Shurely

He sees memories that are not his. He knows what everything is – ground, water, sky – but he does not understand. He knows but has no experience. It would be unsettling, he assumes, if he could clarify the position he is in. But he cannot. Jerking his head left and right, he feels the energy within his core, pulsating to sustain his sleek metal body, and a stream of flexing electricity churns from the glowing filaments connected from the deadminds to his nape. He is alive. Of course, technically speaking, he has no life, but if the cardio-electromagnet were a heart, he is certain he could be classified as alive. The darkness of

     He leaned on his knees, breath slowing, observing the corpse of the phoenix. If it wasn’t for the clouds obscuring the sun, he was sure its feathers would’ve been beautiful. He dropped the blood-stained shield and sighed, straightening up.     “You killed her, you monster.”     He whirled around. “Trepur!” he snarled. “Hypocrite! Calling me a monster when you have-”     The centaur cut in: “Oh I would never pretend I’m not a monster. But what you fail to realise, boy, is that I’m doing this for the greater good. In fact, I’m surprised you’re not helping me.

He blinked, instincts telling him to knock it out and run. A lone lupuscar wasn't a threat, and it certainly wasn't acting agressive. The pack had disappeared; they obviously respected the border. Yet the creature in front merely rolled its shoulders in the imitation of a shrug and flicked a claw at him. "Where are you from?" it said, its voice feral but its enunciation immaculate. "Lots of people come here, but none like you." It eyed his gauntlet. "Especially wearing that shiny metal glove. A gauntlet, yes?" He nodded, silently summoning his familiar that was gradually sifting through the world's mortal barriers. The process drained the l

He sees memories that are not his. He knows what everything is – ground, water, sky – but he does not understand. He knows but has no experience. It would be unsettling, he assumes, if he could clarify the position he is in. But he cannot. Jerking his head left and right, he feels the energy within his core, pulsating to sustain his sleek metal body, and a stream of flexing electricity churns from the glowing filaments connected from the deadminds to his nape. He is alive. Of course, technically speaking, he has no life, but if the cardio-electromagnet were a heart, he is certain he could be classified as alive. The darkness of

The Arch Mage of Winterhold knew the way to Lord Harkon’s castle – naturally. Our rendezvous point with the Companions and Dawnguard was Dragon Bridge; thankfully, we took our time buying supplies and resting for our great confrontation against the vampires. Naomi had fashioned a strange collar and lead for the baby dragon, coaxing it along as it whined for fresh meat. Lorelei was its unexpected feeder, shooting elk in the prairies and having fun teasing the scaled beast with bloody strips of hide. More than once, Louisa and Heather had expressed their disgust, but I had seen Zayanah looking at it intently, watching it grow every

In the same way farmers did not understand politics, children did not understand kineses. They were innocent, endearingly so, but they were the greatest threat of all - a trait shared with farmers as well.  The children were the future, and the farmers fed the land. Where would Temporia be without them? Yet constraint had to be issued, and quotas had to be met. If both were fulfilled, then the land prospered, and there was no reason to worry. Yet society fell back on the government when it came to the Kinetics, relying on their leaders to solve the complexity of kineses and allay their fears. These children would be the next generation of Ki