“Get out,” Aela snarled and he merely leaned against the post by the door, smirking.
“Where’s Eloine?” he asked, casual and the hall seemed to bristle with tension, one of the ugly troll twins grabbing at the sword on his back. He smiled down at him. “I wouldn’t, boy. I have free reign in your little province to kill and as much as it would be a pleasure making your head explode, I don’t fancy the paperwork after.”
“I’d like to see you try,” his lip twisted showing his teeth and he found himself chuckling more.
“Challenging a Thalmor? You’re stupider than I thought!” he said and the brute moved, stomping towards him but his brother stopped him, giving him a look of pure hatred as he did. Lorcalin only chuckled, tapping his arms. “I’ll repeat myself again for you useless brutes. Where is Eloine?”
“Right here,” he heard a man say and he looked to the stairwell where an old Nord was emerging from, his body weak as he made it to the landing. Behind him a little blonde came and she turned, looking around before she saw him. Her face lit up, her steps becoming more rapid and she rounded the bend, breaking into a run towards him. He uncrossed his arms, letting her throw herself into him and he could feel the disgust from the pathetic mortals around him, uncomfortable with her utter affection towards him.
He decided to really bother them, pushing her back and he forced her chin up looking deep into her eyes. “Lorcalin!” she said, bursting with joy and he smiled.
“Hello my little bird,” he purred and he leaned down, giving her a kiss. He could have burst out laughing at the sound of the barbarian woman scoffing in disgust, a rumble of distaste moving through the hall and Eloine flushed under him, giggling as he withdrew. She gripped his robes, her cheeks red, ears turning pink when the old goat from behind her spoke.
“Eloine! Heed my words!”
She looked over her shoulder, flushing but she nodded to him and Lorcalin narrowed his eyes. He’d have to ask her later about it. He tugged her making her focus back on him and he purposely kicked the door open to the hall making the ancient old bat who cleaned for them stiffen as he chipped the wood.
“Come on, Eloine. You’re needed by the Thalmor,” he said in a loud tone and she followed him, giving him a nod. He shut the door with a grin, loving the looks of utter malice he received, savouring it within his mind. They were too easy and too stupid to rile up; no wonder his little dragonborn fit in. She shifted next to him, holding his arm and he began to lead her away, making sure she was at his side as he took her down the steps.
“What does the Thalmor need?” she asked innocently and he shrugged.
“Nothing. Well, not exactly, I need you my little bird,” he cooed and she flushed, her grip tightening on his arm. “You’ve been gone too long from your house and I missed you.”
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, lovestruck and he grinned, parading her through the city ignoring the glares from the guards and townsfolk around him. He hated Whiterun, absolutely hated the filthy, disgusting place but his damned little pet project refused to leave it causing him to remain there to endure the stench of the filthy commoners. She was beloved by the people, as he found out through various means, her favors and utter devotion to being the Thane of the city giving her a high standing and because of that she didn’t dare stray far.
Professional Griefers [1/?]
“Get out,” Aela snarled and he merely leaned against the post by the door, smirking.
“Where’s Eloine?” he asked, casual and the hall seemed to bristle with tension, one of the ugly troll twins grabbing at the sword on his back. He smiled down at him. “I wouldn’t, boy. I have free reign in your little province to kill and as much as it would be a pleasure making your head explode, I don’t fancy the paperwork after.”
“I’d like to see you try,” his lip twisted showing his teeth and he found himself chuckling more.
“Challenging a Thalmor? You’re stupider than I thought!” he said and the brute moved, stomping towards him but his brother stopped him, giving him a look of pure hatred as he did. Lorcalin only chuckled, tapping his arms. “I’ll repeat myself again for you useless brutes. Where is Eloine?”
“Right here,” he heard a man say and he looked to the stairwell where an old Nord was emerging from, his body weak as he made it to the landing. Behind him a little blonde came and she turned, looking around before she saw him. Her face lit up, her steps becoming more rapid and she rounded the bend, breaking into a run towards him. He uncrossed his arms, letting her throw herself into him and he could feel the disgust from the pathetic mortals around him, uncomfortable with her utter affection towards him.
He decided to really bother them, pushing her back and he forced her chin up looking deep into her eyes. “Lorcalin!” she said, bursting with joy and he smiled.
“Hello my little bird,” he purred and he leaned down, giving her a kiss. He could have burst out laughing at the sound of the barbarian woman scoffing in disgust, a rumble of distaste moving through the hall and Eloine flushed under him, giggling as he withdrew. She gripped his robes, her cheeks red, ears turning pink when the old goat from behind her spoke.
“Eloine! Heed my words!”
She looked over her shoulder, flushing but she nodded to him and Lorcalin narrowed his eyes. He’d have to ask her later about it. He tugged her making her focus back on him and he purposely kicked the door open to the hall making the ancient old bat who cleaned for them stiffen as he chipped the wood.
“Come on, Eloine. You’re needed by the Thalmor,” he said in a loud tone and she followed him, giving him a nod. He shut the door with a grin, loving the looks of utter malice he received, savouring it within his mind. They were too easy and too stupid to rile up; no wonder his little dragonborn fit in. She shifted next to him, holding his arm and he began to lead her away, making sure she was at his side as he took her down the steps.
“What does the Thalmor need?” she asked innocently and he shrugged.
“Nothing. Well, not exactly, I need you my little bird,” he cooed and she flushed, her grip tightening on his arm. “You’ve been gone too long from your house and I missed you.”
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, lovestruck and he grinned, parading her through the city ignoring the glares from the guards and townsfolk around him. He hated Whiterun, absolutely hated the filthy, disgusting place but his damned little pet project refused to leave it causing him to remain there to endure the stench of the filthy commoners. She was beloved by the people, as he found out through various means, her favors and utter devotion to being the Thane of the city giving her a high standing and because of that she didn’t dare stray far.