Utter gibberish
hELLO THERE,
I am writing just to see what happens,
I am
Iam the blogger of this blog, I blog about things and thats.
You are reading this and thinking to go to do something else with your time but wait I have more to write for you!
In fact I personally think that this is an intresting writing prompt
I am writing just to see what happens,
I am
Iam the blogger of this blog, I blog about things and thats.
You are reading this and thinking to go to do something else with your time but wait I have more to write for you!
In fact I personally think that this is an intresting writing prompt
The
flags around the shrine blew in the breeze, tattered and tarnished by
the harsh winds of Skyrim. The statue atop the cairn kept its impassive
glare, a sentinel gazing out at the wide skies and snow-scattered fells
of the inhospitable land.
"Must we meet here? It's far too chilly. Not to mention cliche." Sanguine was already stretched out on the only fur rug, slowly rubbing a rose-tipped staff against a scratch, wondering if his louche pose had put him a little too close to Peyrite.
"Seems cosy to me," Malacath retorted, as a reed-slip figure slithered from the shadows behind.
"Personally I'd have preferred to meet at night."
"And that is not for you to decide, Nocturne. We all have a claim to this one." As always, Azura was right. That's why nobody liked Azura. Azura was always right. "And, given that my gift to this one was to hold souls..."
"Then you've had enough fun. Your claim is void." Clavicus Vile grinned, petting his loyal toy, sat at his side. "Isn't that right, Hermy?"
A shapeless voice sighed in the air. "Indeed. As is Hircine's. The hunt is over.
"You just want her for yourself," Mephala laughed. "We decided not to listen to you before this meeting."
"We?" Hermaeus Mora said, irritated, the hollow, echoing cry resounding around the cairn, fuming there was something it did not know. Mephala continued.
"Boethiah, Nocturnal and I. I'm surprised Vaermina didn't warn you about it."
"Enough bickering!" A warrior stood up, pulling a weapon. "He's mine, and I'll smash anyone who denies it."
"Oh really? COME AT ME, BROTHER!" Mehrunes Dagon rose, squaring up to Molag Bal's claims of enslavement.
"Oh, don't be so boreish," Sanguine yawned, momentarily distracted from some activity behind him. The other princes frowned, only now noticing that Namira had slithered up beside the prince, and was no doubt teaching Hermaeus Mora something new.
"Indeed," Azura said, bringing the matter to the task at hand. "This is getting us nowhere. If we do not decide, it will. Or Him."
"It? And who's it?" Mephala was having fun again.
"Sithis," the figureless voice said. "Or Talos. Indeed, she already visited Sovngarde."
That's when a laugh shut them all up. A laugh that could belong to only one figure. "Oh, look at you all arguing and blathering away, fiddle-de-de-fiddle-de-do. Sanguine's right, for once in his debauched life. So boring, I'm inclined to give you a hit of the wabberjack."
The others backed away. Even Mehrunes Dagon seemed concerned. Bloodbaths were his business, but if he knew one thing, it was that you didn't mess with crazy.
"Now, you're all forgetting one thing," the Lord of Madness continued. "And that's order. Oh, I know, who am I to be jibbering about that? Hmm? HAHAHA! Well, without a little chaos now and then, you get... you get you-know-who. You want him back? You want Jyggalag? I don't! No no no, not now, not ever, keep it out of my realm, thank you kindly! So that means you can all keep your hands, horns, claws, fingers, tentacles and gaseous tendrils away from her! Because otherwise we're going to have Mr Buzzkill back in the realms."
Azura stiffened. "What do you propose?"
"Propose?" Sheogorath cackled. "Already did!"
...
Away from the cairn, away from it all, the future Dragonborn was shaken awake, slowly coming to, the chill mist hanging in the air, the creaking rhythms of the cart resounding in his or her ear. They recognised, vaguely, the stormcloak in front. Recognised, vaguely, the fated horse thief and the mouth-bound Jarl. Recognised, though everything was different. Everything was a little sharper, a little crisper, a little deeper in colour. Gone were the personal touches that had once filled the world, absent the jokes and the unbridled creativity. Tamriel felt reborn and repurposed once again.
Slowly, Helgen's walls began to loom through the fog, and the wagon turned down on its fated path once more.
"We start again," Sheogorath explained, a voice too distant to be heard. "I call it the Remastered Edition."
"Must we meet here? It's far too chilly. Not to mention cliche." Sanguine was already stretched out on the only fur rug, slowly rubbing a rose-tipped staff against a scratch, wondering if his louche pose had put him a little too close to Peyrite.
"Seems cosy to me," Malacath retorted, as a reed-slip figure slithered from the shadows behind.
"Personally I'd have preferred to meet at night."
"And that is not for you to decide, Nocturne. We all have a claim to this one." As always, Azura was right. That's why nobody liked Azura. Azura was always right. "And, given that my gift to this one was to hold souls..."
"Then you've had enough fun. Your claim is void." Clavicus Vile grinned, petting his loyal toy, sat at his side. "Isn't that right, Hermy?"
A shapeless voice sighed in the air. "Indeed. As is Hircine's. The hunt is over.
"You just want her for yourself," Mephala laughed. "We decided not to listen to you before this meeting."
"We?" Hermaeus Mora said, irritated, the hollow, echoing cry resounding around the cairn, fuming there was something it did not know. Mephala continued.
"Boethiah, Nocturnal and I. I'm surprised Vaermina didn't warn you about it."
"Enough bickering!" A warrior stood up, pulling a weapon. "He's mine, and I'll smash anyone who denies it."
"Oh really? COME AT ME, BROTHER!" Mehrunes Dagon rose, squaring up to Molag Bal's claims of enslavement.
"Oh, don't be so boreish," Sanguine yawned, momentarily distracted from some activity behind him. The other princes frowned, only now noticing that Namira had slithered up beside the prince, and was no doubt teaching Hermaeus Mora something new.
"Indeed," Azura said, bringing the matter to the task at hand. "This is getting us nowhere. If we do not decide, it will. Or Him."
"It? And who's it?" Mephala was having fun again.
"Sithis," the figureless voice said. "Or Talos. Indeed, she already visited Sovngarde."
That's when a laugh shut them all up. A laugh that could belong to only one figure. "Oh, look at you all arguing and blathering away, fiddle-de-de-fiddle-de-do. Sanguine's right, for once in his debauched life. So boring, I'm inclined to give you a hit of the wabberjack."
The others backed away. Even Mehrunes Dagon seemed concerned. Bloodbaths were his business, but if he knew one thing, it was that you didn't mess with crazy.
"Now, you're all forgetting one thing," the Lord of Madness continued. "And that's order. Oh, I know, who am I to be jibbering about that? Hmm? HAHAHA! Well, without a little chaos now and then, you get... you get you-know-who. You want him back? You want Jyggalag? I don't! No no no, not now, not ever, keep it out of my realm, thank you kindly! So that means you can all keep your hands, horns, claws, fingers, tentacles and gaseous tendrils away from her! Because otherwise we're going to have Mr Buzzkill back in the realms."
Azura stiffened. "What do you propose?"
"Propose?" Sheogorath cackled. "Already did!"
...
Away from the cairn, away from it all, the future Dragonborn was shaken awake, slowly coming to, the chill mist hanging in the air, the creaking rhythms of the cart resounding in his or her ear. They recognised, vaguely, the stormcloak in front. Recognised, vaguely, the fated horse thief and the mouth-bound Jarl. Recognised, though everything was different. Everything was a little sharper, a little crisper, a little deeper in colour. Gone were the personal touches that had once filled the world, absent the jokes and the unbridled creativity. Tamriel felt reborn and repurposed once again.
Slowly, Helgen's walls began to loom through the fog, and the wagon turned down on its fated path once more.
"We start again," Sheogorath explained, a voice too distant to be heard. "I call it the Remastered Edition."
The
flags around the shrine blew in the breeze, tattered and tarnished by
the harsh winds of Skyrim. The statue atop the cairn kept its impassive
glare, a sentinel gazing out at the wide skies and snow-scattered fells
of the inhospitable land.
"Must we meet here? It's far too chilly. Not to mention cliche." Sanguine was already stretched out on the only fur rug, slowly rubbing a rose-tipped staff against a scratch, wondering if his louche pose had put him a little too close to Peyrite.
"Seems cosy to me," Malacath retorted, as a reed-slip figure slithered from the shadows behind.
"Personally I'd have preferred to meet at night."
"And that is not for you to decide, Nocturne. We all have a claim to this one." As always, Azura was right. That's why nobody liked Azura. Azura was always right. "And, given that my gift to this one was to hold souls..."
"Then you've had enough fun. Your claim is void." Clavicus Vile grinned, petting his loyal toy, sat at his side. "Isn't that right, Hermy?"
A shapeless voice sighed in the air. "Indeed. As is Hircine's. The hunt is over.
"You just want her for yourself," Mephala laughed. "We decided not to listen to you before this meeting."
"We?" Hermaeus Mora said, irritated, the hollow, echoing cry resounding around the cairn, fuming there was something it did not know. Mephala continued.
"Boethiah, Nocturnal and I. I'm surprised Vaermina didn't warn you about it."
"Enough bickering!" A warrior stood up, pulling a weapon. "He's mine, and I'll smash anyone who denies it."
"Oh really? COME AT ME, BROTHER!" Mehrunes Dagon rose, squaring up to Molag Bal's claims of enslavement.
"Oh, don't be so boreish," Sanguine yawned, momentarily distracted from some activity behind him. The other princes frowned, only now noticing that Namira had slithered up beside the prince, and was no doubt teaching Hermaeus Mora something new.
"Indeed," Azura said, bringing the matter to the task at hand. "This is getting us nowhere. If we do not decide, it will. Or Him."
"It? And who's it?" Mephala was having fun again.
"Sithis," the figureless voice said. "Or Talos. Indeed, she already visited Sovngarde."
That's when a laugh shut them all up. A laugh that could belong to only one figure. "Oh, look at you all arguing and blathering away, fiddle-de-de-fiddle-de-do. Sanguine's right, for once in his debauched life. So boring, I'm inclined to give you a hit of the wabberjack."
The others backed away. Even Mehrunes Dagon seemed concerned. Bloodbaths were his business, but if he knew one thing, it was that you didn't mess with crazy.
"Now, you're all forgetting one thing," the Lord of Madness continued. "And that's order. Oh, I know, who am I to be jibbering about that? Hmm? HAHAHA! Well, without a little chaos now and then, you get... you get you-know-who. You want him back? You want Jyggalag? I don't! No no no, not now, not ever, keep it out of my realm, thank you kindly! So that means you can all keep your hands, horns, claws, fingers, tentacles and gaseous tendrils away from her! Because otherwise we're going to have Mr Buzzkill back in the realms."
Azura stiffened. "What do you propose?"
"Propose?" Sheogorath cackled. "Already did!"
...
Away from the cairn, away from it all, the future Dragonborn was shaken awake, slowly coming to, the chill mist hanging in the air, the creaking rhythms of the cart resounding in his or her ear. They recognised, vaguely, the stormcloak in front. Recognised, vaguely, the fated horse thief and the mouth-bound Jarl. Recognised, though everything was different. Everything was a little sharper, a little crisper, a little deeper in colour. Gone were the personal touches that had once filled the world, absent the jokes and the unbridled creativity. Tamriel felt reborn and repurposed once again.
Slowly, Helgen's walls began to loom through the fog, and the wagon turned down on its fated path once more.
"We start again," Sheogorath explained, a voice too distant to be heard. "I call it the Remastered Edition."
"Must we meet here? It's far too chilly. Not to mention cliche." Sanguine was already stretched out on the only fur rug, slowly rubbing a rose-tipped staff against a scratch, wondering if his louche pose had put him a little too close to Peyrite.
"Seems cosy to me," Malacath retorted, as a reed-slip figure slithered from the shadows behind.
"Personally I'd have preferred to meet at night."
"And that is not for you to decide, Nocturne. We all have a claim to this one." As always, Azura was right. That's why nobody liked Azura. Azura was always right. "And, given that my gift to this one was to hold souls..."
"Then you've had enough fun. Your claim is void." Clavicus Vile grinned, petting his loyal toy, sat at his side. "Isn't that right, Hermy?"
A shapeless voice sighed in the air. "Indeed. As is Hircine's. The hunt is over.
"You just want her for yourself," Mephala laughed. "We decided not to listen to you before this meeting."
"We?" Hermaeus Mora said, irritated, the hollow, echoing cry resounding around the cairn, fuming there was something it did not know. Mephala continued.
"Boethiah, Nocturnal and I. I'm surprised Vaermina didn't warn you about it."
"Enough bickering!" A warrior stood up, pulling a weapon. "He's mine, and I'll smash anyone who denies it."
"Oh really? COME AT ME, BROTHER!" Mehrunes Dagon rose, squaring up to Molag Bal's claims of enslavement.
"Oh, don't be so boreish," Sanguine yawned, momentarily distracted from some activity behind him. The other princes frowned, only now noticing that Namira had slithered up beside the prince, and was no doubt teaching Hermaeus Mora something new.
"Indeed," Azura said, bringing the matter to the task at hand. "This is getting us nowhere. If we do not decide, it will. Or Him."
"It? And who's it?" Mephala was having fun again.
"Sithis," the figureless voice said. "Or Talos. Indeed, she already visited Sovngarde."
That's when a laugh shut them all up. A laugh that could belong to only one figure. "Oh, look at you all arguing and blathering away, fiddle-de-de-fiddle-de-do. Sanguine's right, for once in his debauched life. So boring, I'm inclined to give you a hit of the wabberjack."
The others backed away. Even Mehrunes Dagon seemed concerned. Bloodbaths were his business, but if he knew one thing, it was that you didn't mess with crazy.
"Now, you're all forgetting one thing," the Lord of Madness continued. "And that's order. Oh, I know, who am I to be jibbering about that? Hmm? HAHAHA! Well, without a little chaos now and then, you get... you get you-know-who. You want him back? You want Jyggalag? I don't! No no no, not now, not ever, keep it out of my realm, thank you kindly! So that means you can all keep your hands, horns, claws, fingers, tentacles and gaseous tendrils away from her! Because otherwise we're going to have Mr Buzzkill back in the realms."
Azura stiffened. "What do you propose?"
"Propose?" Sheogorath cackled. "Already did!"
...
Away from the cairn, away from it all, the future Dragonborn was shaken awake, slowly coming to, the chill mist hanging in the air, the creaking rhythms of the cart resounding in his or her ear. They recognised, vaguely, the stormcloak in front. Recognised, vaguely, the fated horse thief and the mouth-bound Jarl. Recognised, though everything was different. Everything was a little sharper, a little crisper, a little deeper in colour. Gone were the personal touches that had once filled the world, absent the jokes and the unbridled creativity. Tamriel felt reborn and repurposed once again.
Slowly, Helgen's walls began to loom through the fog, and the wagon turned down on its fated path once more.
"We start again," Sheogorath explained, a voice too distant to be heard. "I call it the Remastered Edition."
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