Anons from imageboards 2ch.so (although this could be just Foreveralon, everything is so unclear there) we wondered: what would happen if there were imageboards in The Elder Scrolls universe too? Old copy-paste, new cool stories and much more:
Soup, imperach. Woke up today on some ship. I don’t remember them at all. Head hurts. I met some Dunmer there on the ship. He told me that I slept through the storm and asked what my name was. I really don’t remember. He says that we have sailed to Morrowind. FUCK HOW DID I GET HERE? WHAT IS HAPPENING?
Okay, then some stubborn magician fell from the sky near me. Well, it’s “good”, he died, but at least I picked up some clothes, so. Some more money. So I went into the tavern.
Maybe this happened to someone else?
Such things.
EOR, anon. And this roll disappeared. I put it on the windowsill to cool down. I went to pour myself some wine. I come back and there is no roll!
It took me so long to make it and it’s such a bummer.
What should I do, anon?? Go look for him? Or has he already been devoured??
I’d rather trample this roll.
Anon how to check whether I am https://conquer-casino.uk/bonus/ a duvakin or not at home?
Anon, fuck what happened today. I saved enough bricks to build a small fort. Well, first things first, listen to my cool story.
About a year ago I urgently needed money. There were no tasks, working in a forge and alchemy were not for me, so I decided to make money the old fashioned way. I went into the forest and came across a cave. Fortunately, there were not vampires there, and not some HYOH, but simple bandits, so I didn’t have to look for another. At night I snuck up from behind and stabbed the one standing guard, then cut out the sleeping people inside. I collected about two hundred septims in gold, a couple of precious stones, and some other small change. But the main find was a magical amulet, it was clearly taken from someone, and it looked very valuable – pure gold with precious stones and without magic was worth several hundred coins. With a satisfied face on my face, I was already heading for the exit, when this happened. A man entered the cave. I didn’t understand this right away, since he looked more like a dremora – I knew what they looked like from books with illustrations about the times of the Oblivion crisis. He approached one of the bodies, pulled off his glove and touched it (that’s when I realized that this was a person, not a Daedra). “Hmm, still warm,” he muttered, pulled on his glove, and took out his sword. “It looks like it’s not just me who needs the amulet,” he continued talking to himself, and then the purpose of his visit here dawned on me. I thought about it: I have no chance of defeating this big guy in Daedric armor, and he would rather kill me on the spot than talk. Then I caught my eye lying next to the corpse of a Bosmer, or rather her bow. I took it and mentally thanked my father for having once taught me how to handle it. Meanwhile, the figure in dark armor began to slowly move deeper into the cave, straight towards me. I pulled the string a couple of times, estimating the strength, then took an arrow from the bloody quiver. I had no room for error. I shot an arrow and immediately started running. I was lucky and fell right into the gap between the leggings and boots, and he clearly had no time to chase. Now to the point, anon.
I work as a guard at a remote sawmill, I look the part – leather armor, a sword on my belt, a bag of supplies on my shoulder. I look like an adventurer, of which there are a dime a dozen here. Today I went into town to buy some supplies. Passing by one of the guards, he said one phrase to me. The phrase that changed my life. "I too was an adventurer like you. And then they shot me in the knee.”. It was HIM, dude. It’s not a coincidence, it’s HIS voice. I was paralyzed, my bag fell out of my hands. I started to run, heard a cry from behind, “Wait, bitch,” I looked back, HE was limping after me, but I pulled away. I don’t even know where I am now, I ran and ran until I saw the village. During the evening I managed to drink half of their supply of alcohol, bordach, what should I do?? HE now knows who I am
CATS, TODAY I WALKED BRIEFLY THROUGH WHITERUNN AND SAW A NORD IN A T-shirt "SKYRIM FOR NORDS", SO I JUMPED UP AND SHARPLY FUCKED HIM IN THE SCHEDULE FROM THE TURNBOARD AND EXPLAINED HIM BY SCREAMING “I DON’T LOVE YARL HAIL” BECAUSE I WAS FUCKED ABOUT SKOOUME, GUYS, THE SPIRIT OF THE OLD EMPIRE LIVES ONLY IN ELSWEYR, WHERE THEY FUCK IN HARDCORE, WHERE THE KOTANS LIVE ON ENERGY, MOON SUGAR AND FUCK THE SYSTEM IN THE MOUTH! ONLY ELSWEIR, ONLY SKOOMA. UNITY ULTRASCUM ELSWEIR. Kotans fuck the Nords, Bosmers, lizards, Dovahkiins, have fun in caravans, love your desert, Kotans and Skooma! SPEAK OPENLY AND BOLDLY TO YOUR FACE!
Greetings, stranger. Welcome… again. There are very few of my illusion scrolls left, but I will try to have time to tell you my frosty epic. You know, stranger, I don’t know your name and you don’t know mine, I’m even glad about it, because it’s the only way I can be sincere with you. You can’t see my face and my voice is distorted by the portal, you will never be able to find me in Vvardenfell.
Right now I’m sharpening my dagger and leafing through the second volume of Vampires of Vvardenfell. If my scrolls run out, my connection with the outside world will cease.
I probably seem strange to you? Books about vampires, a dagger… you’re very strange, you’ll think. You must be some kind of hermit or Telvanni mage, since you have magic and scrolls? No, everything is much simpler, I am a hermit of my family and my city. All that is in my life is hunting, books, scrolls of illusions and… something else. I would tell you my name, but I’m afraid that the Dark Brotherhood will track me down and kill me while I’m sleeping, I’d better be careful.
During the war with Dagoth Ur I was still a boy. I was smart, agile, but it was difficult for me to get along with others. Maybe it was the noise of thoughts that drowned out my mind, or something else, but I didn’t like being in society, I was silent a lot and often answered inappropriately, forgetting what my interlocutor was talking about. Over time, I became known as the main eccentric of Caldera (my father and I lived there). We sometimes went to Schenk, a friend of our family, a black kid, rude but kind, he poured a glass of flin for my father and they reminisced about old times, and I sat and listened.
But other visitors did not treat me so favorably, for example, this wild Nordling, who traditionally sits near the entrance. He never missed an opportunity to make a caustic comment about me as soon as I entered. His friends laughed, often joined by other regulars. In a word, I appeared there less and less and spent more time reading books and training in the yard. Despite some disadvantages, my life was very smooth and calm.
This was before the attack on the city. Then everything changed.
I still remember that morning when I woke up from bright flashes in the window, screams were heard on the street, and the facades of shops and the town hall were blinded by fireballs. Father frantically pulled on his bone cuirass and pulled out potions from the cellar. I absolutely didn’t understand what was happening until he threw me his old, battered armor and shouted, “What are you staring at?? Dress quickly, the sleepers have woken up!“My heart was pounding wildly, my fingers didn’t obey me, and I hardly pulled on my father’s enchanted boots and leggings. We ran out into the street and my vision went blurry. The city was in flames, and the stairs to the town hall were littered with the corpses of imperial guards, several sleeping ones devoured them, and corpus hunters wandered around, tearing apart the living and pulling arrows from their decaying carcasses.
The battle lasted for several hours, and as a result, we defended the city with huge losses. Then the magician from the guild gathered us in the square and announced that help was urgently needed in the battle of the Red Mountain and we should immediately go to Balmora, and then to the Red Mountain. We hit the road.
When there was only a little time left to the meeting place, the inexplicable happened. The sky above the Mountain began to shimmer with all the colors of the rainbow, and the clouds formed into the likeness of a Daedroth’s skull, and a heartbreaking scream began to be heard in my head, the same as the wounded usually scream when they are torn apart by a ghoul. Among this cry, words were clearly distinguished, the words of Dagoth Ur, who called us to lay down our arms. I endured, but moved forward. And then the felling began, worthy of a story in the annals of Tamriel. In all directions, from under every stone, ghouls, Daedra, sleepers, and everyone that Dagoth could summon crawled out. The fight, the blood, the hellish scream in my head, it all drove me crazy. I dropped my sword and stopped. I stood and watched the bacchanalia around… then I closed my eyes and ran at random. My hand was burned by a fireball, but I ran and didn’t look back. I came to my senses only on the coast of Shigorat, where God mocked me and offered deadly deals, but I cannot get him out of my head, just as I could not forget the death of my father and my comrades there, on the slopes of Red Mountain.
I lived on the coast for about a year, collecting pearls and selling them to a merchant in Hoole. This Argonian was the only one who dealt with me, he just didn’t care who I was. The rest of the residents despised me. The news of my betrayal spread among the siltstrider drivers and now every crab knew who I was and why I was famous.
Previously, I was an eminent heir to a family, but now I am a simple beggar, living in a tent and eating fish. Shigorat now knows me by name and he sometimes tells stories told to him by a madman like himself. It seems that he lives somewhere to the west of me on the islands. We should give him a couple of scrolls and while away the lonely evening. True, there is a small ray of light in my life.
Not so long ago, it seems, it was Almalexia’s holiday, I went hunting. My chitinous armor was completely worn out, it was torn by the beast and I had to cover the gap with rags so as not to feel awkward when meeting a random traveler. I wandered into the Daedra temple, hoping to steal something from the offerings near the statue, but these sectarians noticed me and barely killed me. I haven’t eaten for three days.
I woke up in my rayuga, covered with the skin of the Soltsheim bear, and a beautiful dark elf rummaging through my meager supplies. I muttered something about Dagoth Ur, about my father and crabs, but she just smiled tenderly and pounded something in a mortar. A beautiful girl… she pulled me out of that temple, dragged me and cured me in three weeks with her potions. I don’t even know how to thank her. When I was able to walk, we sometimes walked along the coast and I told her the stories of Shigorat, and she laughed loudly. She says I’m not so bad anymore. I laugh with her, I go hunting with her, but my heart is heavy because she doesn’t know my story. And I should thank her for saving me. I recently found a ring in a fish I caught, it shimmers, probably enchanted. I’ll give it to her, maybe it will somehow make up for my long life, books and affection that for some reason she gives me. Oh damn, my scrolls are already running out! Good luck stranger, I hope you enjoyed listening to my story..
Is there anyone here? Malacath? Hircine? At least someone? Mm, I see a glow, that means you’re talking to me, stranger, and I’m telling you how it goes. You know, my grandfather was a bard! He drank a lot and his voice failed him, but his gift was great, and he himself was famous. It’s probably because of him that I have such a passionate desire to write signs on paper… uh[, if only I had paper and sing quietly at night by the fire.
You know, today’s meeting could not have happened, I was miraculously lucky to stay alive, but I’m glad that it happened, although my wrist is making itself felt. You know, I always have a problem with scrolls. There is no suitable place in my shack to store such valuable items, and rain, storms and rats take their toll. How many sheets did I collect literally bit by bit?!
But actually, what I wanted to tell you. About a month ago, my scrolls ran out, food dried up, and loneliness began to overcome me. My fighting friend went on a campaign to the west to another camp and she doesn’t know when she will return, but I feel so lonely here, among the sand and crabs. I wish she would come back sooner, because I never gave her the ring.
In general, I found a small orc hideout not so far from my camp. One night I saw a bright pillar of light, clearly created by a magician. There is no guild of magicians in my wastelands, the Daedra use different magic, in general, it was a necromancer, that’s what I thought then. And he might have scrolls! Oh yes, recently in the wasteland some madman was robbed, who was scattering his teachings along the road, and I collected his leaves and decided to copy the spells of this necromancer there. I told you, I have been partial to books about magic since childhood!
So, I pulled on my torn armor, yes, still the same ones, and under the cover of darkness I walked towards the next pillar of light launched into a moonless night. I sneaked like a mouse and finally discovered him, this orc necromancer. He pulled a pile of books onto the platform in front of his lair and sorted through them in search of the page he needed. Then I noticed a basket with scrolls and gradually began to pull it towards me with telekinesis. And now, thank Akatosh, they are in my hands! I began to frantically rewrite them, when I suddenly discovered that a rock rider was flying straight towards me. How I hate these squealing creatures! Not only do they scream at night and keep you awake, but they are also as heavy as guar when it comes to cutting them up.
This scum attacked me and gave away my hiding place. The orc perked up and sent a series of balls in my direction – paralysis and some strange levitation. Why strange? Yes, because you manage the usual one yourself, but he controlled this one. The green bastard lifted me over the boulder and left me to be eaten by the rider. What a scoundrel!
The rider decided that I was easy prey and decided to drag me into his nest. He grabbed me across the body and carried me over the Sea of Ghosts. I was scared, painful and disgusting, but, Oblivion take me, it was the most beautiful journey of my entire life! The peak of Mount Kand, sparkling with the torches of pilgrims who go there every six months in groups, the silhouettes of Daedric temples, the lights of Gnisis, the tiny tongue of the sun that is gradually emerging, the violent waves of the sea. If I weren’t in the beak of this creature, it would be divine.
The paralysis has already passed and I can move my arms. When I realized that I could move completely, I pulled out my rusty dagger and plunged it between the rider’s eyes. The creature squealed and released me.
Yes, I acted like an orc who thinks that jumping from the Khartag cliff will make him a hero, but does not understand the underlying meaning of this expression. So I cut my wings, being at a considerable height, and regretted it almost immediately. A hurricane of thoughts about the past rushed through my head… until I hit something soft… and then I found myself in the tall grass. As it turned out, I fell straight onto a huge netch flying below. Some madman ran up to me with a fork… A FORK. yelled something about an unfinished task and ran into the darkness. I lay there recovering from shock and hitting the ground. The wind shook the tall grass, thought about my face and chest, I looked at the huge planets and was happy.
In the morning I discovered an old boat and returned to my shelter. My wound doesn’t bother me much, I’ll heal it soon and I don’t think it’s such a big price to pay for such a flight. I’ll have to tell my Ashlander friend about this when she gets back.
The wood is burning out, my friend, I’ll now say a prayer to the gods and lie down to rest, lie down too. May the blessings of Vivek be upon you! I’ll tell you a story, if you’re lucky, because my scrolls stayed with me.
Brothers of the Nords, I tell my epic. I sit in my village, burn swords every day from 8:00 to 20:00, then go to bed. I work without breaks and days off (I don’t go to relieve myself or eat either, I’m very responsible, there’s a lot of work). So, one fine day, I’m melting down ingots and beating a blank on an anvil, when some stranger with wild eyes runs into my forge and starts asking about some nonsense, like how I feel about the Empire and what I do (I’m the only one working in the forge, if that). But the most interesting thing is that he asks me to teach him how to FORGE. I explained to him in hardcore that forging is a very delicate matter, with a lot of nuances, that you need to study it for years and you will never achieve perfection anyway. This strange man started yelling at me, threatening me with a rusty mace, and banging his hand on his rawhide armor. Understand, brothers, I was scared for my family and gave this weirdo several pieces of iron and explained in hardcore how to smelt it and shape it. He seems to have calmed down, now he sits all day, biting his tongue, and intently melts dozens of daggers (he thinks he’s a fool). Then he suddenly runs away somewhere, brings a bunch more pieces of iron, drives me away from the anvil and gets back to business. I was afraid to kick him out in case he got hurt, he was crazy. He said that he was some kind of dovlakin and that he was a dragon slayer, which scared me even more. Recently he attacked a cart, shouted incomprehensible words (I only remembered “fusroda”), then majestically put his foot on wooden fragments and crushed cabbage and declared in front of the whole city that he had killed a dragon. Our people are peaceful, everyone pretended to be surprised and delighted, and then went about their business. He, satisfied, ran somewhere into the mountains (without taking warm clothes), citing the fact that someone had called him. I’m sitting now, waiting for him to return, becoming close to him, worrying about the crazy man. If anyone saw it, please let me know, my wife is also worried, maybe she froze somewhere, stupid.
The Stormcloaks have captured Windhelm, and we are devouring the souls of dragons. The Khajiit set fire to a lizard for refusing to give money, and we absorb the souls of dragons. Three magicians bent down from the roof of the College holding hands, and we absorb the souls of dragons and ask for more. Suicide, murder, genocide – we consume the souls of dragons. Racism, sexism, discrimination, xenophobia, rape – we consume the souls of dragons. We will soullessly kill all dragons, our preferences are not based on common sense, the aimless BASKUNCHA is our element, we are the true face of Skyrim. We are Dovahkiin. We don’t forgive and we don’t forget. And our name is dragonborn.
