jfraser

Raven beak has been untouched for some time

fair point! On a relative scale, this is all true. i am reminded of the song from the Disney version of Robin Hood, which I shall now parody. Poorly. Every one Has their ups and downs Sometimes the ups Outnumber the downs But not for these four Shaes

I’m not 100% sure, but I think you may have mentioned those books before. The “never knowing peace” part seems on point but not necessarily the “things go well then crumble.” that describes Aithne’s story somewhat but I’m less convinced it applies all that well to the others. Trendil has seen nothing but war, so there haven’t really been any true good times. Sloan had been in a stable place, even if it was a job she didn’t really care for, for a long time. And Sian’s life has been pretty much a nonstop shit show from the start. 😄

“And that’s the plan.” Dragonspite sat and tapped his finger against his thigh, eyes never wavering from Trendil’s. She smiled. “That bad, huh?” He shook his head and got to his feet, then stretched, his fingers pushing into the low tent ceiling. “That may be your worst plan yet.” “I know! That’s why it is sure to work.” “Your reasoning is as solid as ever. Which is the same solidity as a foundation built on quicksand.” “Oh, aye? And what is your plan for sacking a well-defended capital city with only one-hundred soldiers?” “I don’t have one, which is why we’re stuck with yours. The good news is, your other three-hundred-twenty-six stupid plans all somehow worked.” “Aw, you’ve been counting them!” “It was a rough estimate.” He yawned. “This night seems like it is taking forever. Shouldn’t it be dawn by now?” “It does feel that way, doesn’t it? Well, maybe that means we will be able to get some sleep after all.” “I have a better idea.” Trendil laughed. “I figured you would. Let me hit the latrine and I’ll hear all about your idea." She stepped out of the tent and stretched, then made her way through the quiet camp, all the time looking toward the towering spires of Solitude. So close! By the end of the day, it would be theirs. If the plan went well. She gripped her fists as she neared the latrine. It would work. It had to. As long as the weather cooperated. She glanced at the sky as she began to unbuckle her belt. The night sky was covered with dark, roiling clouds. They seemed to move erratically, as if being pushed by contradictory waves of wind. They were like no clouds she had seen before. Her hands froze in place as she stared. A moment later, she was rushing through the camp, shouting commands as loud as she could. She reached the alarm bell and rang it before sprinting back to the command tent. Dragonspite was already on his feet with hammer in hand when she burst in. “What’s going on?” “Come see for yourself.” She grabbed her swords, unsheathed them, then threw the scabbards into a corner of the tent before rushing back out. Dragonspite joined her a moment later and together, they looked at the sky. Trendil pointed. “It is after dawn. Those aren’t clouds covering the sky. They’re dragons.” A deep breath. “Every fucking dragon in the world, apparently.” “What? That’s impossible!” “You don’t see them? Look closer.” She closed her eyes. “I told them. How many times did I tell them?” Dragonlance ran up, her armor half on as she gasped, “What is it?” “We’re about to fight a much larger battle than we could possibly have imagined. Get everyone armed and ready. And divines protect us.” High above, the first dragons plunged toward Solitude. **************** Trendil stood with ninety-nine veterans of countless battles with dragons, using tactics honed over years of trial and error; they may as well have been newborns with rattles. It was not a battle. It was a massacre. As she split the fire from one dragon, a dozen more rushed past on either side. The formations her regiment had specifically designed to protect them from those occasions where they had to face more than one dragon, and which had proven their worth in battles against two, three, and even four at a time, were simply overwhelmed by dozens at once. Trendil had never felt so helpless as the battle cries of her soldiers turned to screams and then abrupt silence. In the space of a minute, half of the regiment was gone, and all order disappeared with it. Soldiers cried out and ran in all directions, only to be killed by fire or claw or tooth. Those who maintained composure fared no better. Trendil could only watch in growing panic as Dragonlance was grabbed from the center of her squad’s protective shield wall and lifted, screaming, into the air, only to be torn in two and dropped again, her insides splattering the rest of her squad, who had only a few heartbeats to voice their horrified anger before six simultaneous blasts of fire turned them to near-instant ash. Trendil stood back to back with Dragonspite in the center of the carnage, the two moving in practiced synchronicity, but though, between them, they had managed to knock down or incapacitate three dragons, sheer numbers made their attempts irrelevant, their defeat inevitable. For Trendil, it came from one of the dragons they had knocked down; focused on those above, she simply did not notice the tail that whipped at her, slamming her in the side and throwing her through the air. Her body flew over the ridge upon which their camp had been placed and she fell its one-hundred or so feet, landing with a splash in the icy water of the Karth estuary. The impact drove the breath from her and she spent several panicked seconds thrashing. It may well have been sheer luck of the current that she found herself moments later in water shallow enough that she could lift herself to hands and knees and gasp in air. It took several breaths before she was able to gather what strength remained to her and crawl to the shore, where she collapsed for another long moment. Her entire body ached; she feared to think about what numbers of bones and/or internal organs may have been broken. Whatever that number was, it didn’t matter – she needed to get back. Back to Bent. She struggled to her feet, found her legs ached but were able to hold her up, and began a slow stagger along the beach. Every step caused a jolt of pain that she could not pin down to any particular part of her body – the entire thing felt like one giant hemorrhaging bruise. Of course, there was an excellent possibility that that was because that’s what her body had become. She kept one hand pressed against the cliff face to help her stay up as she turned a rounded corner. Solitude came into view, silhouetted again a slowly-lightening sky. Three steps later, Trendil stopped, gasping for breath, and watched as the five-hundred-foot-high pillar of native stone that formed the distinctive sky peninsula upon which Solitude had been built snapped with a sharp crack and toppled with a groan that filled the sky, dumping the Blue Palace and the upper districts of the city into the estuary. Trendil swore and turned, but she was far too slow – only a few heartbeats later, a massive wave rushed over her, bringing with it debris, and for several more panicked moments, she was back underwater, struggling once more to find purchase. She ended up in the same place she had started, groaning out of the still-churning water. The going was slower this time since occasional waves lapped at her ankles but she eventually made it back to the turn. The remains of Solitude lay wrecked across the channel like a defeated boxer, and Trendil took a moment to gather her breath while she studied it. All that time, all the years, all to reach this city, only to have it destroyed before her eyes before she could even step foot in it. It figured. She shook her head and continued her pained journey until the dragons appeared to finish their attack on the city, gathered above, and left, flying en masse to the south. Trendil sank against the wall of the cliff, afraid any motion might give away her living presence and attract a dragon, as an eagle to a rabbit. She only dared move again when the cloud of dragons had become a distant splotch on the horizon. It took her the rest of the day and all through the night to make her pained way back to the remains of the Stormcloak camp. All around her were torn corpses littered among blackened figures twisted in grotesque parodies of human form. She stumbled to where she and her love had fought together. She found him twenty feet away, his body twisted and broken. Trendil rushed to him with a cry, disregarding her pain as she dove to his side, took his head into her lap, and searched with growing panic for any signs of life. He was breathing. They were shallow breaths, but they were breaths. Trendil stroked his cheeks as her tears rained onto his face. “Bent?” “Bent?” He coughed, and blood dribbled from his lips. “That was my virgin name. It’s Dragonspite now.” Trendil wiped away her tears. “I’m your commanding officer, remember? I’m the one who decides your name.” “Ah.” His chuckle turned into a wheeze, and then a sigh. “Fair point, oh wise leader Lint. Bent is at your service.” She barked out a laugh that turned to a sob, then shifted to nestle next to him, wrapped both arms around him, clung to him, willed him to stay with her. She was lost to time and reason, thought and desire. She was aware of nothing save his scarred breathing, his scattered heartbeat. The less of those she felt, the tighter she gripped. She felt him leave. Between one heartbeat and the next, she felt it, then felt the heart still, a final whispered exhale. Still she clung to him, eyes closed and tears streaming, all her world an aching empty silence. Next chapter Previous chapter Start from the beginning

Proof that Gonzo is part Orc. As if we needed further proof

I don’t think it is a spoiler to say you are not completely wrong. Jaunty himself was a pawn (well, probably more like a knight, which I suppose is fitting in a way) in his family’s game, so he was not directly responsible for anything but making sure the mines in the Reach were captured (which technically does not include Bilegulch - it was already in Falkreath’s hands) and his family put in charge of them. But certainly the Grey-Manes are a big part of everything that happens in Skyrim. As for the mine, the mod that that storyline is based on, slaves of Tamriel, has it way up north above solitude, but canonically, you are actually spot on. I looked at other mines in the general area but they are all too far away from Falkreath and would not have been available at the time Sian was arrested (she was arrested 34 days before (and sent to the mine two days before) Trendil and company took Fort Sungard, officially kicking off the campaign in the Reach. This is funny because the two are actually really close to each other. If only Trendil had known!). Obviously, whatever in-game happenings for those mines are not part of these stories. I don’t even remember what Bilegulch looks like or what quests are involved in it, if any. XD

it does seem pretty unrealistic for rich people to ignore obvious imminent global disaster while they work to make themselves richer at everyone else’s expense. It is hard to imagine anyone being that oblivious.

I am not sure what connection you’re seeing between Jaunty and Sian. XD However, you’re not completely off in your supposition for the college’s defense strategy. edit: I guess his family snorked up a bunch of mines and she is in a mine. So that does make a tenuous sort of connection, i suppose

automated lightning railguns would be cool. Too bad they don't have someone from earth, who may have heard of something akin and therefore be able to suggest it, available.

It’s headed only for happy times, of course. It gets light and fluffy from here on.

“Professor?” Aithne shook her head at the mess on the table as she sorted the books. Things had changed so much in her time at the College, but students leaving their study material all over the place was one thing that remained… “Professor!” The insistent voice stopped Aithne’s thoughts in their tracks and she blinked and turned. Two students, both fourth-years, stood at the side of the table, watching her. “Oh! Um. Sorry!” Aithne gave herself a little shake. Three months into her new job and she still had not become used to being called Professor. She cleared her throat. “How can I…” “Stop pestering Professor gro-Shub!” Aithne winced as Merks appeared from around a bookshelf and stormed at the students. “Merks…” “She is far too important for your stupid questions!” Aithne shook her head. “I was just sorting bo…” The girl on the left squeaked and said, “We’re sorry!” The boy on the right looked like he might faint. “It’s fine.” And, as Merks began to speak again, “Merks, stop. Students can ask questions. It’s part of my job.” He shook his head – whatever religious fervor had reversed his opinion of her had not done anything for his abrasive personality. “My Lady, this is beneath you. I’ll handle it. Well? Out with it! What’s your stupid question?” The two looked terrified but the girl managed to squeak out, “We…we weren’t sure what this meant.” She pointed with a hesitant hand to a passage in her book. Merks glanced at it and snorted. “It means you can’t use omni-partition catalysts for single-dimensional arrays.” “Um…” An exasperated sigh. “It means a catalyst that can be used for multiple things will not work if you try to associate it with an array that can only handle one. It’s confusing because ‘single-dimensional’ and ‘array’ are contradictory terms. That dumbass Wiba called them that three centuries ago and now we’re stuck with it. It’s pretty simple, though. Think about it this way: what would happen if you tried to connect twelve hoses of continually running water to a single hose?” The two looked at each other and, at last, the boy found his voice. “They would…get backed up? Because one hose couldn’t handle all the water from all those other hoses?” “Exactly. Eventually something would burst. Probably around the connection between the hoses to the single hose. Now picture that happening, except it’s mana.” A pause and then both students’ eyes went wide at the same time. “That would…” said the boy. “Boom!” added the girl. “Yes. Now go read Shelinng chapter 4 again.” At their groans, he made an impatient gesture. “Make sure you actually understand it this time.” They nodded, though their expressions were glum, and plodded off. Aithne shook her head. “That was well explained. You could have been nicer about it, though.” Merks shrugged. “You need to be tough with the young students. It’s what makes them respect you. Your husband was the perfect example of…” he stopped at her wince. “I apologize, My Lady. I did not mean to bring you pain.” Aithne shook her head again. “It’s fine. The pain of losing him will never completely go away, of course, but I can’t very well force people not to talk about him in my presence. He was a great man and deserves to be talked about.” Merks flushed and his head dropped a little but before he could respond, the sound of bells rang throughout the building. Aithne and Merks exchanged a startled glance. Aithne was already half turned as she said, “Get to the roof. I need to grab the staff.” “Yes, My Lady.” ********************* Foreboding clouds covered the sky, making it hard to see the approaching dragons, who seemed to blend into the roiling mass of blacks and greys. They attacked in patterned groups this time, instead of the random chaos of the previous attempt. Aithne wondered how many of them had been involved in the last attack as, just as Delphine had said, every dead dragon had come back to life and flown away, singly or in groups, a few days after their deaths. As before, Aithne used the staff to Funnel as much of the dragon breath that she could reach. This time she was joined not just by J’zargo, but also Onmund, Brelyna, and Merks, as well as Archmage Ervine and most of the professors. Together, they formed a ring around the circumference of the Observation platform and either Funneled dragon breath or cast binding spells to try to get dragons to fall to the ground, where students and people from the town waited to pounce with spells and weapons, a tactic they had all spent the last few months practicing together. It was slow going - the dragons kept their distance, wheeling in long loops between the College and the mainland, only occasionally swooping low to attack someone or something. After some time, this began to worry Aithne. They didn’t seem to be trying to engage anyone directly. It was more as if… “It’s a diversion!” The low booming of the surf far below as it crashed against the pillar of stone upon which the College rested made it hard to hear, so she shouted the words. Her friends (and whatever the hell Merks was) looked at her, then J’zargo glanced around and yelled back, “A diversion from what?” “I don’t know!” Aithne scanned the sky in all directions but nothing seemed amiss. Well, more amiss than the continual barrage of dragons. Another boom, and Aithne spared a glance at the ocean, expecting angry swells to match the heavy pounding of the surf. She found it a strange incongruence to see the sea was not noticeably angrier than usual, despite the stormy sky. Brelyna began, “What should we…” but she didn’t get a chance finish - Aithne swore and, without thinking, jumped off the platform. She turned as the cast Flight and, just as her fall slowed and she gained control of her movements, she saw them – a dozen dragons ripped at the base of the pillar, tearing out chunks of stone. Aithne shouted and laid down a wall of fire, engulfing several of the dragons, who roared and pushed off the stone, into the air. From there, the fight became perilous. While she was in no danger from their breath attacks, thanks to the staff, she was no match for them when it came to speed or midair maneuvering. She dove for the pillar, dodging claws and teeth as best she could, and at last hit the ground harder than she meant. Mental alarms rang in her head and she struggled to regain her feet, expecting to feel sharp teeth digging into her any second, but it took her several moments to get her breath back enough to move. When she finally pushed herself up, pain seemed to pounce - she found she bore several scrapes and bruises, and a claw had scored a deep gouge down her back. The top of her robe flapped and bunched, impeding her movement, so she impatiently shrugged her arms out of her sleeves, letting the top portion of the robe flap down around her waist, while the lower half remained cinched in place by her belt. A glance upward explained why the dragons had not finished her off – several figures flew through the air over the sea, blasting away at the dragons as they dove, spun, and/or rose. Even as she watched, two of the dragons crumpled and fell into the surf. Aithne shook her head and laughed – clearly her friends (and probably Merks) had joined her. She took a breath and resumed her own attack. The others joined her one by one as they were able to slip through the dragons to the relative safety of the pillar, where, at the very least, they did not have to worry about attacks from behind. They were able to hold their own, although once the dragons discovered their breath attacks were only going to get redirected back at them, they stopped using them. The physical attacks were much harder to contain, especially since the small section of the pillar they stood on (really just the bottom portion of the gouge the dragons had so far managed to dig out) left very little room for dodging. Over time Aithne was too busy to count, they were able to whittle away at the attacking dragons with a little luck, a little ingenuity, and a very large number of Binding spells. Just as the sixth dragon fell, unable to fly because of the giant hole Merks had shot through its wing, a resounding BOOM shook the ground and they fell to their knees. The staff flew from Aithne’s hands and she scrambled after it, grabbing it just before it slid over the edge, then froze as she saw several figures rushing past. People. A lot of them, along with a several giant segments of jagged stone, fell past their position and, a heartbeat later, crashed into the sea. At the same time, as if hearing something Aithne could not, the attacking dragons wheeled to the west and flew away. After a moment of stunned chaotic silence, the five of them yelled conflicting things and dove off the ledge. Aithne’s first instinct was to dive for the ocean to see who all had fallen and if any were still alive, but she realized as she dove that it was a fruitless enterprise – had the people been conscious, they would have kept themselves from falling. They had either already been dead or had died on impact – either theirs with the water, or the massive stones with them. So she adjusted her course toward the top of the College, joining Merks and J’zargo while Onmund and Brelyna continued downward. The top of the building was…well, gone. Only a small section of the observation deck remained; a stubborn jagged portion, about the length and width of a horker, clung to the small portion of remaining wall like a barnacle. The rest had either been blown into the sea along with the wall or was nestled like crumbled breadcrumbs on the floor of what had been the top floor of the tower. The wreckage was littered with bodies and it did not take long to learn whose. Archmage Ervine was the first they found, half her head caved in by a massive stone. Soon after, the others were uncovered – about half the professors that had been on the roof, all of them dead. As for the other half…well, it didn’t take much imagination to connect them to the bodies that had fallen into the surf. It wasn’t the numbing shock Aithne had felt during the first attack but it was a shock nonetheless. For a time, they could only stare, but then Merks noticed her robe and vanished, popping back a moment later to hand her a fresh one. They moved as she thanked him and put it on, passing through the rubble to the stairs to the lower floors, gathering survivors as the went until, by the time they reached the ground floor and opened the doors of the school, there were several hundred of them, all students, slaves, or servants. They were greeted outside by Tolfdir, the only other professor they had found, along with those who had fought on the grounds around the school. Together, they merged into a mass, one that both celebrated their victory and grieved their losses at the same time. After some time of this, a sort of order established itself based on the question that slowly burbled out of the mass mind: What next? Merks had an answer immediately. “We need a new Archmage, first and foremost.” The pronouncement went through Aithne like a shot, as if she had just learned about Professor Ervine’s death in that moment. It just hadn’t seemed real until it was said out loud. She cleared her throat as the people began to mutter to each other, and motioned at the elderly mage at her side. “Professor Tolfdir is the logical choice.” More variable sounds from the crowd, but Tolfdir raised his hands and called out, “Quiet, quiet! We need to discuss this. It is true that I have the most experience, but that alone does not make a good leader. We need someone who has demonstrated both their talent, their ingenuity, and their ability to keep a calm head. Of course you have realized by now, I mean Professor gro-Shub. I believe she is the best suited for this task.” Aithne squeaked out, “What?!” but her voice was immediately subsumed by the crowd, who cheered the statement. “But…” Tolfdir chuckled. “Looks like the people have spoken. Congratulations, Archmage. I look forward to working with you for as long as we can.” He winked, turned, and headed back into the college while the newly-appointed Archmage stood tongue-tied as the courtyard full of students celebrated her unexpected promotion. Next chapter Previous chapter Start from the beginning

If the guy’s name is still John Randall (which was an Outlander reference, if anyone was curious), you have a very old version. Hex changed it quite awhile ago

I’ll need to brush up on my drawing. The dildo story would make a great comic. XD

Someday I will have to write a little side story about the adventures of the dildo around the camp.

Slaves just don’t wanna work anymore.