Celan

It was a Silicon Valley trust fund baby with several degrees from Berkeley who decided to embarass a couple countries in her quest for self realization. *scrolls pages of wimperials* Damn, y'all like your men in miniskirts.

This about sums it up for American Olympians I guess https://www.sfgate.com/sports/article/Elizabeth-Liz-Swaney-skier-Olympics-Hungary-12625748.php American kids growing up with too many of these:

As my BF said, it's because there's no black people in this Olympics. Yeah same with skier Gus Kenilworthy, who talked a lot of smack then placed dead last- but hey, he kissed his boyfriend on TV so the media was all giggly about it. Maybe the boyfriend should have skied for him. I tried desperately to find a shot of a male booty for you, but alas, there aren't as many gay Olympic photographers as athletes apparently.

Can't you just call it ham like everyone else? @ColonelKillaBee You're probably thinking of a figure skater, Adam Rippon. He got picked over the #2 qualifier even though he was at #4 and couldn't do any quad jumps. He and Nathan Chen both got all kind of endorsements, interviews... but choked big time on the ice.

Too busy trying to be Fabulous, forgot to win any medals.

On the upside, dem cameltoes. Comment below the article: "Wait until you get a look from behind. Looks like they have a target on their cornhole." Maybe that was conveniently placed so the other teams can ram us up the booty.

So, the Nords are really killing it at the Olympics this year. Team USA kind of... sucks.

So many Nords served in the Legion, I imagine they know more about Cyrodiil than the reverse.

Rebec's ass is a national treasure.

Really enjoyed the posts guys. Just haven't read Witchie's yet because I gotta finish the ones before that first.

Sure. Isn't the mage dude coming to Kyne's Watch? Have to have Rebec meet him, too.

Safe to say it won't be as detailed as your Roscrea stuff.

I'd prefer to do that IC.

It did, sort of. She mentioned kneelers. There was no context for anything more specific than that, but it can come up later. Thanks guys.

Rebec and Arle Kyne's Watch “Where are the slaves now? The ones from the bandit fort.” “They’re not slaves.” Rebec walked with Arle out past the quays to a quiet section of beach, intending to practice the thu’um. As they walked, they passed a field of Stormcloaks drilling the shield wall. It would look different when it was fire and ice raining on them as well as arrows, Rebec thought. “The ones who can fight will become regulars and some might stand the Grim Trials. The others will have to make themselves useful mending sails and cleaning latrines.” The islander woman gave her a sideways look. “So, slaves in all but name?” Rebec opened her mouth to deny it, then shrugged. “Oh, about that. You lot aren’t going to be able to take any captives while you’re here. The men already don’t like it that you keep Nord slaves.” “What about elves and cats from the south?” She didn’t have an answer for that. It would serve Dominion soldiers right to be enslaved on a frozen island in the far north. The two women had stopped on the beach. Rebec stuck her shield into the sand and rested on it. “Do you plan to stay here after the war?” “If any of us return, we’ll decide then.” “You expect most of you aren’t coming back from the war?” It was Arle’s turn to look puzzled. “Of course. Don't you?” Rebec’s mouth fell open but no answer came out, so Arle shook her head and lifted her shield. "Come on. Let’s spar a little to get the blood going.” The two Nords drew axe and shield and circled one another, feinting and testing defenses. Without warning Arle charged and smacked shields with Rebec, almost knocking her off her feet. Rebec recovered and slashed in a furious assault, making Arle pay for the charge with a sideways swipe to the arm that drew blood. The islander waved off an offer to pause and immediately attacked again. Taller and stronger than Rebec, she forced her to give some ground, but Red Snow was quicker and after a furious grappling slashed at her knees, tearing Arle’s deerskin pants. “Good,” Eivarsdotter smiled. Rebec, smelling the blood now and with her own blood pumping in her ears, charged. Then she found herself airborne, lifted up and over Arle’s shoulder, and slammed hard to the sand. Still prone, she was forced to defend against the other woman’s downward slashes and kicks. On one of those, Rebec was able to grab Arle’s ankle and trip her up, flipping her to her backside. They both leapt up at once and went at it, shields cracking again and again as splinters flew around them. Rebec waited for an opening, then hooked Kyne’s Talon on the other woman’s axe, and with a quick twisting movement wrenched it out of Arle’s hands. It skidded into the sand a few feet away. Before she could celebrate her victory, Arle’s shield came around and slashed into Rebec’s arm, sending shooting pain up to the shoulder. It had only barely missed smacking her square in the face. In a flash Arle had grabbed the bruised arm, flung herself at Rebec and tackled her, pinning her beneath her own shield while an iron grip holding down her other arm meant her axe was useless. “Yield?” Rebec’s eyes spat fire, but after a moment she nodded. “Yield.” Even as she started to her feet, she regretted having given up the fight. Her arm ached and her head was swimming, but her blood was boiling. That was even before Arle reached over to poke her in the stomach. “You fight well, but you’re soft.” The islander grabbed her arm and held it up appraisingly. Perhaps because the fist at the end of the arm was balled up to strike, she let it drop. “Soft, Rebec. You picture yourself coming back from the war, but in truth you’ve already left it.” The curses stuck in Rebec’s throat, crashing around on each other so that none actually came out. She wanted nothing better than to cave the priestess’ nose in. Maybe rearrange a few other features. Even the sight of Arle calmly dressing her wounds didn’t quell the urge. The trouble was, what the bitch said was true, and Rebec knew it. Lifting Ragna out of her crib and changing her diapers wasn’t a substitute for sparring with Mazoga or climbing ship rigging for hours at a time. Her voice was sullen. “I don’t plan to actually fight. I’ll go near the front lines to be with Baldur, but stay behind with the baby.” “Yes, the baby. I remember what that’s like. Such a little thing and it becomes everything. Half of your mind is thinking about her all the time. Where is the baby? Is she safe? Is she healthy? Am I doing it wrong?” Arle sounded almost wistful. She approached Rebec again and regarded her evenly, not troubled at all by the fury in her eyes. “Maybe in the south they can dwell on such things, but we Nords cannot. To dwell on one thing too long is to freeze in place.” “Forgetting my baby is easier said than done.” “It’s not forgetting, exactly.” Arle paused, considering. “You have to build a little room inside you.” Her hands formed the shape against her chest. “Lock her away in it and turn the key. Outside that room, you’re hard and cold and think only of the enemy. Later, when you’re cuddling her, you can open the room back up and be soft again.” “That work?” Arle smiled. “Sometimes. Alright, now I want to study the thu’um.” “I don’t know how to teach you to shout. I thought Baldur would be able to do that somehow. Ulfric put some words on paper about it, you already read those, but I can’t tell you how I do it because I don’t know how I do it. I just do it.” The islander thought a moment. “To learn axe fighting, you have to learn how to defend as well as attack. Maybe hit me with your thu’um and if I can withstand it, I can begin to learn its ways.” “Are you sure about this?” The prospect of sending Arle flying through the air sounded great. “Yes. Maybe. Go easy on me, at first.” The two women faced each other a short distance away, and Arle raised her shield, bracing. Taking a deep breath, Rebec let out a mild FUS. It knocked the islander to one knee, but she got back up again quickly, so Rebec hit her again. This time she was knocked to her backside and got up more slowly, shaking her head to clear it. After a moment to gather herself, Arle nodded and called “Again.” “FUS RO!” The wave of air hit Arle with the sound of a thunder clap and tossed her into the air like a rag doll, depositing her with a thud on the far end of the beach. She didn’t move. “Oh shit.” Rebec ran towards her. By the time she reached her, Arle was still motionless, and a line of blood trickled from her nose. It wasn't as satisfying as she'd hoped. With a string of curses Rebec took off running back towards the fort to fetch one of Menel’s Stormcloak healers. When she returned with the young Nord man, Arle was sitting up, but appeared dazed and was slurring her words. She tried to stand, but her leg buckled and she sat back down hard. The battlemage hit her with a healing spell, then eventually a stamina spell as well. “No more sparring,” he ordered sternly. “Here’s a potion, take it tonight before bed and have someone check you every hour or two.” Arle nodded, having found her wits and some strength again. Laughing wearily, she said, “So that’s the thu’um.” “Well, you asked.” “I did indeed. And I know you were going easy on me, too.” "A little bit." They had brought lunch with them, so the two women sat on a dune to eat their sandwiches and drink mead. Eventually Rebec spoke up. “Since you islanders have kept a lot of Nordy ways, how is it you lost the thu’um? You didn’t have Jurgen Windcaller turning you into milk drinkers.” “We kept it until a few generations ago. Some of my own family were Tongues. By then, it was little more than tricks to amuse the children, so there seemed no need. We had other ways to defend ourselves. I always hoped we would get it back like the elders had it. They could shout away time itself.” “Got any mages?” “Some. Not like your southern mages.” She gestured back towards the fort where the healer had returned. “Different.” “Different how?” Arle pursed her lips and Rebec could tell she didn’t want to say more. “We do what we must to survive,” she replied finally. “Our ancestors didn’t only have the thu’um, we had other ways, and I don’t mean those of Jhunal the Deceiver.” “Deceiver?” “The Mumbler was weak and favored the Deep Ones. Would have turned us into elves if he had the chance. That’s why he was cast out. I hear he’s popular in the south, and among those that kneel to the southerners.” “I guess.” Rebec had no opinion on that. “All these years, you never had imps bothering you?” “Southerners? They bother everyone.” “Isn’t that the truth.” Arle continued, “We learned our lesson from Olenveld. When the southern emperor turned it to a graveyard, we thought we were next, but he turned his gaze elsewhere. After that we slaughtered or enslaved any cartographer who wandered into our waters. You’ll not find our home on any map, and I mean for that to continue.” Rebec thought that sounded like a threat, but let it pass. “No wonder you had to save Eilif’s life.” “Oh yes. Even now there are those who say he is a southern spy, but my Eilif is too simple to be a spy.” “Simple?” Rebec grinned. “Not stupid. Just honest. He is what he seems to be, and he asks little more of life than what the gods provide every day. We’ve had a good life together. If we die in battle together, I could imagine nothing better.” They sat in companionable silence for a while, finishing their meal. Eventually Arle asked, “Do you train with your husband?” “Are we back to how soft I am?” “He’s very strong.” “Stronger than I’ve ever seen him. That fight at the Moot… it changed him somehow.” “You should train with him more often. All the men should. They made a good show of not being afraid of the two of you up at the bandit fort, but they are.” “I’ve been thinking about that. We need to have more drills with the thu’um included, so they know how to react and we figure out how not roast or stagger our own men.” “A wise idea. And I think you should keep your orc close. She’s also a good fighter.” “Mazoga? She is that, but she’s not ‘my orc.’” “She might have grown up in Skyrim, but their nature doesn’t change. It must be mastered. That’s not easy to do with the green ones. But you trust her with your child, so I assume you’d trust her enough to guard you.” “Maz has saved my life more than once. She masters herself pretty well.” Rebec decided to change the subject. “You feel anything shouty yet? Want to try it yourself?” Arle nodded and stood, dusting the sand off her torn pants. Facing the ocean, she closed her eyes, centering herself. “Fus.” She started quietly, letting the word settle in her mind. “Fus.” Force. With the sound of the waves in her ears, the islander pictured the roll and crash of a wave against a hull. She tried to recall how Rebec looked and sounded right before she knocked her flat. “FUS.” The sand in front of her blew up as if hit by a small gust. Without interrupting, Rebec watched the other Nord woman, nodding as she began to hear the thunder inside the syllable. Arle came from Tongues, so she was learning fast. Eventually the islander wearied and sat back down to rest, uncorking her water skin. Now it was Rebec’s turn again. Bracing herself, Rebec drew in a deep breath and muttered softly, “Wuld. Wuld. Wuld.” After a silence, she started again. “WULD.” Rebec suddenly had the sensation like she was on the deck of her ship and it had pitched her forward a step. She stumbled, cursing, then tried again, and again. You can’t hit the wind, she thought, reciting her warpaint meditation. The wings of Kyne. WULD. Rebec shot forward, landing some feet away and keeping her balance this time. Letting out a whoop, she looked back at Arle. “Hot damn! Did you see that?” The other Nord woman waved and gave a thumbs up. Some hours later, they returned to the village, tired and with their throats sore from shouting. Arle gave the potion she’d received from the healer back to Rebec. At her protest, the islander insisted, “I've got my own remedies. About my potions, I see you don’t have many berserkers in your Stormcloaks? I can offer some mushrooms which will be a potent aid in battle. Consider who might handle them the best.” "I'll talk to Baldur about it. We could use all the help we can get." They had reached Rebec and Baldur’s longhouse. Arle gestured at the scorch marks around its threshold. “What are these?” “Baldur’s idea of diaper disposal. Can’t keep Ragna in woolens these days, with him home.” The priestess laughed, and looked up at the totems above their door. “Dibella?” “That would be Ysana’s doing.” “Your mother in law. So you are Kyne, she is Dibella, and… no priestess of Mara?” “I don’t think one of those would do too well around these parts.” At Arle’s expression, Rebec’s brow shot up. “What, you? A priestess of Mara? I thought you were like the Skaal, sort of lumping the gods all together or something.” “The Skaal are our ancient enemies. No offense to you, of course.” “Why should I be offended?” “Because of your foremother. Rebec the Red.” “She was no Skaal!” “She most certainly was.” For the second time that day, Rebec felt like punching the islander in the throat. “That’s… my mother would’ve said something." Arle shrugged. “It’s not so bad. The Skaal were strong warriors once, and your foremother couldn't have become Ysgramor's boat thane if she had a weak will. As for Mother Mara, she’s fierce in her own way. Remember what I said about the locked room? Even the strongest warrior needs to open that place sometimes. A warm fire, somewhere soft to lay her head. You, me, Ysana, we defend the hearth because without it, there’s nothing but the cold and dark.” “I don’t know how to be a priestess. Never will.” “You will because you must, just as you learned how to be a mother. Only now your child is anyone who seeks to honor Kyne. Just listen to your children. They’ll tell you what they need.” Rebec thought of all the drunks in the village, and that strange boy with his elf ear necklace, and shook her head. “Always said motherhood was a bad idea. Anyway I better to see to my own Nordling now. You watch that head, I gave you quite a knock.” “Force Push. Thank you, Favored of Kyne.” Arle smiled and with a lift of her axe, headed off towards the tents.

That post was funny as hell. Y'all can't tell me that chapter one was bad, I don't believe it.

Can't hold his... Does not compute. He might as well be a Khajiit. /rebec

Roscreans don't drink mead? The fuck. @Centurion BTW Monster cap can has a screw top because you're supposed to drink those over, like, a day or two.

When I lived in Queens, used to take the subway out to the end of the line, grab some Jamaican patties and a ginger beer, and run back for the subway before the Nation of Islam could catch up to the white girl appropriating their food. I also had Jamaican friends, which if you invite to a picnic, will not mess around with hot dogs or hamburgers, they bring big pans of jerk chicken and rice and peas. Heavenly.

I like the Ultra's. Had an Ultra Red earlier. Their best is Mango Loco, though it's got calories. It's a bitch to run because of the juice pulp.

Oh, you probably have a cap can. With the screw top? Yes, we make those too.

Paying my salary. Though, we don't make anything larger than 16oz. You sure you got a 24 oz? That's... jeezus.

Heh, always hated Romans. When I heard that Skyrim was going to let us secede from the empire, and that the king from The 13th Warrior was going to play the Nord rebel leader, I said "fuck yeah, kiss my pasty Nord ass you miniskirt wearing motherfuckers!" And Veleda was born. Named after a Germanic seeress who prophesied the downfall of the Legion in the Xanten area. Attrebus redeems himself a bit in the 2nd book.

Oh yeah, I do sort of like the orcs, especially in Skyrim. Though I kind of ruined my orc character by using her to play the imperial side in the Civil War. It was reeeaaallly a stretch. I made her ex-Legion, but that just made it that much more unlikely that she'd have gotten up from that execution block and gone back to the Legion. Narrator: No she wasn't. Fuck the Romans. Though yes, I do conceptualize Doron Zethus as being more Greek than Roman, for instance.