Hello again, OP! Sorry it took so long to get this done, but my perfectionism got the best of me. This is actually the first time I've posted on the meme, so constructive criticism is appreciated. I already misfired once, so let’s see if I can get it right this time…
If Soldin ever saw another troll again, it would be too soon. Exterminating a cave housing five of the beasts would not go down as one of his favorite ventures, regardless of how strong he was. The harbinger would definitely think twice before asking Aela for another assignment in the near future. Rescuing Heimskr and his crazed speeches was even preferable to this. All he wanted to do was get home, find his seat in front of the fire, kick his feet up, and down a nice bottle of skooma. He had run out of the substance two days prior and had gone so far as to maul the first Khajiit he saw for a hint of moon sugar. It hadn’t gone well, the fight ending with a corpse in a ditch outside the Loreius Farm, no sugar in the Nord’s pockets, and some crazed jester spewing nonsense about his dead mother.
Yes, he knew it was a bad habit. Soldin had met too many good folk in his travels that had seen their lives come to ruin from their dependence on skooma. It wasn’t as if he had sought out the addiction. He’d picked it up when he was sacked in Markarth and sent to Cidhna Mine, and it helped to pass the time as well as forget the less than enjoyable experiences he’d gone through there. Once he’d finally broken out with Madanach though, the Dragonborn had continued using the skooma on a regular basis, causing no shortage of troublesome situations.
Whiterun’s gates had never looked as welcoming as the thane approached. He kicked them open in joy and sighed in relief. The sight of Breezehome put a new spring in his step and the man practically danced to the front door. Lydia probably had food over the fire, ready and waiting for his arrival. He could practically smell the horker loaf now…
As the weary thane kicked open the door to his home, he came face to face not with Lydia and food prepared for his return, but rather a house full of companions and mages alike, all staring him down. Not a single person wore a smile on their face except J’zargo, and well, he was eying Aela up from the corner. This did not bode well for the Dragonborn.
“Good evening, my thane,” Lydia greeted with a small smile, “Welcome home.”
“Glad to be here… I think,” he said warily, eyes shifting from person to person, “Is something wrong?”
“Actually, yes.” Lydia gave a solemn nod, and offered the Nord his favorite chair. “Would you please take a seat? Your friends and I have something we wish to speak with you about.”
Soldin groaned. He was getting twitchy from withdrawals and did not have the patience after his little expedition to deal with fifteen some of his allies and their idea of a ‘grave situation.’ “Can’t this wait? I just got back from Winterhold, and I need to rest.”
“That’s why you’re going to sit in the chair,” Farkas said simply, “You sit and listen, and we’ll do the talking.”
Outnumbered and too tired to argue, the man relented and took his seat with a sigh, grabbing the bottle of mead on the table. He could tell he was going to need it.
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timeasmymeasure
Intervention: Skyrim Edition (1/3)
Date: 2012-08-26 02:26 am (UTC)char:M!PC char:Aela char:Farkas char:Vilkas char:Torvar char:Athis char:Brelyna_Maryon char:J'zargo char:Onmund char:Mirabelle_Ervine char:Tolfdir char:m'aiq char:Lydia char:Cicero
kink:crack/humor
If Soldin ever saw another troll again, it would be too soon. Exterminating a cave housing five of the beasts would not go down as one of his favorite ventures, regardless of how strong he was. The harbinger would definitely think twice before asking Aela for another assignment in the near future. Rescuing Heimskr and his crazed speeches was even preferable to this. All he wanted to do was get home, find his seat in front of the fire, kick his feet up, and down a nice bottle of skooma. He had run out of the substance two days prior and had gone so far as to maul the first Khajiit he saw for a hint of moon sugar. It hadn’t gone well, the fight ending with a corpse in a ditch outside the Loreius Farm, no sugar in the Nord’s pockets, and some crazed jester spewing nonsense about his dead mother.
Yes, he knew it was a bad habit. Soldin had met too many good folk in his travels that had seen their lives come to ruin from their dependence on skooma. It wasn’t as if he had sought out the addiction. He’d picked it up when he was sacked in Markarth and sent to Cidhna Mine, and it helped to pass the time as well as forget the less than enjoyable experiences he’d gone through there. Once he’d finally broken out with Madanach though, the Dragonborn had continued using the skooma on a regular basis, causing no shortage of troublesome situations.
Whiterun’s gates had never looked as welcoming as the thane approached. He kicked them open in joy and sighed in relief. The sight of Breezehome put a new spring in his step and the man practically danced to the front door. Lydia probably had food over the fire, ready and waiting for his arrival. He could practically smell the horker loaf now…
As the weary thane kicked open the door to his home, he came face to face not with Lydia and food prepared for his return, but rather a house full of companions and mages alike, all staring him down. Not a single person wore a smile on their face except J’zargo, and well, he was eying Aela up from the corner. This did not bode well for the Dragonborn.
“Good evening, my thane,” Lydia greeted with a small smile, “Welcome home.”
“Glad to be here… I think,” he said warily, eyes shifting from person to person, “Is something wrong?”
“Actually, yes.” Lydia gave a solemn nod, and offered the Nord his favorite chair. “Would you please take a seat? Your friends and I have something we wish to speak with you about.”
Soldin groaned. He was getting twitchy from withdrawals and did not have the patience after his little expedition to deal with fifteen some of his allies and their idea of a ‘grave situation.’ “Can’t this wait? I just got back from Winterhold, and I need to rest.”
“That’s why you’re going to sit in the chair,” Farkas said simply, “You sit and listen, and we’ll do the talking.”
Outnumbered and too tired to argue, the man relented and took his seat with a sigh, grabbing the bottle of mead on the table. He could tell he was going to need it.