Stormcloaks,
One never raises arms against the Dovahkiin. Aye, to do so tempts a severance betwixt head and neck of unfortunate odds and damning probabilities. Assuredly the more cowardly choice of action, one never attacks the riding beast of the Dovahkiin either. As your incapable brethren garrisoned at Fort Sungard discovered, this is a grave choice that solidifies a death most unpleasant.
With the intention of strengthening my one-handed skills, as I find my solitary bachelorhood rather quiet as of late, I charged forth into this battle with a readiness to empower my right arm. An eagerness to bulge those muscles fueled my insatiable desire to swing wildly in a berserker rage, to slash unrestrainedly at your whimpering dogs in blue. In my mind’s eye, your brethren would keel over like lambs amidst the slaughtering of a wolf pack.
Alas, my one-handed workout never came to be. No release of pent-up tension dissolved itself. No volcano of frenetic energy spewed forth its bombardments. Aye. My faithful Shadowmere did all the work.
Strong and tireless, my horse barreled forth like a castrated bull. Cloaked in darkness with eyes that glow more sinisterly than the combined gleaming orbs of the Daedric lords, Shadowmere trampled an entire army of Stormcloaks single-hooved. An arrow protruding from his rump, the beast rampaged to correct this violation of his rear entryway.
Let me tell you, surviving fellows, that being trampled to death is no pretty sight. Shadowmere knows not the slowness of exhaustion. He knows not the face of weariness or the signs of it in his joints. Eternally stalwart, my steed kicked recklessly until every last soldier’s skull was akin to a squashed tomato. Pulverized and juicy, the fort was a battleground of raining fruit this day. No staircase nor height could save any fleeing rebel from Shadowmere’s vengeance. With that solitary arrow, all had sealed their fates.
Know this, he who may find this letter, these men did not die honorably. Overcome by a domesticated beast, their deaths were as dishonorable as deaths can be. More accolades and bravery would have been welcomed from tripping into an open well or slipping haphazardly down a staircase like a common drunkard. Aye. ‘Tis a petty way to die.
Do not curry a horse’s vengeance,
Cornelius G Thundercock
Posts Tagged With: Shadowmere
Found in Fort Sungard
Stormcloaks,
One never raises arms against the Dovahkiin. Aye, to do so tempts a severance betwixt head and neck of unfortunate odds and damning probabilities. Assuredly the more cowardly choice of action, one never attacks the riding beast of the Dovahkiin either. As your incapable brethren garrisoned at Fort Sungard discovered, this is a grave choice that solidifies a death most unpleasant.
With the intention of strengthening my one-handed skills, as I find my solitary bachelorhood rather quiet as of late, I charged forth into this battle with a readiness to empower my right arm. An eagerness to bulge those muscles fueled my insatiable desire to swing wildly in a berserker rage, to slash unrestrainedly at your whimpering dogs in blue. In my mind’s eye, your brethren would keel over like lambs amidst the slaughtering of a wolf pack.
Alas, my one-handed workout never came to be. No release of pent-up tension dissolved itself. No volcano of frenetic energy spewed forth its bombardments. Aye. My faithful Shadowmere did all the work.
Strong and tireless, my horse barreled forth like a castrated bull. Cloaked in darkness with eyes that glow more sinisterly than the combined gleaming orbs of the Daedric lords, Shadowmere trampled an entire army of Stormcloaks single-hooved. An arrow protruding from his rump, the beast rampaged to correct this violation of his rear entryway.
Let me tell you, surviving fellows, that being trampled to death is no pretty sight. Shadowmere knows not the slowness of exhaustion. He knows not the face of weariness or the signs of it in his joints. Eternally stalwart, my steed kicked recklessly until every last soldier’s skull was akin to a squashed tomato. Pulverized and juicy, the fort was a battleground of raining fruit this day. No staircase nor height could save any fleeing rebel from Shadowmere’s vengeance. With that solitary arrow, all had sealed their fates.
Know this, he who may find this letter, these men did not die honorably. Overcome by a domesticated beast, their deaths were as dishonorable as deaths can be. More accolades and bravery would have been welcomed from tripping into an open well or slipping haphazardly down a staircase like a common drunkard. Aye. ‘Tis a petty way to die.
Do not curry a horse’s vengeance,
Cornelius G Thundercock
