Note: some facts may be twisted but they are so for a more grand purpose.
Setting: starting this sometime around when Bromunjaar is close to finished being built. The most noted Dragon Priests are just gaining the height of their power towers.
Updates: On Fridays when finished, meaning updates will be oddly spaced.
The wolves will chase you by the pale moonlight,
Drunk and driven by a devilish hunger.
- Bottom Of the River
A throne of antlers, she sits, watching her court squabble amongst themselves. She yawns, fingers stretching languidly over her lips as she crosses her right leg over her left; her armor clinks loudly as she does so but no one seems to notice, too caught up in themselves. Hours now this had been going on and yet all she could think of was getting some fresh air, perhaps one of those crème treats Hulga had been working on. . .
"Petty," she murmurs, snatching a goblet from a platter to her left.
The servant holding aforementioned platter flinches as she does so and that causes her to cackle madly. Her court now silenced, they watch as she chortles away, spilling red liquid onto the stone in front of her throne; red droplets catch around her knees. When she notices the silence in the grand hall, a fixed glare clears the room, much to her further amusement and their dismay.
A sigh leaves her lips and she places the goblet back on the platter, standing from her throne. She grabs her sword from where it is leant against the side of her seat, the chilled blade exposed to the braziers scattered around the room, sending specks of blue against the walls.
Stalhrim, as hard as a dragons hide and colder than death.
She cradles the blade in her hands for a moment, peering down at it almost lovingly. A joyous cacophony of noises fills her ears: her mothers laughter, a child's praise, the snap of a bowstring from the moment she was first taught to wield such a weapon. . .by the very same man that brought her this far.
She stops her thoughts, clenching the hilt of her sword tightly before storming from her throne room.
"And so he brought the War Lord down on Skyrim, like a puppet master with a favored doll. And she did his will, bringing a mighty hammer to the world in the name of her king and the World Eater, Alduin.
Lorolei of Village Skaal. Konahrik."