//------------------------------// // ShiningHill // Story: Speech Increased To 2.5 // by EdBoii //------------------------------// ShiningHill Skyrim His armor clanked loudly as he ran, the sun shining overhead as the chill in the wind bit down on his face. It was cold, it always was in skyrim, and the Dragonborn could feel it in his body as he moved. It was yet another day in the land of the nords. He ran across the plains of Whiterun with his two handed sword on his back, his shield on his back, his other sword on his back, his four pairs of gauntlets, three boots, four fur armors, six daggers, five potions of varied purpose, two iron helmets, three cabbages, a bee, butterfly wings, Blisterwort, Bleeding Crown, bones, alto wine, mead, deathbell, ten sweetrolls, clam meat, dog mea- seriously? What do you even need that for? leg of goat, mammoth snout, carrots, potatoes, and many amulets of many different gods he neither worshipped nor appreciated in the slightest, but gave cool bonuses, all on his back, pockets, under his helmet and a few others stuck in places we should not mention... The great hero of legend ran across the tundra, wary and cautious as he moved in a steady pace, fully aware of the many beasts that could cause his downfall. He was a warrior, a fighter, a true hero of legend and bane of all evil and- Ooh! Tundra cotton! One cannot face the evil of the dragons without a steady supply of fluffy cotton, you know... After the mighty hero had gathered cotton, butterfly wings, and slain many dangerous and vile mudcrabs to his heart's content, he resumed his gait towards the great walls on the horizon. Ah! The great city of Whiterun! Her tall walls became visible as the Dragonborn approached it. The city shone in all her glory. All seven buildings and, like, twelve residents reflecting upon her prosperity. The dragon hunter moved up the path that led towards the city's gate. He passed many merchants that offered him their wares, but he knew better. Skooma, not even once. Unless he took it from a dead merchant for free, in that case it was ok. Our hero, bearer of a mighty and powerful name worthy of only the strongest of warriors, trained in many forms of combat, master of over three hundred ways of slaying dragons, and brave commander of many men, Richi Phelps, approached the gates and awaited to be allowed inside. He waited and waited, staring ahead at the lone gate left unguarded. Umm... Where was the guard that was supposed to let him in? Equestria: Our hero walked without hurry across a different type of area. He was surrounded by many grassy fields, a few trees on the west that made way for a much larger forest a little ways back, and a vast expanse of flatlands. It was the border between Fillydelphia’s wheat fields and Hollow Shade’s dark forest. The brave guard stopped walking and stared dead ahead at the forest. Images of frost trolls, bears, spiders, spriggans, giants, wolves, bandits, assassins, and many other foul monsters passed before his eyes as he stared. Our hero was ignorant of what lay beyond the trees, but he knew from experience that forests held many dark and dangerous creatures. It was the wisest choice to avoid the tree line than to brave its darkness, lest he found himself under the claws of some untamed creature of the wild. And so, with the great aid of profound knowledge from past experience, and no little supply of common sense, the wise guard of Whiterun made a beeline straight for the forest… He walked for a few minutes without stopping, the air growing colder as the sun fell into the horizon, making way for the night. It was chilly, but nothing compared to Skyrim! As a guard, he was used to soldiering on outside the comfort of a building and hearth, holding a position beside a wall for hours on end with a sleeveless cuirass for warmth. Commander Caius was such an intelligent man; of course sleeveless armor that also ended just above the knees was the defense of choice for weather such as Skyrim’s! With thoughts about how great Skyrim’s military was, what with the main strategy being charging into the fray regardless of enemy numbers or strength, only to fall to your knees wounded, surrender, and then stand back up only to fall again, the guard continued his march well into the dark forest. The trees above blocked out the moonlight, making the atmosphere dreary. The random fog and wolf howls only accentuated it. *Ribbit* The guard stopped. He had heard a noise from the nearby bog, and as all who adventure know, there is no better place for safe adventures than a bog amid a dark forest. The guard turned and walked off into the forest, leaving the faint dirt path he had been following. The trees loomed menacingly over him, looking down with evil intent. The chirping of the crickets was ominous and omnipresent, the howling of the beasts strong and unrelenting. The guard stopped as he reached a clearing, a small pool of water resting in the middle. *Ribbit* A small toad, not larger than the palm of a giant and slightly smaller than the foot of a troll, was in the middle of the water. The toad stared ahead at the guard, and he stared back. Both their gazes were kept for a long while, the toad’s throat expanding and deflating as its sound escaped and flew into the guard’s ears. “What is it, Argonian?” *Ribbit* “Trouble?” *Ribbit* “No lollygagging.” The toad remained silent for a little while after the guard’s words. It remained staring ahead, looking at, through, and beyond the guard. Its gaze was that of wisdom untold. The guard stared back for several minutes, possibly admiring the mighty creature before him, or simply indulging in what seemed to be both of their favorite pastimes, staring ahead. Eventually, the guard simply turned around and walked back towards the path, decided to continue whatever it was he was doing before. He traced his path back through the trees, keeping an eye out for the dirt path he had left behind. He found it after a few minutes, standing where it had been before. The guard walked down the path and deeper into the forest, paying little attention to the loud thumps behind him and the muffled croaking sounds behind his back. He continued walking until the fog began to grow thicker and he could see little more other than a few meters in front of him. The brave guard eventually stopped. He was being followed… Our hero turned around as swiftly as possible, making certain to keep a hand on his sword and the other on his shield. The guard unsheathed his weapon and readied himself, entering the traditional combat stance. Knees spread as if giving birth, shield raised to cover all the important areas except the chest and neck, and sword at the ready. And then it came, out of seemingly nowhere, a shape emerged from the fog. It was a white stallion clad in gold and violet armor, a horn atop his head and a spear on his hoof. The stallion approached and spoke in a voice full of authority. “You’re out late sir.” Our hero looked at the stallion with his characteristic non-caring gaze, his sword still firmly gripped by his hand. He answered with a question, not really caring for the answer. “Bit late to be wandering around, isn’t it?” The stallion started circling around the guard, his spear at the ready and his eyes never leaving our hero’s sword arm. “Mind telling me why you’re sneaking about? I don’t think I have to tell you what the Legion thinks about thieves, now do I?” The guard turned to look at the stallion, an officer he could only guess, and one of the empire… “You come talking to me wearing imperial armor? You got stew for brains?” The stallion clenched his jaws and glared at the guard, his spear raised and aimed at our hero’s chest. Shining his armor was and his spear gleaming as well. The stallion took a step forward and his chest swelled in pride and anger. “You dare oppose the might of the Imperial Legion?” “You come up to me, fists raised? You looking for a beating?” And so, with the final words having being spoken, the stallion and guard shouted their war cries and met in the middle. “Remember the Emperor!” “For Skyrim!” The white stallion thrust forward, keen on impaling our hero. But he was clever. The guard raised his shield and blocked the attack, the force of the blow being absorbed by the wood on his shield. He faltered not, and after a grunt of annoyance, his own attack was well under way. The guard swung his blade and the stallion was forced back, unable to neither block nor parry. “Pigsticker like that’s not going to get you far. Best visit the blacksmith.” The stallion glared and swung the speartip at the guard, his resolve unwavering and his step sure and certain. He assaulted with a combination of swings and thrusts, so fast and savage that our hero was unable to hold his own. The guard was forced back against a tree, and the stallion asserted what would have been a final blow, had it not been for an ally of our hero’s. The armor clad stallion lit his horn and aimed it at the guard, intent on finishing the battle in a single strike. But before his shot could leave, a long and sticky muscle shot out from the fog and smacked him across the face. Huzza! For it was the toad! The benevolent and slimy knight of the bog emerged from the fog and defended our hero in attitude selfless and bold. The stallion was struck, away he fell and his concentration shattered, his magic bolt missing the guard by inches alone. “Whoa, Whoa, Whoa! Watch the magic!” The toad of might and valor took the fight home for the white knight, forcing him back with thunderous laps and licks from his dexterous tongue. In the end the stallion could no longer hold, and his spear he was forced to drop. “I yield! I yield!” The toad stood proud and indifferent before his captive, the guard walked towards them and spoke to the stallion. “You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people. What say you in your defense?” The stallion looked at the guard sourly, anger in his eyes. He then replied, almost spitting the words out with disdain. “Bet you think you’re somethin’ huh? You call yourself a citizen of the empire? No respect for order, no respect for law. You make me sick.” The guard and toad looked down at the stallion, defeated and at their mercy. Our hero sheathed his sword and the toad its tongue. The guard ordered the stallion to follow with a gesture of his hand. “You’re going to rot in (closest named jail)” The stallion gave him a confused look before standing and following the guard down the path. The toad walked behind him, blocking the only escape route. The three of them walked down the foggy road until they could barely see a foot in front of the other. The only thing to mark their passing was a rusted old, green sign with words written in white letters. It stood ominously by the side of the path, nothing visible behind it. It said; Welcome to Hollow Shades.