just who I am
Friday, December 30, 2011
Validon
I wrote this for a contest that I guess never happened. Don't know what went wrong, but the site went dead. Anyway, I've been somewhat reluctant to post it. I guess part of me would much rather be critiqued by people who don't know me than by those who do. Anyway. Not completely polished as I'd like to, but I haven't really been willing to devote much time to it since nobody has seen it. Enough stalling, I suppose. If you read this, and have any opinion on it whatsoever, I'd certainly like to hear from you. Be warned, it is a bit long. Without anymore stalling (for real, this time)...Validon
The sky was dark and the land was covered in a deep fog. Of course, the sky was always dark and the land was always covered in fog in the Greymarsh. Even so, he knew it was night. The entire day had been quiet. Who would have believed, that even in this dark and abysmal place, the dead would bother to wait for nightfall before stirring? But they had, as if knowing who had come for them. Maybe they did.
Validon Torresh, Paladin of the Holy Order of the Sun, in service to Radias, the Lord of Daylight, Guardian of Light and Truth. He laughed as he thought to himself. There was never any daylight here. Why had they even come?
He was leading one squad of the Order’s soldiers, in concert with three other Sergeants, who were all following Lieutenant Commander Dreson’s crusade into the marsh. “For Glory and Honor!” the Commander had said. The only glory to be found in this hole would be leaving it behind.
Commander Dreson believed that expelling and destroying the undead who made this place home would be a great service to Radias, as well as to all men. “Destroying Evil and bringing Light into Darkness! What greater calling could there be in service to He Who Always Shines?” But the ultimate reality was far more grim than any had believed. This swampy land was beyond natural circumstance. Dreariness seemed to rise from the depths, and the land itself seemed to refuse light. Torches simply could not be lit, and even magical lights seemed to fizzle out before they should. Even when a source of light was produced, it only reached a few feet in any direction before being overpowered by the great mist that hung over the land like a ghost.
Even so, it had been quiet since they had arrived. Three days, and they had only run into a couple of mindless swamp husks, zombies with the waterlogged bodies of people who had drowned in the boggy pools. Dreson believed the undead were simply afraid to meet them in battle, fearing their destruction in the wake of “Justice”. Validon simply believed they were biding their time. Zombies do not fear men; they seek all life, with hunger, and are not sated until destroyed. The only reason they would avoid the soldiers was if they were directed by some greater, intelligent force. Though he tried to explain as much to Dreson, the Commander found it laughable that undead would resort to tactics, that they could be organized. When the attack came, the men were taken almost completely by surprise.
If not for their training, it would have been a complete massacre. However, they sensed it before it came. Evil, encroaching around them, from all directions. Powerful evil, the unmistakable taint of the undead. Validon just barely had time to place his men in a defensive formation before they attacked.
Ghouls came first. Wicked creatures, with ragged teeth and diseased claws, running through the mist. One lunged at Validon and nearly made contact before he brushed it aside with his blade. He sidestepped another and brought his sword down through its back, severing it in two. His men fought similarly, and although one went down, paralyzed by the creatures’ attacks, they slew nearly twenty.
As more poured through the fog, however, Validon noticed another presence. Dark shadows, twisting in strange directions on the ground. “Wraiths!” he cried, making a slice seemingly through open air where the shadow had been. Though he felt no resistance as one would expect from striking an enemy, he knew he had wounded the creature because of its painful cry. He swung twice, three times, and felt the presence of the creature leave. Whether destroyed or fleeing, he was uncertain, but had no time to bother worrying.
Zombies crept out of the mist, an army, around the men. By now, the forty strong force had lost nearly a quarter, either to debilitating sickness or outright death, and there was no means of retreat. Arrows started to fly out of the mist and one found its mark in the chest of Sergeant Kylin, the leader of the second squad. He continued to fight on for a moment, slaying two more zombies and a ghoul, but as he fell to one knee he knew the damage was done.
Commander Dreson, finally getting some bearing, took the hill above the rudimentary campsite, and threw a light bomb into the air. A brilliant flash, though dulled by the fog, lit up the air above him for a few moments, enough to get the attention of the undead mob, who started up the hill after him. When the first began to close, he unleashed the holy power of Radias from his finger tips. Holy light, this undaunted by the sheer darkness, seared through zombie, ghoul, and wraith alike. Arrows continued to pour into the area, and men fell, but the burning at the top of the hill and the fleeing of the undead that were not immediately destroyed gave Validon some hope. It was quickly dashed when the tip of a blade plunged out of Dreson’s chest. The Commander looked down, unable to grasp the pain he felt which seemed to come from within.
“Foolish mortals,” came a powerful voice from behind him. “I am the Lord of Greymarsh, and no warriors, crusaders, soldiers, or servants of a weak deity can claim my realm!”
The vampire stepped out from behind Dreson, pulled his blade free and sliced quickly across his neck. The holy light faded from the Commander’s fingers, and then his body fell to the ground. The vampire began to chant some unintelligible words as the remaining undead, and more from further in the swamp, began to close once again around the men.
“If we take the vampire down, the horde will scatter!” Validon heard himself say, not sure if he believed it. It was obvious that this was the source of intelligence that he had predicted, directing the other creatures’ movements and plotting the attack. Even so, it looked unlikely that any of them would survive this sort of fight. Nevertheless, if they were to die, they might as well do so fighting at their best.
He sprinted up the hill, avoiding some of the monsters and slashing at others, all in an effort to reach the vampire lord before falling in battle. He took an arrow in the side, but kept going. Another bounced off his steel helm, and a third nicked off his breastplate. He and a small host of men made it to the hill, merely ten feet from the vampire, when it smiled and laughed.
Out of his fingers the vampire fired a large jet of flame. It flew a ways past Validon and exploded in fire, sending men flying or hurtling into the ground below. Validon was knocked to his back, and attempted to issue some call of retreat. He could not hear over the sound of the explosion, which seemed to echo in the depths of the marsh. He then saw the vampire over him, smiling once again, bringing his boot down to his face. All was dark…
He awoke. No, that was not precisely correct. He felt as if he had always been awake, but had just now become aware. Still, everything seemed distant. He could tell it was no dream, but his senses were…blurry. Light and colors dragged as he glanced around. A sound of thunder, seemingly so distant as to be miles away. And even though he was laying on the floor, wearing his armor, there was no sensation of contact. He barely felt anything at all.
The floor? He rose, silently. He remembered nothing. He wondered where he was, but it quickly occurred to him that it was familiar. The details were irrelevant. As he looked at the dull grey stone walls and the general state of murkiness around him he felt oddly at ease. And precisely that sense of security bothered him. Why should he feel comfortable in such an abysmal place? He walked out the doorway into a long corridor.
Apparently he was in a prison or dungeon of some kind. It was cold and damp, but even though there were no windows he could see as if it were day. Colors were grim, almost nonexistent, except for the mildew and lichens that grew on the stone floor and walls. Prison cells, with doors long since rotted or rusted away, went on seemingly forever. Eventually, not remembering exactly how long he had been walking, he came to an upward sloped section that lead into a larger room.
Striding incautiously into the room, he saw that he was in what was once no doubt a glorious castle. A great stone mosaic, now worn partially away, displayed what appeared to be some great battle or adventure now long past. Water-rotted tapestries hung from the ceiling, and two stained glass windows faced him, showing what appeared to be some sort of king or lord. He instinctively turned left, feeling as though he was somehow called in that direction, though he was unsure what his reasons were. He was beginning to feel that he did not have full control over his body. However, when he thought about trying to resist, he could feel no great impulse to do so. He simply did not have the will to do otherwise.
He walked into what once was no doubt a beautiful throne room, with rotten wood carvings still hanging on the wall, water-stained portraits, and gold and silver decorative sculptures. In the center of the room stood a great marble throne, and in that throne sat a man. His dark black hair was closely cropped to his pale skinned head, and his face showed feral, predatory lines.
Validon walked to the front of the throne and lowered to one knee in front of his lord. In the back of his head, he could not quite understand what he was doing, but felt no urge to resist.
“What do you wish of me, my Lord?” he asked, still not completely sure of what he was doing here, or where exactly “here” was.
“Validon Torresh, my most trusted servant. I have called you because the time is nigh upon us.”
“Time for what, my Lord?”
“Time for war,” the man answered, with a slight flourish of his wrist. “Time for I, the Lord of Greymarsh, to recapture our glory! Time for you, my champion, to lead my army into battle and victory!”
Validon, thought, only for a moment. “Glory.” That word was familiar, with some sort of negative connotation. Never mind. He set it aside.
“Of course, my Lord. Your will is mine. What, precisely, would you have me do?”
“Our army is prepared to follow you into the neighboring kingdom of Mistavel. You will have ample forces to succeed in your attack. They will suspect nothing. We have bode our time long enough. We will strike a blow so heavy they shall never recover. And with you leading, they will fall.”
Again, Validon thought. Mistavel? Something in his mind suggested he owed allegiance to Mistavel, although he could not place it in his mind.
“Mistavel, my Lord? They are powerful. Their walls have lasted through many a siege, and their army has been tempered by years of war with the northern barbarians. Forgive me, but is this wise?”
“Ha. Of course, my friend. You have studied them for years, unlocking the secrets to their defenses. Between the element of surprise and your knowledge, we shall not fail.”
It made sense. Validon recognized Mistavel because he had been studying them, preparing for war. But, a stark image came to mind, of armored cavalrymen with silver breastplates bearing the standard of a golden rayed star upon their chests. The Holy Order of the Sun.
“What of the Order, my Lord? They are powerful warriors, each as skilled as a dozen men. Can they be bested?”
“Ah. Our most powerful foes. It was they who first drove us into obscurity. They stole our honor and poisoned our lands. We will answer them in kind. They will be destroyed by your hand.”
At this, Validon felt a great sense of pride. He would lead the charge to destroy the great foe, the ancient enemy of all that they stood for. But there was also some other feeling. A sense of longing and camaraderie. Memories of standing with men bearing the battle standard. A golden rayed sun on his chest…A golden rayed sun that still shone, though covered with mud and blood, on his own chest.
“Wait…Something is not right here. I am a…man of the Order. Radias is my Lord. And a Mistaven man at that. I am no knight of Greymarsh. In fact…” he began, as memories began rapidly flooding back at him. “In fact, Greymarsh has no knights. It is not a nation, there have been no men here in nearly a thousand years.”
He looked at the man sitting before him in the marble throne. He looked at the dismal surroundings, a once beautiful room of kings descended to a rotting reminder of what had been. It was all beginning to come together. The man before him was no man. He was the self-proclaimed Lord of Greymarsh. The vampire which had led an army of undead against his unit…
And then he remembered the battle, the way they were surrounded in fog, overwhelmed by numbers, and when they began to retake the upper hand, were crushed by magic. And he remembered falling in battle.
“Do as I say, knight. You will lead my army against your brethren, and you will serve me for eternity” the vampire said, rising to his feet and forcefully staring at the paladin.
“I will…not…do your will creature! By the Lord of Daylight, I shall destroy you!” Validon shouted, drawing his large, two-handed sword.
He charged at the vampire, preparing to slice at him with the blade. With a scream of rage, the vampire drew back his fist and launched a powerful bolt of lightning at the paladin. Validon grunted as he prepared to receive the blast. Surprisingly, however, he was met with little force and even less pain as the lightning seemed to arc around him, barely affecting him at all. With a grin born more of pragmatism than of joy, Validon sliced at the vampire.
The creature caught the blow across his side, and though it was only a glancing slice, the blade bit deep. He spun with the motion, readying another spell. As he completed his spin, a gout of flame emerged from his finger tips, wreathing Validon’s entire body in fire.
Validon felt almost completely unaffected by the vampire’s spell. Though the flame enveloped him in fire and heat, and there was some degree of pain, it felt elsewhere, as if it was happening to someone else. With only a slight pause caused more by reflex than any actual pain or fear, he took a swipe at the vampire’s feet, attempting to trip him.
The vampire narrowly avoided the blade by jumping to the side and came up with his own sword, a long and thin blade of bluish steel with a delicately engraved hilt. He sliced the air in front of Validon’s face, bringing the blade within inches of his nose and then stabbing with a circular slice at his chest.
Validon caught the blade and displaced with his own before taking another long sweep at the vampire’s legs, this time connecting with one of the creature’s legs. Though it was again only a glancing blow, the blade, which was enchanted to face just such an opponent, caused the Lord of Greymarsh a great deal of pain and knocked him backward into the stone wall behind him. He gritted his teeth and launched his attack once more.
The two of them dueled, untiring, for several minutes more before the vampire attempted another spell. This time, Validon was ready and sliced the vampire’s hand clean off. Shrieking in pain, the creature attempted to flee, but found it’s way cut off. At this point, Validon clutched at the holy symbol of his god and threw it at the vampire. It connected with the creature’s forehead and seared a deep burn directly into its flesh. The pain was unbearable, and the creature howled in agony as it fell to the ground.
Validon walked up to him and grabbed him by the throat with his gauntleted hand. He pulled the wooden torch out of a wall sconce and grasped it firmly backwards in his hand. “Now, Lord of Greymarsh, you will rest!” he shouted, and plunged the pointed bottom end of the torch into the creature’s chest. Immediately it was apparent that the unnatural thing’s life force was fading.
“I knew…I should not have played with fire. But you were too tempting a tool. I have been foolish…You were never worthy…Of the Gift,” the creature said, as the light faded from its orange eyes.
Without letting the body drop, Validon drew a dagger and separated the head from the body. He tossed it aside, then used a second torch to set the body on fire. As the undead flesh burned away, he pondered what the vampire had meant by “the Gift”. Surely it was merely a construct of the creature’s ego, implying that being in its service was a higher calling?
He took stock of his belongings, all apparently intact, and headed for the entryway that would lead out into the swamp. As he walked, he passed a silvery wall decoration. As it caught his eye, he stopped and looked at it for a moment. It appeared to be a mirror, but oddly it did not show his reflection…
His blood ran cold. Or, more correctly, he noticed the sensation of his cold blood running through his veins. He had noticed the seeming deadness of his senses, his strange resistance to pain and his greater than normal strength, but had chalked them up to the extraordinary circumstances. In fact, however, he had been turned…
What would he do now? A paladin of the Holy Order of the Sun, and a vampire? A bitter irony so laughable that he thought it must be some sort of joke. He punched the mirror, and walked out of the ruined castle into the stormy swamp…
The sky was dark and the land was covered in a deep fog. Of course, the sky was always dark and the land was always covered in fog in the Greymarsh. Even so, he knew it was night. The entire day had been quiet. Who would have believed, that even in this dark and abysmal place, the dead would bother to wait for nightfall before stirring? But they had, as if knowing who had come for them. Maybe they did.
Validon Torresh, Paladin of the Holy Order of the Sun, in service to Radias, the Lord of Daylight, Guardian of Light and Truth. He laughed as he thought to himself. There was never any daylight here. Why had they even come?
He was leading one squad of the Order’s soldiers, in concert with three other Sergeants, who were all following Lieutenant Commander Dreson’s crusade into the marsh. “For Glory and Honor!” the Commander had said. The only glory to be found in this hole would be leaving it behind.
Commander Dreson believed that expelling and destroying the undead who made this place home would be a great service to Radias, as well as to all men. “Destroying Evil and bringing Light into Darkness! What greater calling could there be in service to He Who Always Shines?” But the ultimate reality was far more grim than any had believed. This swampy land was beyond natural circumstance. Dreariness seemed to rise from the depths, and the land itself seemed to refuse light. Torches simply could not be lit, and even magical lights seemed to fizzle out before they should. Even when a source of light was produced, it only reached a few feet in any direction before being overpowered by the great mist that hung over the land like a ghost.
Even so, it had been quiet since they had arrived. Three days, and they had only run into a couple of mindless swamp husks, zombies with the waterlogged bodies of people who had drowned in the boggy pools. Dreson believed the undead were simply afraid to meet them in battle, fearing their destruction in the wake of “Justice”. Validon simply believed they were biding their time. Zombies do not fear men; they seek all life, with hunger, and are not sated until destroyed. The only reason they would avoid the soldiers was if they were directed by some greater, intelligent force. Though he tried to explain as much to Dreson, the Commander found it laughable that undead would resort to tactics, that they could be organized. When the attack came, the men were taken almost completely by surprise.
If not for their training, it would have been a complete massacre. However, they sensed it before it came. Evil, encroaching around them, from all directions. Powerful evil, the unmistakable taint of the undead. Validon just barely had time to place his men in a defensive formation before they attacked.
Ghouls came first. Wicked creatures, with ragged teeth and diseased claws, running through the mist. One lunged at Validon and nearly made contact before he brushed it aside with his blade. He sidestepped another and brought his sword down through its back, severing it in two. His men fought similarly, and although one went down, paralyzed by the creatures’ attacks, they slew nearly twenty.
As more poured through the fog, however, Validon noticed another presence. Dark shadows, twisting in strange directions on the ground. “Wraiths!” he cried, making a slice seemingly through open air where the shadow had been. Though he felt no resistance as one would expect from striking an enemy, he knew he had wounded the creature because of its painful cry. He swung twice, three times, and felt the presence of the creature leave. Whether destroyed or fleeing, he was uncertain, but had no time to bother worrying.
Zombies crept out of the mist, an army, around the men. By now, the forty strong force had lost nearly a quarter, either to debilitating sickness or outright death, and there was no means of retreat. Arrows started to fly out of the mist and one found its mark in the chest of Sergeant Kylin, the leader of the second squad. He continued to fight on for a moment, slaying two more zombies and a ghoul, but as he fell to one knee he knew the damage was done.
Commander Dreson, finally getting some bearing, took the hill above the rudimentary campsite, and threw a light bomb into the air. A brilliant flash, though dulled by the fog, lit up the air above him for a few moments, enough to get the attention of the undead mob, who started up the hill after him. When the first began to close, he unleashed the holy power of Radias from his finger tips. Holy light, this undaunted by the sheer darkness, seared through zombie, ghoul, and wraith alike. Arrows continued to pour into the area, and men fell, but the burning at the top of the hill and the fleeing of the undead that were not immediately destroyed gave Validon some hope. It was quickly dashed when the tip of a blade plunged out of Dreson’s chest. The Commander looked down, unable to grasp the pain he felt which seemed to come from within.
“Foolish mortals,” came a powerful voice from behind him. “I am the Lord of Greymarsh, and no warriors, crusaders, soldiers, or servants of a weak deity can claim my realm!”
The vampire stepped out from behind Dreson, pulled his blade free and sliced quickly across his neck. The holy light faded from the Commander’s fingers, and then his body fell to the ground. The vampire began to chant some unintelligible words as the remaining undead, and more from further in the swamp, began to close once again around the men.
“If we take the vampire down, the horde will scatter!” Validon heard himself say, not sure if he believed it. It was obvious that this was the source of intelligence that he had predicted, directing the other creatures’ movements and plotting the attack. Even so, it looked unlikely that any of them would survive this sort of fight. Nevertheless, if they were to die, they might as well do so fighting at their best.
He sprinted up the hill, avoiding some of the monsters and slashing at others, all in an effort to reach the vampire lord before falling in battle. He took an arrow in the side, but kept going. Another bounced off his steel helm, and a third nicked off his breastplate. He and a small host of men made it to the hill, merely ten feet from the vampire, when it smiled and laughed.
Out of his fingers the vampire fired a large jet of flame. It flew a ways past Validon and exploded in fire, sending men flying or hurtling into the ground below. Validon was knocked to his back, and attempted to issue some call of retreat. He could not hear over the sound of the explosion, which seemed to echo in the depths of the marsh. He then saw the vampire over him, smiling once again, bringing his boot down to his face. All was dark…
He awoke. No, that was not precisely correct. He felt as if he had always been awake, but had just now become aware. Still, everything seemed distant. He could tell it was no dream, but his senses were…blurry. Light and colors dragged as he glanced around. A sound of thunder, seemingly so distant as to be miles away. And even though he was laying on the floor, wearing his armor, there was no sensation of contact. He barely felt anything at all.
The floor? He rose, silently. He remembered nothing. He wondered where he was, but it quickly occurred to him that it was familiar. The details were irrelevant. As he looked at the dull grey stone walls and the general state of murkiness around him he felt oddly at ease. And precisely that sense of security bothered him. Why should he feel comfortable in such an abysmal place? He walked out the doorway into a long corridor.
Apparently he was in a prison or dungeon of some kind. It was cold and damp, but even though there were no windows he could see as if it were day. Colors were grim, almost nonexistent, except for the mildew and lichens that grew on the stone floor and walls. Prison cells, with doors long since rotted or rusted away, went on seemingly forever. Eventually, not remembering exactly how long he had been walking, he came to an upward sloped section that lead into a larger room.
Striding incautiously into the room, he saw that he was in what was once no doubt a glorious castle. A great stone mosaic, now worn partially away, displayed what appeared to be some great battle or adventure now long past. Water-rotted tapestries hung from the ceiling, and two stained glass windows faced him, showing what appeared to be some sort of king or lord. He instinctively turned left, feeling as though he was somehow called in that direction, though he was unsure what his reasons were. He was beginning to feel that he did not have full control over his body. However, when he thought about trying to resist, he could feel no great impulse to do so. He simply did not have the will to do otherwise.
He walked into what once was no doubt a beautiful throne room, with rotten wood carvings still hanging on the wall, water-stained portraits, and gold and silver decorative sculptures. In the center of the room stood a great marble throne, and in that throne sat a man. His dark black hair was closely cropped to his pale skinned head, and his face showed feral, predatory lines.
Validon walked to the front of the throne and lowered to one knee in front of his lord. In the back of his head, he could not quite understand what he was doing, but felt no urge to resist.
“What do you wish of me, my Lord?” he asked, still not completely sure of what he was doing here, or where exactly “here” was.
“Validon Torresh, my most trusted servant. I have called you because the time is nigh upon us.”
“Time for what, my Lord?”
“Time for war,” the man answered, with a slight flourish of his wrist. “Time for I, the Lord of Greymarsh, to recapture our glory! Time for you, my champion, to lead my army into battle and victory!”
Validon, thought, only for a moment. “Glory.” That word was familiar, with some sort of negative connotation. Never mind. He set it aside.
“Of course, my Lord. Your will is mine. What, precisely, would you have me do?”
“Our army is prepared to follow you into the neighboring kingdom of Mistavel. You will have ample forces to succeed in your attack. They will suspect nothing. We have bode our time long enough. We will strike a blow so heavy they shall never recover. And with you leading, they will fall.”
Again, Validon thought. Mistavel? Something in his mind suggested he owed allegiance to Mistavel, although he could not place it in his mind.
“Mistavel, my Lord? They are powerful. Their walls have lasted through many a siege, and their army has been tempered by years of war with the northern barbarians. Forgive me, but is this wise?”
“Ha. Of course, my friend. You have studied them for years, unlocking the secrets to their defenses. Between the element of surprise and your knowledge, we shall not fail.”
It made sense. Validon recognized Mistavel because he had been studying them, preparing for war. But, a stark image came to mind, of armored cavalrymen with silver breastplates bearing the standard of a golden rayed star upon their chests. The Holy Order of the Sun.
“What of the Order, my Lord? They are powerful warriors, each as skilled as a dozen men. Can they be bested?”
“Ah. Our most powerful foes. It was they who first drove us into obscurity. They stole our honor and poisoned our lands. We will answer them in kind. They will be destroyed by your hand.”
At this, Validon felt a great sense of pride. He would lead the charge to destroy the great foe, the ancient enemy of all that they stood for. But there was also some other feeling. A sense of longing and camaraderie. Memories of standing with men bearing the battle standard. A golden rayed sun on his chest…A golden rayed sun that still shone, though covered with mud and blood, on his own chest.
“Wait…Something is not right here. I am a…man of the Order. Radias is my Lord. And a Mistaven man at that. I am no knight of Greymarsh. In fact…” he began, as memories began rapidly flooding back at him. “In fact, Greymarsh has no knights. It is not a nation, there have been no men here in nearly a thousand years.”
He looked at the man sitting before him in the marble throne. He looked at the dismal surroundings, a once beautiful room of kings descended to a rotting reminder of what had been. It was all beginning to come together. The man before him was no man. He was the self-proclaimed Lord of Greymarsh. The vampire which had led an army of undead against his unit…
And then he remembered the battle, the way they were surrounded in fog, overwhelmed by numbers, and when they began to retake the upper hand, were crushed by magic. And he remembered falling in battle.
“Do as I say, knight. You will lead my army against your brethren, and you will serve me for eternity” the vampire said, rising to his feet and forcefully staring at the paladin.
“I will…not…do your will creature! By the Lord of Daylight, I shall destroy you!” Validon shouted, drawing his large, two-handed sword.
He charged at the vampire, preparing to slice at him with the blade. With a scream of rage, the vampire drew back his fist and launched a powerful bolt of lightning at the paladin. Validon grunted as he prepared to receive the blast. Surprisingly, however, he was met with little force and even less pain as the lightning seemed to arc around him, barely affecting him at all. With a grin born more of pragmatism than of joy, Validon sliced at the vampire.
The creature caught the blow across his side, and though it was only a glancing slice, the blade bit deep. He spun with the motion, readying another spell. As he completed his spin, a gout of flame emerged from his finger tips, wreathing Validon’s entire body in fire.
Validon felt almost completely unaffected by the vampire’s spell. Though the flame enveloped him in fire and heat, and there was some degree of pain, it felt elsewhere, as if it was happening to someone else. With only a slight pause caused more by reflex than any actual pain or fear, he took a swipe at the vampire’s feet, attempting to trip him.
The vampire narrowly avoided the blade by jumping to the side and came up with his own sword, a long and thin blade of bluish steel with a delicately engraved hilt. He sliced the air in front of Validon’s face, bringing the blade within inches of his nose and then stabbing with a circular slice at his chest.
Validon caught the blade and displaced with his own before taking another long sweep at the vampire’s legs, this time connecting with one of the creature’s legs. Though it was again only a glancing blow, the blade, which was enchanted to face just such an opponent, caused the Lord of Greymarsh a great deal of pain and knocked him backward into the stone wall behind him. He gritted his teeth and launched his attack once more.
The two of them dueled, untiring, for several minutes more before the vampire attempted another spell. This time, Validon was ready and sliced the vampire’s hand clean off. Shrieking in pain, the creature attempted to flee, but found it’s way cut off. At this point, Validon clutched at the holy symbol of his god and threw it at the vampire. It connected with the creature’s forehead and seared a deep burn directly into its flesh. The pain was unbearable, and the creature howled in agony as it fell to the ground.
Validon walked up to him and grabbed him by the throat with his gauntleted hand. He pulled the wooden torch out of a wall sconce and grasped it firmly backwards in his hand. “Now, Lord of Greymarsh, you will rest!” he shouted, and plunged the pointed bottom end of the torch into the creature’s chest. Immediately it was apparent that the unnatural thing’s life force was fading.
“I knew…I should not have played with fire. But you were too tempting a tool. I have been foolish…You were never worthy…Of the Gift,” the creature said, as the light faded from its orange eyes.
Without letting the body drop, Validon drew a dagger and separated the head from the body. He tossed it aside, then used a second torch to set the body on fire. As the undead flesh burned away, he pondered what the vampire had meant by “the Gift”. Surely it was merely a construct of the creature’s ego, implying that being in its service was a higher calling?
He took stock of his belongings, all apparently intact, and headed for the entryway that would lead out into the swamp. As he walked, he passed a silvery wall decoration. As it caught his eye, he stopped and looked at it for a moment. It appeared to be a mirror, but oddly it did not show his reflection…
His blood ran cold. Or, more correctly, he noticed the sensation of his cold blood running through his veins. He had noticed the seeming deadness of his senses, his strange resistance to pain and his greater than normal strength, but had chalked them up to the extraordinary circumstances. In fact, however, he had been turned…
What would he do now? A paladin of the Holy Order of the Sun, and a vampire? A bitter irony so laughable that he thought it must be some sort of joke. He punched the mirror, and walked out of the ruined castle into the stormy swamp…
Sunday, December 4, 2011
The Land of the Nords: Impressions of Skyrim
So, I’ve borrowed Skyrim for a week, and while I’ve still got a lot more playing to do (I can’t buy it until I get a computer to run it - TES games are made for computer, I’m sorry they just are) I think I’ve played enough to get my first impressions out of it. The game has basically been heaped with praise by all the big reviewers, and I certainly have my share of praise to add to it. However, there are some things of a less positive nature that I feel it is my duty to point out as a gamer, to illustrate what things might be missing or need to be adjusted for the next title. Without further introduction, here are my impressions:
Negatives:
Maps: Don’t get me wrong, the world map is beautifully rendered. But it’s very difficult to see pathways leading to where you need to go. I’ve learned how to get around on the world map fairly well by now, but it was slow going, and I still sometimes head down the wrong path thinking that it will take me where I’m going. Far worse, however, are the area maps. When you are inside a labyrinthine dungeon that is three or four levels and loops back in on itself again and again, a two-dimensional map doesn’t cut it. I don’t know how long I’ve spent lost in the mazes of Dwemer or Nordic ruins, unable to determine which direction I need to go to find my way. The maps need to represent three dimensions, that’s all there is to it.
Creatures: There are a great many sentient creatures in Skyrim besides the playable humanoid races: Dragons, Giants, Falmer, Hargraven, Daedra, and potentially the Spriggans. Yet there are barely a handful of them that you can peacefully interact with. This has always seemed a weakness in TES games to me, but Skyrim in particular seems very lacking in peaceful nonhumans.
Weapons: The weapons are basically the same from Oblivion. They look much better, but they are the same categories we previously saw. Daggers, swords, maces, axes, hammers, bows. Basically the same as Oblivion, and the materials (Iron, Steel, Dwarven, etc.) are almost equally similar. In Morrowind we had halberds and spears, clubs, staves we could hit people with, and crossbows as well as all sorts of throwing weapons. It’d really be nice to see that stuff come back.
Skills: My biggest problem with Skyrim is in the new skill system. Unless you spend your one point per level on a perk within a skill, you see no benefit at all from increasing your skill. My alchemy level was above 60 by the time I completed the main quest, yet my potions were basically the same as they were when my skill was 15. It just doesn’t make any sense. There need to be passive bonuses to being skilled regardless of perks.
Positives:
World: The world makes sense. Skyrim is not an easy place to live in, and it shows in many of the characters’ rough looking faces. Moreover, racial diversity is pretty low, though certain areas are more diverse than others. The Argonians and Khajiit, enslaved in Morrowind, are here mistrusted and discriminated against: The Argonians are forced to live outside of Windhelm in a sort of ghetto area, and the Khajiit are made to wander around in trade caravans outside of the cities. The situations are bad, but the fact is that they flesh the world out and make it follow the rules that have been laid down. An imperfect world is more realistic, and a particularly bad one is one that needs a hero.
Elves: Elves aren’t perfect. And God, that’s wonderful. Tolkien’s elves were fine, but in fantasy they have become the rule and not the exception. Elves shouldn’t always be superior in morals, knowledge, and ability. As ancient a people as they may be, if they are mortal, they should act like it. Elves in Skyrim, especially the High Elves, are haughty, arrogant, and tend toward racism. They torture prisoners and sacrifice others for magical experiments. They are perhaps the worst of the bad, and that is fantastic. They may only be so exceptionally unlikable because of the amount of power they have, and that leads me to…
Empire: The Empire is crumbling. Black Marsh (Argonians) seceded some time after the Oblivion crisis and invaded Morrowind after the destruction of Vvardenfell by the eruption of Red Mountain. While the Dunmer flee to Solstheim and Skyrim, Hammerfell (Redguards) and Elsewyr (Khajiit) secede as well, and the Summerset Isle (Altmer) invade Valenwood (Bosmer). Now Skyrim is in civil war, and may secede as well. Ultimately, the only regions that remain entirely loyal to the Empire are Cyrodiil (Imperials) and High Rock (Bretons) and this could very well spell disaster for the Empire. This sets up a powerful possibility for further changes in Tamriel, and if we don’t see something major regarding the fate of the Empire in expansions to Skyrim, we will in TES VI whenever it comes about.
Dragons: The Dragons look great, and fighting them is epic. As they come swooping down from the sky, blasting fire and roaring, it gives a sense of excitement, every time. I have not gotten bored of fighting dragons on Skyrim, and I doubt that I will. I got lucky enough to have one attack in the middle of a city, and it was a completely different battle. The fact that they can attack anywhere is possibly the best touch, because it helps give the main storyline a true sense of dread.
Sky: I’ll leave you with this. When playing Skyrim, from time to time, look up at the sky. Bethesda has always created beautiful skies for TES games, or at least since Morrowind, and Skyrim does not disappoint. I’ve always thought/heard that the skies in TES III & IV were hand painted, though I have never found a reliable source which said so. I feel the same way about Skyrim. They look more like art in a gallery than a digital rendering. So, look at the skies. It is “Skyrim” after all.
Negatives:
Maps: Don’t get me wrong, the world map is beautifully rendered. But it’s very difficult to see pathways leading to where you need to go. I’ve learned how to get around on the world map fairly well by now, but it was slow going, and I still sometimes head down the wrong path thinking that it will take me where I’m going. Far worse, however, are the area maps. When you are inside a labyrinthine dungeon that is three or four levels and loops back in on itself again and again, a two-dimensional map doesn’t cut it. I don’t know how long I’ve spent lost in the mazes of Dwemer or Nordic ruins, unable to determine which direction I need to go to find my way. The maps need to represent three dimensions, that’s all there is to it.
Creatures: There are a great many sentient creatures in Skyrim besides the playable humanoid races: Dragons, Giants, Falmer, Hargraven, Daedra, and potentially the Spriggans. Yet there are barely a handful of them that you can peacefully interact with. This has always seemed a weakness in TES games to me, but Skyrim in particular seems very lacking in peaceful nonhumans.
Weapons: The weapons are basically the same from Oblivion. They look much better, but they are the same categories we previously saw. Daggers, swords, maces, axes, hammers, bows. Basically the same as Oblivion, and the materials (Iron, Steel, Dwarven, etc.) are almost equally similar. In Morrowind we had halberds and spears, clubs, staves we could hit people with, and crossbows as well as all sorts of throwing weapons. It’d really be nice to see that stuff come back.
Skills: My biggest problem with Skyrim is in the new skill system. Unless you spend your one point per level on a perk within a skill, you see no benefit at all from increasing your skill. My alchemy level was above 60 by the time I completed the main quest, yet my potions were basically the same as they were when my skill was 15. It just doesn’t make any sense. There need to be passive bonuses to being skilled regardless of perks.
Positives:
World: The world makes sense. Skyrim is not an easy place to live in, and it shows in many of the characters’ rough looking faces. Moreover, racial diversity is pretty low, though certain areas are more diverse than others. The Argonians and Khajiit, enslaved in Morrowind, are here mistrusted and discriminated against: The Argonians are forced to live outside of Windhelm in a sort of ghetto area, and the Khajiit are made to wander around in trade caravans outside of the cities. The situations are bad, but the fact is that they flesh the world out and make it follow the rules that have been laid down. An imperfect world is more realistic, and a particularly bad one is one that needs a hero.
Elves: Elves aren’t perfect. And God, that’s wonderful. Tolkien’s elves were fine, but in fantasy they have become the rule and not the exception. Elves shouldn’t always be superior in morals, knowledge, and ability. As ancient a people as they may be, if they are mortal, they should act like it. Elves in Skyrim, especially the High Elves, are haughty, arrogant, and tend toward racism. They torture prisoners and sacrifice others for magical experiments. They are perhaps the worst of the bad, and that is fantastic. They may only be so exceptionally unlikable because of the amount of power they have, and that leads me to…
Empire: The Empire is crumbling. Black Marsh (Argonians) seceded some time after the Oblivion crisis and invaded Morrowind after the destruction of Vvardenfell by the eruption of Red Mountain. While the Dunmer flee to Solstheim and Skyrim, Hammerfell (Redguards) and Elsewyr (Khajiit) secede as well, and the Summerset Isle (Altmer) invade Valenwood (Bosmer). Now Skyrim is in civil war, and may secede as well. Ultimately, the only regions that remain entirely loyal to the Empire are Cyrodiil (Imperials) and High Rock (Bretons) and this could very well spell disaster for the Empire. This sets up a powerful possibility for further changes in Tamriel, and if we don’t see something major regarding the fate of the Empire in expansions to Skyrim, we will in TES VI whenever it comes about.
Dragons: The Dragons look great, and fighting them is epic. As they come swooping down from the sky, blasting fire and roaring, it gives a sense of excitement, every time. I have not gotten bored of fighting dragons on Skyrim, and I doubt that I will. I got lucky enough to have one attack in the middle of a city, and it was a completely different battle. The fact that they can attack anywhere is possibly the best touch, because it helps give the main storyline a true sense of dread.
Sky: I’ll leave you with this. When playing Skyrim, from time to time, look up at the sky. Bethesda has always created beautiful skies for TES games, or at least since Morrowind, and Skyrim does not disappoint. I’ve always thought/heard that the skies in TES III & IV were hand painted, though I have never found a reliable source which said so. I feel the same way about Skyrim. They look more like art in a gallery than a digital rendering. So, look at the skies. It is “Skyrim” after all.
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