Sake

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About Sake

  • Rank
    Spurting
  • Birthday 06/08/1990

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  • Gender
    Male
  • Sexual Orientation
    Straight
  • Location
    In a bottle of rice booze, since I am rice booze

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  1. Sake

    Flowing Creek

    I mean, Robbie Rotten is actually canonically the hero, because there's one episode where he takes over as mayor and reverses all sorts of oppressive laws. You know, I never thought I'd come this close to saying the words "LazyTown canon" but there you go.
  2. Sake

    Flowing Creek

    I'm not sure why you figure that dictatorship and communism are mutually-exclusive but okay.
  3. Sake

    Flowing Creek

    Yes, 3, 5, 8. Sure, 5's probably not the best choice but someone probably knows something a little bit more than just "oh yeah she's a dictator".
  4. The world needs more Holo omo.
  5. Sake

    female The Bee and Barb

    Well, for her specifically. There will be other Khajiit that demonstrate a few of the other potential Khajiiti subspecies.
  6. Sake

    female The Bee and Barb

    16 people following a series that updates this rarely is some serious dedication, I tell you what. Y'all're a great audience. I just wish more of you would comment. “I really don’t want to hear what Valen Dreth would have done.” The Dragonborn waved a piece of bacon across the counter. “I’m sure it’s something asinine like half of the other shit you say he did.” Romlyn Dreth held up a finger as he took a spoonful of oatmeal. “Ah, well,” he said when the spoon returned to the bowl. “How would you know if you won’t listen, eh?” “Sure, but, how about I tell you a story for once instead?” Bjorn tapped his free hand on the bar. “I’ve got all of Keerava’s records back here, I bet I can tell you the story of all the money you owe her.” He held another piece of bacon in his mouth momentarily and pulled out a small stack of books from his side of the bar. “Better yet, I could tell you the story of how all the money I owe her for food and board ended up on your tab instead.” “You wouldn’t.” Romlyn shot a dirty look across the bar and went back to eating. The Dragonborn just shrugged. “Nah, you’re right.” Flipping through one of the books, he continued. “Though, while I’ve got you here… Ah, here we are, ‘Motherfucking Romlyn Fucking Dreth’ – mm, she likes you, eh? Aaaaaand that’ll be two hund-“ “YOU KNOW WHAT I JUST REMEMBERED I HAVE A JOB.” Romlyn suddenly shot up and yelled extremely quickly. “I’m going to go do that now goodbye thank you such a shame you can’t tell me more about that debt right now…” He spoke as he backed away to the door, and kept talking even on his way out, but whatever he was saying trailed off into incomprehensible muttering by the time he was in the street. At the same time, Azhani came downstairs, just in time to see Romlyn run out the door. She made her way over to the counter, rubbing her eyes. “What was that about?” “Eh, just Romlyn Dreth things,” Bjorn said, dragging his plate to a more convenient location – which, of course, Azhani promptly sat directly in front of. “Looks like you slept well. Figure you’d be ready to try magic again today?” Azhani licked her hand and ran it through her hair, which she hadn’t yet bothered to braid like she normally would. “Maybe something that isn’t going to explode in my face every time I try it.” “Hey, that last one was almost not an explosion.” He took a sip of the drink he’d prepared himself, tried not to react to the bitterness, and went on speaking. “But, no, there’s plenty of other stuff for you to learn. Even other kinds of magic, but I’m pretty sure the only kind that can’t explode is the kind where you can accidentally summon a Daedroth that destroys the entire town instead.” He drank some more and stuffed some bacon into his mouth right after. “S’I’guess tha’s worse’n ‘splodin’.” “Uh yeah maybe let’s not do that.” Azhani grabbed herself a handful of bacon, then turned her attention to Bjorn’s drink. “What is that? Smells familiar.” Bjorn lifted his mug and shrugged. “What, this? I think it’s Argonian coffee or something. Way stronger than any of the stuff I’ve known to come out of southern Nibenay, anyways. I wonder how they can afford stuff like this.” Azhani simply put her elbow on the bar, held out her hand, and made a beckoning motion, and Bjorn slid the mug over to her. She picked it up, sniffed at it for a bit, then repeatedly dipped her tongue into it. “Okay, I don’t know what humans think coffee is but if you think this is strong, you clearly have never seen the real thing.” She handed the mug back to Bjorn, who set it aside. “It is a bit different than traditional Khajiiti stuff, though – I guess Argonians have different taste.” Bjorn leaned forward onto the bar, careful not to let his body touch the counter. “Weren’t you a kid when you left? I find it hard to believe a little girl would drink enough coffee to know quality, much less be able to tell the difference between stuff grown in Elsweyr and Black Marsh just by taste.” “Well, not when I lived in Anequina, no, but the Baandari would always have some, and they always brought it from home. And of course whenever I had any it would be theirs.” Azhani shrugged. “I never did get as attached to it as they did, though, because I never needed to stay awake like they do.” “And then drinking enough to stay awake would just cause more problems, eh?” Bjorn chuckled, and Azhani glared at him. “Don’t go there,” she said. “Heh. Sorry.” The Dragonborn grimaced as he drank more of his coffee. “Gah. A-anyways, been meaning to ask… What’s up with the way you speak now? It’s, eh, more… human now, I guess.” “Hm? Oh, you mean the ‘this one’ thing? That’s… that’s a cultural thing. We don’t really… have the same kind of pronouns in Ta’agra as you do, so our «this one»-“ Azhani made quotes with her fingers, saying the phrase first in her native tongue then repeating it in Cyrodiilic. “- is… I guess you’d call it formal? For people you don’t know, or you need to impress. The rest is more personal, for friends.” “So, what, am I your friend now? I thought I you were still treating me like some crazy pervert.” “Hey, I never said you weren’t. But I mean, I did kind of watch you almost get yourself killed, so that builds trust a little bit, no?” “I guess so.” Bjorn leaned back as far as he could, reaching out behind him with his staff for more support. “And, uh, maybe not a good time to mention it but you… probably shouldn’t be leaning on the bar like that.” Azhani looked down without a word, then after a second straightened up, pulling her shirt collar up to her neck. “Though, I guess there’s not a whole lot to see there anyways…” The Dragonborn’s thoughts trailed off and turned into frantic stuttering as Azhani glared at him with a hand on her chest and a look on her face like he’d just killed her entire family. “Wait, no, I didn’t- that’s not- I meant- they- you don’t- but- the- ah, shit. I fucked up, didn’t I?” “Uh, yeah, you did.” Azhani sighed, then got up and started for the stairs. “Right, so, uh, I’m going to go… change into something better.” She wasn’t quite sure why she’d said that – she’d truly intended to wear what she’d come downstairs in, since she always wore an apron that would make it harder to tell she was wearing rags underneath. She couldn’t even remember if she had other clothes, since for most of her life even a second pair of pants would have been considered a luxury. Unfortunate, considering that same part of her life was when hauling around a second pair of pants would have made things significantly easier. Of course, if Azhani’s current living conditions were any indication of what would have happened had she had such a convenience, she wouldn’t have known what to do with extra pants. The first thing she saw on returning to her room, after all, was a variety of pieces of what few outfits she had strewn about the room essentially at random. The room had a dresser in it as a matter of course but considering she’d never had any reason to use one before, she’d just end up forgetting anything she left there and be right back at square one. Naturally, Azhani’s traditional rags joined the mess, ending up thrown in the general direction of the bed while the Khajiit seated herself on a stool facing a little mirror on the wall. While ostensibly there to get her hair in order, she couldn’t help but bring a hand to her chest, pushing up on her breasts one at a time and frowning at her reflection. Sure, Azhani had never needed to use support or anything, but they weren’t really that small. That’s what she’d keep telling herself anyways, even through the years where there were far more important things to worry about. Even so, for all her attempts to convince herself she didn’t care, it still kinda hurt to have someone joke about them. A joke in bad taste wasn’t about to kill her good mood, though. She had a job and a place to live, after all. And as she got up from the stool with her hair properly tied up, she found several pieces of a simple outfit she wouldn’t even have if not for Keerava’s generosity. With a very lenient definition of “generosity”, anyways, considering Keerava probably wouldn’t have even offered the arrangement if not for the fact that it was apparently very easy for her to get her kicks out of her Khajiiti tenant’s… misadventures, but it was better than nothing. Though, Azhani did feel a little strange knowing that her situation was, albeit indirectly, being used for someone else’s sexual pleasure again. At least she wasn’t expected to do anything in that regard anymore. And, really, she was barely expected to do anything to cover the actual business arrangement. Keerava and Talen normally covered all the necessary work well enough on their own, and even though they were away, Azhani would no doubt still be doing very little with the help of a legendary super-human like Bjorn, injured though he was. Assuming, of course, he didn’t decide to sit on the sidelines and let Azhani work constantly all day so that he could be entertained just the same as Keerava would be. With any luck he’d be smart enough to know better than to try that on someone with claws. A wet cat is a very dangerous thing indeed. He wouldn’t be getting that opportunity, unfortunately. Not today, anyways. After throwing on whatever it was she’d picked up off the floor, Azhani went back downstairs and up to the bar, where the Dragonborn was clearing dishes and wiping down counters. All with one arm, even, as the other was still occupied by the staff he was leaning into. “Hey,” she called out to him. “Would you be alright alone today?” Bjorn turned to look at her and shrugged. “Eh. Probably won’t be that hard, doesn’t seem like there’ll be much noise.” He put his staff in front of himself and leaned forward onto it, one foot slightly off the ground to make up for it. “Why, going somewhere?” “Just around town. Probably won’t get a chance when Keerava gets back.” “Yeah somehow I can’t imagine she’d want to let you out of her sight.” The Dragonborn coughed then went on. “Anyways, you’re not planning on going outside of town or anything, are you? Really shouldn’t do that without, like, a knife or something.” “No, wasn’t going to leave town. There some specific reason I shouldn’t or…?” “What, other than the dragons? Just the usual bandits and wild animals. Normally I wouldn’t be too concerned about getting mugged but the Rift, eh… reminds me of Bravil. And you’re pretty much the ideal target for a bandit. A woman, unarmed, with a nice ass, in some shady backwater part of the country is a very easy mark.” Bjorn coughed again, moving his staff back to his side for proper support. “Wait, what was that after unarmed?” “Nothing.” “Uh huh.” Azhani raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the issue further. “Well, no, I’m not going to leave town, but I do have money-“ She tapped the pouch at her side, mostly to assure herself that she hadn’t forgotten her coinpurse again. “-so why not go out and see what people are selling?” Bjorn just nodded along and shrugged. “Yeah, alright, you have fun then. I should be fine here, nobody’s going to try anything when they see who’s in charge today. I might even be able to scare some of them into paying off what they owe.” He chuckled for just a moment, having stopped abruptly and put a hand across his chest. “Ah… They don’t need to know I still can’t Shout just yet.” “Don’t anger the dragon, right?” Azhani twitched her nose as if silently enjoying her own joke. “Eh, anyways, I should be back by sunset. If you scare all the customers away by then and Keerava blames me for it, I’m going to kill you.” “Sure, that sounds fair to me.” The Dragonborn gave a two-fingered salute with his free hand while Azhani just rolled her eyes and headed for the door. “I’ll be sure to only scare Romlyn away.” Azhani’s only response was a little wave as she left, and when the door closed behind her she took a moment to just stand there. She looked out at the little bit of town she could see from in front of the inn, admiring the sun’s early glow reflected in the canals and the lake, and feeling the crisp morning breeze run through her fur. It was going to be a good day. Or, Azhani hoped it would be. That other feeling that was just making itself known, though very faintly, wasn’t a concern. Must have just been the cold. Indeed it was, as the slight twinge had faded away entirely once Azhani stepped into a well-insulated store – a shoemaker’s shop, more specifically, as Skyrim’s ground was decidedly hostile to bare feet, especially sensitive Khajiiti pads. How did she ever get by before? At best she’d have her feet wrapped up in crude bandages for a modicum of protection. That may have worked in the sands and savannahs of Anequina but the rugged terrain of the far north meant she needed something better. There was the light tinkling of quaint little chimes overhead as Azhani entered, and she was immediately greeted by the man behind the counter before she’d even crossed the floor. “Mornin’, miss. What can I do for ya?” He wiped his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder, then crossed his arms. Azhani hesitantly approached the counter, looking back at her own feet and grabbing at the pouch on her belt to feel its weight. “Yeah, uh, this one needs… eh, unusual shoes. What would it take to have a pair made?” The shopkeeper leaned forward slightly and looked down at the floor, where one of Azhani’s feet was idly pawing at the ground. “Well, can’t say I’ve ever worked with someone like you before. Had a few Khajiit in, of course, but they were all… uh, normal. No offense.” He moved on when Azhani just shrugged at him. “Anyways, I’ve got no idea what it’d cost. How high up your leg you gonna need ‘em?” Azhani took a step back and turned slightly to give the shopkeeper a better view of her leg. “Half way to the knee, yes? So, right about here.” Then she bent over and indicated with her hand a space between her knee and her ankle, presumably because a human wouldn’t be able to tell one joint from the other. “Uh huh.” The cobbler stroked his chin for a while. “Hm, I suppose I could have it done in a few days, if you just stick around here for a little while so I can get proper measurements. Or, if it doesn’t get too busy – and it never does, people around here will hold onto their shoes ‘til they turn to dust – I could be done by closing tonight, but you’d have to stay here the whole time, and that’s a good… twelve hours. Probably would be cheaper for both of us that way since I could be more precise with how much stuff I’m using, but it’s up to you if sitting around here all day is worth it.” “Would it be alright if this one had measurements taken now, then she could come back later for all the rest?” “Sure,” was the response as the shopkeeper produced a tape measure and perhaps far more paper than necessary. “It’ll take an hour or two to figure out what in Oblivion I’m supposed to be doing anyways. Just, uh, sit down right over there-“ He gestured to a bench off to the side, and followed Azhani over to it as the Khajiit took a seat. Azhani shuffled around a bit while the shopkeeper did his work – he was being very professional, sure, but she was glad he wouldn’t be doing anything higher up all the same. Even given the limited area he was working with, though, she was still uncomfortable. She never let anyone touch her legs – only her sister, and only to wrap them for long journeys. Considering this man was most certainly not a Khajiiti lady, Azhani really would have preferred to not be in such a situation. It was a necessary evil. Thus she sat there in silence, and after far too many awkward minutes, she was able to get up and leave. She gave a curt nod to the shopkeeper, who said something in response that Azhani didn’t hear in her hurry to go do something else. It was still cold when Azhani stepped outside again, though the sun had risen to a more respectable height. The Khajiit looked around for a moment, bringing her arms and legs closer together for a little bit of warmth, and eventually decided on heading in the general direction of the important-looking buildings over by the city wall. There weren’t very many people out just yet, but Azhani still made sure to weave her way around the few that were in the streets, still using her old techniques for passing unnoticed through a crowd. Of course, given there was hardly a crowd at all to begin with, Azhani just ended up disorienting herself. She took a moment to figure out what she was looking at. Seemed like some sort of temple, or at the very least some incredibly rich person’s massive house. What a silly idea. Nobody in Riften could afford something like that. Except maybe the thieves, but Azhani knew from experience they wouldn’t flaunt their wealth like that. Plus there were banners outside that had what was probably a religious symbol on them, and these people didn’t exactly seem like they’d be that fanatical. Azhani shrugged to herself and headed towards the temple – no doubt she could learn something, and she’d never actually been inside a temple dedicated to the proper Imperial Divines before. Sure, there had been plenty of Khajiiti temples with shrines to similar gods in her youth, but they were always overshadowed by the Moons. Humans didn’t seem to be all that big on ritual either, she realized upon entering, as there didn’t seem to be much of note inside the temple other than a massive statue to some god and a lot of benches. She could remember the occasional sermon by the Moon Priests, but nothing was ever so formal as this – seemed like the entire purpose of these temples was to come in, sit down, and listen to someone talk for a few hours. Silly human traditions. Sad, too, because Azhani knew that humans would get utterly wasted on moon sugar, so they’d never get to experience its proper spiritual – and delicious – effects. She was shaken from her thoughts by a voice – a Redguard in simple robes was talking to her. “Help you with anything?” “Uh, yeah, actually. Two things. First, is there any kind of magic you could teach someone?” “You want to learn magic?” The priest gave her a weird look for a second. “Uh, well, I couldn’t tell you any better than the absolute basics. And aren’t you the Dragonborn’s friend? He’s probably your best bet for miles.” “Yeah, that’s what this one thought.” Azhani shook her head. “And, uh, you can explain the gods here, yes?” “Of course, that’s my job.” The priest turned to sit on one of the benches, no doubt preparing some immense speech. “Well, first off I don’t know much about Nordic tradition – I mostly know the Imperial pantheon. ‘Course, they’ve still got the Eight up here. Or, I guess pretty soon it’ll be the Nine again won’t it?” The priest was thinking with his hands, pointing in various directions at absolutely nothing. “Anyways, everyone’s got the same basic Eight, I’m sure you know them under slightly different names.” He threw up his hands for a bit. “Now, I’m not going to pretend I know anything about how religion in Elsweyr works so I won’t even try to tell you how your names for gods translate to the Imperial names, but they’re the same gods in the end. Discounting, of course, all the extra ones beyond the Eight that your people have.” The priest started stroking his chin, ignoring Azhani’s glare – he was right to assume she was raised on the old pantheon of course, but that was still mildly racist. Plenty of Khajiit were being brought up on Auri-El instead of Alkosh, after all. “Anyways, the Nords have the Eight, and Talos, then… well, there’s Alduin, as much as I’m sure we’d all prefer that he weren’t a god. Then there’s Shor. I’m not exactly sure what he is, but I think he’s supposed to be some heroic warrior-god who fought for humanity. Far as I know they say he’s dead now.” Azhani shuffled around a little bit. She recognized the concept of a dead god – a Missing God back home – but she was always taught that he was an evil trickster. “There are Tsun and Stuhn, but I think they’re just versions of some of the Eight. Then there’s also Herma-Mora and Orkey. Orkey’s a villain like Alduin, I think. You’d have to ask someone more knowledgeable about him. I know Herma-Mora is just the Daedra Lord, I’m sure you’ve at least heard of him.” “Is that it? What about Azurah, or Y’ffer?” The priest raised an eyebrow at Azhani. “I don’t know anything about Y’ffer. I would assume it’s the same thing as Y’ffre, like the wood elves have. Empire doesn’t have a version of him, I don’t think. And, well, Azura’s a Daedra.” He crossed his arms. “Elsewhere in th- er, in the Empire, Daedra worship is… eh, it’s around, but to say it’s frowned upon is a bit of an understatement.” Then he hastily added, “Not that anyone would judge you for it, of course, as long as you keep everything clean. Uh, Azura’s normally considered one of the more acceptable ones anyways.” Azhani crossed her arms. “Uh huh. Oh, and, uh, one more thing. Where could this one get something to help keep track of what month it is?” “I suppose any bookstore would sell you a calendar.” The priest shrugged. “Honestly, I’m kind of surprised that wasn’t obvious. But then, plenty of people think star charts are obvious.” “Our ‘months’ go by what phase the moons are in.” This guy was either incredibly socially inept or a closeted racist – sure he’d tried to save face, but still. Azhani wouldn’t have been surprised if it were the latter, considering Skyrim’s general isolation from anything not human. “We don’t really have names for any of those time periods beyond just describing what the moons look like.” “Fair enough. If that’s all, I’m going to get back to work. You’re more than welcome to come back if you like, even if it’s just to be somewhere quiet for a while.” He stood up and waved, and Azhani gave an awkward little wave in return as she left. A while later, perhaps a couple of hours, Azhani found herself wandering back to the shoe store. She’d found a place selling calendars and picked one up, but almost immediately regretted making the purchase once she realized not knowing what month or day it even was to begin with meant the whole thing was useless. Perhaps she’d have to ask Bjorn about it, since it would be useful being able to keep track of time like a human. It’d also help if she could track the passage of hours in a way that didn’t rely on her fluid intake – she’d be fine for a while yet, since she’d only just dealt with her annoying internal clock by finding a quiet place behind the temple, but she’d feel a lot better if her body sending warning signals wasn’t the only way to know that six hours had passed. At least for right now it was a good enough system – she’d be in one place for who-knows-how-long, probably expected to either not leave or not go far, so it was good that she’d be going into it fresh. In any case, upon entering the store she went silently to the same bench she’d been seated at that morning. The shopkeeper took notice soon enough and approached with what was perhaps far too much leather and a good deal of peculiar tools – doubtless everyday objects to him, but aside from a few needles, knives, and shears, Azhani recognized nothing. Measuring tools, perhaps. The shopkeeper tried to engage in conversation while he worked, but Azhani either ignored him or gave the absolute minimum responses, so he eventually stopped talking. It was weird enough having someone working with her feet, she really didn’t need them to talk to her too. She was too tired for a conversation anyways. She couldn’t tell if that was because she’d been out since morning, or because she still hadn’t gotten used to getting proper amounts of sleep and her body was trying to force her to make up for ten restless years. Perhaps both. It didn’t really matter why anyways. As uncomfortable as the situation was, Azhani still found herself drifting off to the sounds of shears working leather, only to be suddenly awoken by something poking her shoulder. It felt like no time had passed at all, but her slurred response and the lack of other noise proved it had been a few hours. «Uhrrr… Nari? What are you doing…?» She couldn’t even remember any dreams, but clearly she had been pulled out of one, and it took her a while to readjust to the real world. And then she almost jumped off the bench before remembering where she was and why. Then she was awake enough to register that she wasn’t alone, and she was pretty sure she’d just said something. Something this man would have heard. “You, uh, you heard that didn’t you?” The shopkeeper nodded, having returned behind his counter after presumably prodding Azhani to awaken her. “Yeah, you’ve been talking in your sleep for a few hours. It all just kinda sounded like cat noises to me though. No offense.” He looked over at Azhani only briefly, now intently focused on his work, trying and failing to get a sole properly nailed to the shoes he’d made. “Didn’t really want to wake you anyways, but I’m almost done here…” He managed to get one of the shoes at the perfect angle and everything fell into place, but he still had to figure out the puzzle of the other one. “And, y’know, I’d quite like to get paid.” Azhani rolled her eyes and stretched. “Mmm. Of course you would. How much?” She stood up and headed for the counter, a hand reaching for the pouch on her belt, though her weight having shifted meant something deep within her body was calling out to her. As if she needed any more evidence that she’d been there for several hours already. “Let’s say… sixty-five, for the pair?” The shopkeeper seemed to be bending in impossible directions to get the second shoe to assemble properly. “Sixty-five, you say?” Azhani looked through her coinpurse for a little while, subtly pressing her legs together, then just dropped the entire purse onto the counter. “This one has fifty.” “Eh, fifty works too.” There was a shrug from behind the counter as the last shoe come together, then the pair was dropped onto the counter next to Azhani’s coinpurse. “There. If those don’t fit, then someone came in and used magic on them, because I made them perfect. Or, as close to as I can get for a first time with that shape.” Azhani grabbed her new shoes from the counter and held them out in front of her. They looked almost like those weird high-heeled contraptions she’d seen on the rich elves and nobles in the Imperial City. “Pompous bitch” was the best way she was able to describe that sort of person in her youth and as far as she was concerned it was still the best way to describe what her shoes reminded her of. It was a reasonable comparison, of course. Seemed like the point of those monstrosities was to have a woman walk mainly on her toes and have the rest of her foot supported by a spike. Azhani always thought it was humorous that they’d want to emulate her walk, couldn’t even do that right, then would go on for hours about how the Khajiiti beggar in the corner had done everything in life wrong. Now here was Azhani with shoes made specifically for someone who already did walk on her toes. And these were simple and functional, not some ostentatious mess built purely for the sake of whatever the current year’s Imperial fashion was to be. No, these shoes merely had simple laces up the sides, steel caps over the toes, and were made of good thick leather. They’d do exactly what she needed them to. They fit well enough, too, which was to be expected of something that necessitated sitting around for who-knows-how-long. Of course, a high-quality product was not the only result of that time spent, and bending down to put them on made sure Azhani was well aware of that. She gave a little nod to the shopkeeper before leaving, taking a moment to look around right outside the shop’s door. It was quite a bit warmer than it had been earlier, and it seemed like it’d be sunset soon – still bright and warm, but people filled the streets and their shadows were getting longer. Very good for Azhani, as there were still some places she’d been meaning to see and she had every intention of returning to the inn by sunset as promised. That, and she had to deal with her own personal problems, and if she went back to the inn to do that she wouldn’t want to leave again. Azhani’s current plan, then, consisted of wandering around in the general direction of the places she’d been meaning to visit and keeping an eye out for quiet, isolated alleys or some other such place. That was a bit of a skill of hers, as much as she’d rather not call it one. Years living on the streets had taught her how to identify from miles away quiet places wherein she could do her business in peace. As it turned out, those skills weren’t very applicable in Riften. Now that people were actually out doing things, there was a considerable lack of quiet space in town. It seemed as if the back alleys in Riften were all designed for criminal undertakings – which, come to think of it, wouldn’t be very surprising for the home of the Thieves Guild. On that note, perhaps the original idea wasn’t exactly ideal either. The flaws in a plan that consisted of hiding out in a confined space with one exit while being very much exposed were quite obvious. No, perhaps the best option would be to leave town. Only a little bit, enough to find some bush or something. And so she found her feet carrying her to the nearest exit, the south gate. Every so often she’d look over her shoulder, the sound of her own footsteps on the cobbled roads so completely foreign that she was sure someone was following her. That wouldn’t have been all that much of a problem if not for the fact that the possibility of being followed – even if she’d repeatedly confirmed that was not actually the case – would very much throw off her plans. And, if she was honest with herself, it was making her condition worse, her need increasing by mere virtue of the possibility that she would be denied. It would be alright if she could just get out of town, though, she’d keep telling herself. That was all she needed to do. Didn’t need to go far. She could probably even find a nice spot against the city wall if she really wanted to. The closer she got to the city gate, though, the more Azhani thought the world had found yet another way to make one of her plans go completely wrong. The guards looked to be acting a little strange from a distance, but at first she’d just figured they’d been standing there all day. In their shaking she saw a bit of herself. Alas, it wouldn’t be that simple. It couldn’t be, because the world seemed to love messing with Azhani. It turned out the guards each had a hand on their swords, and were looking at each other and back out down the road. One of them jumped when Azhani came up from behind, but then immediately resumed looking at whatever had frightened them so. Azhani needed only look around the guard to see what the problem was. A little way down the road, there was what seemed to be a large snake stretched out, twitching slightly ever so often. Looking just to the right, towards the river, revealed that it was actually the tail of something much worse. Oh, sure, the dragon wasn’t doing anything – seemed to just be drinking – and it wasn’t all that large, for a dragon, but it was still there. Right next to a town. It had to have some reason to have been there specifically, and whatever that reason was it couldn’t be good. They were only a minimal concern, but it wasn’t good for Azhani’s pants either. The little warm patch that had just appeared didn’t bode well, especially since both of Azhani’s plans were now out the window, and there was little chance she’d be able to get back to the inn on time – not that she’d want to show up there in her present state anyways. No doubt the Dragonborn would have devised some way to complicate things for her. No, that wasn’t an option. But perhaps she still had a chance of sneaking out of town and into the woods, where hopefully the dragon wouldn’t see her? Well, the dragon itself defeated that plan fairly quickly. Still it wasn’t doing much, all it had done was stretch its wings and look over to the city gate, but even so, it knew Azhani was there, and it meant there was no way for her to leave town now. So she did the only thing she knew she could do and ran off, plowing through more than a few people who had gathered to see what was happening. Azhani wasn’t sure where she was going, but she now had the strangest feeling that whatever could happen to her inside the city walls was much better than what the dragon could do. She found herself rounding a corner into the one alley she’d seen that didn’t have anyone in it, and pressed her back against one of the walls. The warmth had replenished itself and spread, and it seemed to only be getting warmer. Naturally, that just sent Azhani into even more of a panic, and she started trying to claw her way out of the belt she’d been wearing while the wall she was leaning on grew darker. She eventually managed to get it undone, but by then it was too late for her and she slid down to the ground. The only effort on her part was to move her legs to make sure her new shoes would be spared from the flood she’d surrendered herself to. It was actually a bit of a disappointing flood, especially considering Azhani now just wanted it to be over as soon as possible – she was still in panic mode, heart racing and breathing fast and shallow, so the best she could do was a weak, slow stream that warmed her own rear more than it stained the ground. Azhani could only sit there for the several minutes it would take to finish, occasionally pawing at herself as if she still had some hope of stopping. Only a trickle made its way through the fabric of her pants and out onto the street, so the puddle was mediocre and nowhere near a threat to her shoes, so her legs came closer to the rest of her body until she could grab at her knees. Her head was tipped upwards, resting against the wall and watching the light fade from the sky. Only now did she realize what had been happening earlier and why the wall was warmer than anything outside in Skyrim had any right to be, but there wasn’t anything to be done about that anymore. When she finally finished and stood up, her pants nearly pulled themselves off with the weight of her waters, but she kept a hold on them and was subjected to another minute of waiting for them to stop dripping. That managed to create streams down her legs, finally allowing her to experience a sensation she never imagined she’d be able to experience nor did she ever want to. And these were brand-new shoes, too. Eventually Azhani decided she’d been dripping long enough to be able to get moving, so she headed immediately for the inn – sure, she’d had plans, but there was no way she was going to get to them now. She walked as quickly as she could while also being careful enough to not get too much of the sensation of urine against her feet. As it turned out, that wasn’t actually all that quick, so Azhani felt another wave of relief as she pressed up against the inn door, finally home and just working herself up to actually getting inside. The inn was about as empty as it was in the morning, except for a few regulars at the bar who didn’t acknowledge Azhani’s presence when she did get herself inside. Bjorn did give her a look, though, and he opened his mouth to make some comment, but was quickly silenced by a hiss as Azhani went upstairs.
  7. Sake

    Flowing Creek

    This is probably the only time I'm ever actually going to vote in accordance with what everyone else wants, but let's go with 2. It just seems like the most logical choice. Something's going to seem very wrong if we try to hide her, and a kitchen is a regular place for regular people to do regular things.
  8. Sake

    Flowing Creek

    3, 2, 4. I'm inclined to think something more interesting will happen if we do subtle things like this to resist rather than just going along with it. I mean, the end goal is to escape anyways so any little thing we can do to stick it to them is just a nice bonus.
  9. Sake

    Flowing Creek

    Yes, but you see, logically option 2 will have the same outcome as option 3, but there's a little bit of extra hope for Sydney if we go by option 2. Therefore, 2 is the cruelest choice and is also a great way to see just how absolute these orders are.
  10. Sake

    Flowing Creek

    I feel like people are voting for 3 thinking it's the cruel option, but are overlooking the massive potential of option 2. Therefore I'm voting for 2.
  11. Sake

    Female OmoCom's General Omo Artwork

    The only people who know what servers you're in are people who are already in the same servers. So, if you're in 10 different servers and there's someone else who's in 5 of those, you'll be able to see that you share those 5 servers but nothing else.
  12. Sake

    Art

    It's actually the watermark of an ancient version of this site. Literally just taken directly from the gallery here.
  13. Sake

    Flowing Creek

    I'm gonna jump in and vote for 2 just for the tie break. And then 3 as well just because.
  14. Sake

    Cola Crusade

    Go back to the first floor, clearly there's no point trying to argue with a locked door.
  15. Under any other circumstances, being summoned to stand before the Great Lord of Sunlight would have been the highest possible honor. Of course, in light of the Eldest’s treason, those that served him were now potential traitors as well, and as one of the disgraced war god’s knights happened to also be the captain of the Four Knights, all four were to be in attendance. Ciaran could understand – after all, if the leader of the Four was a traitor, the Lord had good reason to believe that the other three would follow along. Quite frankly, Ciaran was surprised that she wasn’t the main suspect, or indeed the target of any suspicion at all, considering her status as the foremost among the Lord’s assassins and spies. Then again, perhaps that was exactly why she wasn’t seriously considered a threat; regardless, she couldn’t envy the Dragonslayer his present condition. “I swear I knew nothing, my Lord,” Ornstein said, kneeling. His helm and spear lay in front of him at the Lord’s feet. “His betrayal was as shocking to me as it was to you.” Being in the Great Lord’s terrifying presence was one thing; seeing the golden lion-knight, one of the most faithful and honorable knights of the Sun, brought to his knees to beg for mercy was almost nightmarish. “Thou wouldst have me believe that?” The Lord looked down on His knight from his throne, His expression unreadable and body almost motionless. “Thou wert his most faithful servant, and still he told thee nothing?” “Yes, my Lord. My loyalty to him only extended so far as to best serve you, and I suspect he knew that.” The Dragonslayer was unusually hesitant. Perhaps the others would see it as his nerves getting the better of him, as one would expect given the circumstances. No doubt all three of them were unsettled by this, Ciaran especially. She hoped that either her deductions were wrong or that the Lord would assume that any strange behavior by his Knights could be attributed to the stress of the situation. If Ciaran’s skills were still reliable – and right now she very much wished for them not to be – Ornstein was right to be afraid, though perhaps he’d never have acted on his desires. Still, some deep part of him was yet loyal to the exiled king, and Ornstein was very seriously considering listening to it. Of course this would be an uncomfortable situation. She really didn’t want to be around to see what would happen when the Lord saw the truth. There was another reason for Ciaran’s present anxiety, though, for she had been en route to deal with more personal matters when she’d received her summons, but that was a drop in the ocean compared to what potentially awaited the Four. Even so, if they were going to be executed as traitors, Ciaran hoped she’d at least be allowed to deal with that before being put to the hammer, to retain at least some dignity. The Lord sat still for a while, and the room was silent save for Gough’s breathing. Then the Lord rose and said, “Very well. I shall reaffirm thy station among my Knights. In return, thou shalt prove thy loyalty again.” He raised his left arm and snapped His fingers, and within seconds a silver knight was at His side, presenting His greatsword. The Lord pulled the sword from its housing, and taking it in two hands He touched the flat of the blade to each of Ornstein’s shoulders before returning the sword to the knight that had presented it. “Thine orders come now from the Princess. Thy station is to be shared with… the cannibal…” There was a hint of disgust to His voice for a moment. “And together thou shalt serve and protect the Princess and the Cathedral. Thou shalt not leave Anor Londo without my order to do so. Go now.” “At once, thank you my Lord.” Ornstein stood, collecting his helmet and spear, and backed away from the Lord while bent into a deep bow. When he came to be in line with the other Knights, he put his helm back over his head, straightened out, and turned to leave. The first to speak when he had gone was Artorias. “The cannibal, my Lord?” “If Smough cannot break him then truly his loyalty lies with me.” The Lord turned to Ciaran while Artorias bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Ciaran. Thou art to follow him, ensure that he does as ordered. Do not be seen. Gough and Artorias, I shall summon thee again if I have need of thee. Go now, Ciaran.” “Of course, my Lord.” Ciaran bowed deeply while the other two gave a salute and rushed off. By the time she’d turned to leave, Artorias was already at the steps leading down into the Cathedral’s main room, and she hurried to catch up with him. “So,” she said, popping up from behind him. “Where are you off to?” Artorias turned his head ever so slightly to look at Ciaran, presumably giving a bit of a sideways glance and a suspicious glare – hard to tell under his helmet. “I was headed to the blacksmith, but don’t you have work to do?” “Oh, well, I was actually going to go that way, so we can walk over there together.” Ciaran had developed a bit of a spring-step while speaking. “It’s… just down the hall…” They passed a set of Sentinels, and Artorias returned the salute they gave. And, indeed, the two were nearly at the first set of stairs that would lead to the Giant Blacksmith’s workshop, but Ciaran didn’t seem the least bit discouraged. “Yeah, I know, but wouldn’t it be nice to have a bit of company for a little bit?” “I guess…” Ciaran glanced at Artorias, her expression hidden behind her porcelain mask. “What are you having the blacksmith do anyways,” she chirped. “All your stuff is in good condition.” Artorias put a hand on the sword at his hip and returned a salute from a passing silver knight. “Yes, it is, but I’m going to have him make me a shield. A proper magical one that can still protect someone even if they’re not actually carrying it.” “Sounds pretty complicated.” Ciaran had started fiddling with the hair on the side of her mask. Not quite the same as if it were her real hair, but it would do. “It has to be. It’s not just myself I need it to protect. But I trust the giant’s skills. He’s even earned our Lord’s trust, so I have no doubt he’s capable.” The rhythmic clanking of the Giant Blacksmith’s wooden hammer against his anvil could now be heard, and it grew louder as Artorias spoke and the two descended towards the workshop. “Should you really be going this way? Probably would have been better to just follow him out the front door.” “What do you mean?” The two looked at each other for a moment, and Ciaran suddenly realized what it was she was supposed to be doing. It was a good thing her mask hid her flushed face. “Oh! Oh, right, no, this is fine. He’s… he’s not going to sneak away anywhere just yet, I’m sure. I’ve, uh, got to keep a good distance anyways.” “Riiiiiight…” As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Artorias gave a little wave to the blacksmith while he spoke. “Well, here we are. Good hunting.” He made a gesture that was almost a hybrid between a salute and a wave, then turned to the blacksmith who greeted him the same way he greeted everyone else. “Forge, I can. Strong, I am.” “Oh, don’t I know it. Listen…” Ciaran cut him off when she suddenly turned around at the door and called out to him, carefully walking backwards to get properly outside. “Oh, I’ll probably need to check on the painting too, so I guess I’ll see you later.” She gave a wave before she disappeared. “Uh, sure, I guess.” Artorias shrugged, at this point no longer talking to anyone at all. Ciaran sighed as she walked the streets of Anor Londo. It hadn’t taken very long to find Ornstein, so it was just a matter of watching him and staying out of sight. She was looking for any opportunities to get on top of a building, so she could see and hide better. Not the easiest of tasks considering her divided attention. First, there was her job. She would be in quite a lot of possibly-explosive lightning-based trouble if Ornstein really did try to pull something and she wasn’t there to see it and report back to Lord Gwyn. Maybe even worse if she was there but wasn’t paying enough attention. Then there was Artorias. Ciaran wasn’t stupid. She could tell Artorias wasn’t responding to any of her advances. He barely even seemed to know she existed. And yet, she couldn’t help but think that some day she’d win him over, that one day he’d be hers alone. She knew perfectly well the odds of that happening were just as good as the chance that the Dark he hunted would take him first, and yet here she was chasing after him like a child. It’d never work, so why was she trying so hard? As if that weren’t enough, that personal matter of hers from earlier had returned in force once she’d calmed down from the audience with the Lord and almost having been briefly alone with Artorias. Keeping in constant motion was helpful, but considering Ciaran had already been preparing to deal with this issue hours ago, there wasn’t much time left until she didn’t have a say in the matter anymore. For now, though, she was still in control. Very fortunate, as she still had a job to do and Ornstein was passing by the stables, which Ciaran would have to go through to stay out of sight. Fortunately, they were mostly empty. Except for… Bark. Bark. The little grey wolf pup Artorias had brought back from the forests around Oolacile; the inspiration for his Wolf Ring. Her name was Sif, she was Artorias’s best friend, and as far as Ciaran was concerned she was absolutely adorable – or would be at literally any other time. As it was right now, Ciaran had to maneuver herself over a wall to hide from Ornstein, who almost certainly would have come to investigate the barking. Usually such a maneuver wouldn’t have been a problem, but her present condition made her a good deal slower. Sif was kept in a separate enclosure, large enough for her to grow into a proper great-wolf, so there was no doubt Ornstein knew exactly where the sound was coming from. Indeed, just as soon as Ciaran had gotten herself out of sight she could hear the clattering of the golden armor approaching, then stopping, presumably at Sif’s enclosure to see if the wolf had noticed anything out of place. Ciaran of course knew that she was the one to set Sif off in the first place, but Ornstein was left to try to find some reason the wolf would have been startled. So he looked, or at least Ciaran could assume that was what he was doing – she could only hear his armor rattle as he moved, never going far. Perhaps some other time Ciaran would have been more than patient with something like this, but right now she was praying for Ornstein to move on so they could both be done. The pressure was growing while Ciaran was just sitting there doing nothing, and if she couldn’t at the very least move along soon… something would happen that she preferred not to think about. Finally, after what must have been hours – but of course was hardly even five minutes – the Dragonslayer addressed the wolf. “Are you looking for your master? He’s not here now, but I’m sure he’ll come visit you soon.” Sif just barked at him in response, and he must have considered that to be acceptable, for the sounds of his armor soon faded away. Ciaran pulled herself up to look over the wall, with far more effort than it should have taken, then worked her way over and dropped onto the ground on the other side, receiving another greeting from Sif as she landed. That little bit of sudden warmth she was feeling had absolutely nothing to do with any of that and would go away if she just ignored it. Not that she had time to deal with that even if it had been something – truly, ignoring it was the only option. She had to hurry to make sure Ornstein wouldn’t get out of sight. He was approaching a path down to the lower city, and now there was finally going to be an opportunity to get above him, if only Ciaran could climb up one of the many buildings that made up the residential center of the holy city. All the better that the Executioner worked in the slums, where the spaces between buildings were just barely large enough for a silver knight to slip through. If this were one of the more upscale places out towards Duke Seath’s library, sure the houses would be larger, but they’d be so far apart that Ciaran would have to climb down and back up every time she got to the edge. Right now, just getting onto a roof once would be a problem. Ciaran was hanging back out of sight and, save for the occasional civilian, the streets were empty, so she had some time mostly alone to prepare herself for the task of scaling the side of a house. Mentally more than physically – things were under control for now and would remain so, if only Ciaran could focus on guaranteeing it. She had to act quickly, though, as narrow roads and sharp turns into innumerable alleys and side streets meant she could lose track of Ornstein in an instant. So, with a deep breath, Ciaran slipped into the nearest alleyway and got to work climbing up the house wall in front of her, grabbing at windows and using the Tracers to get a grip in places where the masonry was cracked. It was a good deal slower than normal, as Ciaran was trying to maintain the delicate balance she’d established in her lower half, and if anything were to happen to disturb that balance… she didn’t really want to think of what that meant. Fortunately, Ciaran was able to maintain focus and control long enough to get up onto the roof, and even more fortunately, she could see both Ornstein and the executioner’s block from there – she’d still have to jump across to another couple of houses on the way, but so long as Ornstein planned to do as he was told, there wouldn’t be any issues. He’d slowed down considerably, though, and stopped just before he rounded the last corner. He stood there, looking around at whatever there was to see, adjusting bits of his armor and inspecting his spear. Ciaran loomed overhead, just out of sight, both hoping the Dragonslayer would move on, so she could get back to personal business, and wishing he wouldn’t, so she didn’t have to get so close to the Executioner. After idling long enough to seem suspicious, though, Ornstein did head down the proper road, and Ciaran followed above and slightly ahead of him, hopping over gaps between houses to end up directly above Smough. There was a prisoner already on the block, so her focus was on Ornstein while he approached, putting up a hand to block his view and turning his head to the side as a massive cracking noise and guttural laugh rang out in the alley. Only Smough was left standing when Ciaran and Ornstein both looked again. Neither of them dared look directly at what had happened to the prisoner, though the Executioner’s reputation and the size of that hammer were more than enough to guess. The lion-knight cautiously stepped forward and opened the maw of his helm that served as a visor, and Ciaran dropped into a low crouch to hear what he was to say. There was a protest from somewhere deep within her body, but she willed herself to ignore it, just for a little while. “New orders for you,” he said, “From, eh, from Lord Gwyn.” “What? Why would He do that?” Smough’s voice was muffled and distorted by his grotesque helmet. “You’re, uh… you’re, you’re more than welcome to… to ask Him yourself when you see Him.” Ornstein tugged on the plume at the back of his helmet and looked off somewhere just beyond Smough – in Ciaran’s general direction, though she was sure she was hidden. “But… best not to bother Him with questions like that.” “Right.” Smough let his hammer down at his left side, grabbing the handle to keep it upright. “Well, what is it?” “I was sent to tell you,” Ornstein leaned his spear towards Smough as if to point at him. “That, uh, you, and me too actually, we’re to speak to Princess Gwynevere. We’re in her service now.” Ciaran shifted around as her body continued to disagree with her choice of position – and she tried her best to stay silent as she felt a most unwelcome warmth in her smallclothes. “Uh, alright. Hey, if I’m working with you now does that mean there are Five Knights?” Ornstein closed his visor again and briefly looked up at Ciaran’s roof, this time quite explicitly. Surely he couldn’t have heard her fighting against her own body. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s never going to happen. I mean, you eat people’s bones. I don’t think that’s the kind of person the Lord wants representing Him. Lord Nito, maybe, or even Lady Izalith if She’s in the right mood, but not Lord Gwyn.” “Fair enough, yeah.” The two trailed off into some sort of conversation, though Ciaran had stopped paying attention. Still in her squatting position that her body hated her for, she had both hands vigorously rubbing her thighs, drifting ever closer to grabbing at herself without ever quite getting there. The inside of her mask was utterly saturated with her sweat and the warmth below grew in little intermittent bursts until she was practically sitting in a puddle within her own clothes. She was out of options and out of time. She’d done as she’d been commanded, and it seemed like Ornstein and Smough were just going to sit around making friends with each other. She’d earned a minute to herself. Thus, Ciaran backed away from the edge of the building, stood up and immediately ran back to the house she’d climbed up in the first place, the force from jumping the gaps between buildings causing a little more liquid to join the party. Once she was fairly sure she’d reached the right house, or at least was far enough away, she fumbled with getting the Gold Tracer off her belt, nearly dropping it, and dug it into the wall as she jumped off. Thanks to whatever magic the Giant could work into weapons, that knife was far stronger than it had any right to be, so Ciaran could simply slide down the wall of the house and drop into a quiet alley. And thanks to her small stature compared to the other Knights, she didn’t have to worry too much about being seen, though she was right next to the open road. Not that any of that was important. Ciaran could think of nothing else as she tore down her pants, a light but steady stream already working its way to the ground, which became a full-force torrent as soon as Ciaran had lowered herself into the usual position. The pale golden stones below her immediately became drenched in a fresh coating of a much deeper gold, and even the opposite wall of the alley was close enough to receive a generous spray. Alas, it didn’t last long. Before Ciaran was even halfway done, she could hear heavy footsteps coming from behind her, out on the road. If they were loud enough to be heard over her own cascade, that meant only one thing. With every grain of strength left in her body, Ciaran forced herself to stop, hastily redressed, and crossed her arms as she willed a disguise spell upon herself. Not a moment later did Ornstein pass by, Smough at his side. They were engaged in some sort of conversation that Ciaran truly did not care one bit about, until Ornstein, who was the nearer of the two to Ciaran’s alley, stopped abruptly and looked down. He lifted his right foot, and a little bit of the Blade’s waters dripped from the heel of his boot. “Eugh.” Ornstein shook his foot and took several steps to his left to avoid the still-expanding puddle that had spilled out onto the street, then the two carried on walking. “How do you live down here with these creatures and their filth?” Smough’s response was something about plenty of opportunities for him, but Ciaran only listened for when their footsteps had faded away enough for her to be considered out of earshot. As soon as she was sure, she dispelled her disguise and instantly fell forward, lying on her hands and knees in a pool of her own making. There was hardly even time to breathe before the flood she had so rudely interrupted started again, this time filtering through Ciaran’s clothes before hitting the ground with even more force than earlier. With no real options available, Ciaran moaned as she let herself fall even lower, head kept off the ground only by the fact that her forearms were in the way. Her chest and arms were soaked almost immediately, to the point where she could feel her waters on her skin. And yet she didn’t really care. She was bent over as if she were a dog in heat presenting herself, and was panting like one too, and still she didn’t care. Only the relief mattered, so Ciaran stayed as she was, reveling in the feeling of being able to remove what must have been more than twelve hours of fluids from her system. Ciaran couldn’t properly gauge how much time passed until the torrent ended, but even when it did she remained in her position for a while, letting whatever was left drip down from her garb and join the ocean she’d made. Once she heard the last drops land, she pushed herself up and fell back against the wall. Ciaran lifted up her mask and for a few moments gasped for breath before calming down again and sliding even farther into the pool below. It took a while to process what had just happened, and when she did finally figure it out she pulled her mask down again to hide her deep blush. Then she looked around and sighed. She was an absolute mess. Soaked through to the skin practically everywhere except her back and head, she had no idea whatsoever how she was meant to clean up. Perhaps she could just borrow a painting guardian uniform. They wouldn’t dare pry into their leader’s personal business, if she could get over there without being seen by anyone else, like a silver knight, or Artorias, or worst of all Lord Gwyn. What nightmare awaited her if her Lord found out one of his prized Four Knights lacked the constitution to perform a simple task without soiling herself like a pathetic Undead? Oh well. She’d deal with that if it came to it. At least she’d made sure nobody could say the streets in Anor Londo were not paved with gold.