Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24141785-20140201133112/@comment-5735114-20140204021243

When Talsakr was paralyzed by the mage, it took him by surprise, and he just managed to dodge a fireball during his fall. He could have sworn a few of his hairs were charred. Due to the shock of the experience, Talsakr started to panic. His inability to move only made him panic more. The spell seemed to be fairly powerful; he found himself deprived of movement while he was carried across the bridge, and despite his lack of movement, his mental panic seemed to be draining him. Soon enough, he passed out.

He then found himself in Markarth, working his third job. This was the first time he'd killed anyone. He felt little remorse, because the ones who made him do it felt little remorse, and his lack of emotion towards the event felt like a dagger every time he thought of it. He was standing over a forge, trying to hammer a nail and being instructed by a grouchy Orc. She was one of the few people Talsakr didn't know personally in Markath, as she always seemed so... detached. He slowly lifted the sword he was making out of the forge and began to hammer it atop the nearby anvil. The Orc had wanted to test his smithing skills, so she had him make a sword from all the extra silver ingots she had.

Once he was finished hammering, Talsakr placed the sword back in the forge and heated it up again. Smithing felt strangely natural to him, unlike that Imperial he saw being scolded before. Looking up for a moment, Talsakr saw a man dressed in odd garb, coated in all different colors and splotches of what appeared to be paint. The reds were the brightest.

"Do you like that sword? I like it. It reminds me of the time my great-great-great grandfather, an Argonian cheese maker, stabbed his cheese sculpture. Said it brought him peace. Or perhaps it was peas. Agh, I can't remember."

This rambling distracted Talsakr, and he missed his hammer swing, shaping the sword misproperly. He groaned, and tried to heat it up again in the forge to see if he could fix it.

"Oh, did I distract you? I'm sorry. It's just that I always like to talk while others toil. I don't know why. It just feels so nice to be able to--"

"Would you shut up!?", Talsakr yelled in frustration, before realized his Orcish mentor was right behind him, talking to the Imperial. She quickly whipped around, apparently not seeing the man, only Talsakr.

"What did you say?", she scorned, almost like a mother.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me..."

"And this sword! You think this will do!?", she cried, pointing at the misshapen metal.

"I swear, it's not my fault! It's his!", Talsakr pleaded, pointing at where he saw the man.

However, where he saw a person, his Orcish instructor saw nothing.

"Are you playing games with me, boy?"

Talsakr was suddenly filled with an unexplainable rage at the Orc's accusation as the man dissipated into a red mist.

"I said, are you playi--"

She was interrupted by a red hot sword stabbing up throught the bottom of her head, eventually reaching her brain. Talsakr slowly took it out and chuckled, as the Orc's blood started flowing.

"Still misshapen!? Still not good enough!?", Talsakr yelled at the corpse, waving his sword in the air.

He awoke with a start, breathing deeply and trying to get a grasp on reality.