The strange words put Freyja at pause, but she soon struggled against her bonds anew as an enraging notion slid into her mind… Regarding either possibility, merely wished to inform you of the depths of the consequences that may be available.” But when paired with frequent pubroom chants of “For Ulric” and “Skyrim for the nords and nords alone”… in the midst of a greater insurgency that has the entire realm on edge… I mean ignorance before the law is no defence… but either you wished this upon yourself or you are really quite stupid, my dear. It isn’t a crime to be needlessly unpleasant to your neighbours, you’re right.
“What? Am I to believe you are to execute me over the hurt feelings of some knife ears? This empire has gone to the dogs.” The imperial moved to the nord’s front, and bid her guards straighten Freyja’s posture. “You’re a terribly unpleasant racist, my dear.” You make plenty assumptions of your fellow neighbours…” Or even the duties and intentions of the empire I serve. But I did not mean merely about my station. Such balanced and scholarly articles from Stormcloak weekly or the Front Ulric. “I am well informed of the cruel injustices magistrates such as you mete out… You make a lot of assumptions, don’t you?” “I have heard enough… why would you stingy imperials waste exotic cruelties on me, when you cannot even pay the farmers for their grain? You have already decided what you wish to do with me.” But what the empire can dish out as its worst… Did they tell you about vaginata dentata?” And with his back I darest not bother him about it further. Needs doing anyway and Sven says its well clogged. “Oh my worst would be to scrub this sty’s latrines from top to gog farmer. But as a magistrate, I’ve come to understand that there are a lot more options…” A brief sense of disconnection and you’re off to the ether to hang out with your similarly post mortem stormcloak buddy buddies. Take you out, put your neck to the stump and old Olaf here with one fell thwap! Its over. See, you may imagine that the death penalty is a simple affair. “As you wish… after all, language is to communicate. A spectrum if you like, though even that word I don’t know if you commoners recognize.” “See from my experience people tend to assume, rather incorrectly, that death is a singular thing.
Gently, her hands slipped from Freyja’s chin, and she moved behind her grim faced guards, resting her slender arms on their shoulders as they stiffened to attention. “Freyja is it? You do know what the penalty is for treason, don’t you?”įreyja’s eyes went wide, but soon narrowed in determination. Sauntering closer, her heeled boots rapping against the floor, her elegantly cut and perfumed short hair bouncing amidst the fur lined edges of her revealing robe, the imperial took the surly nord by the chin. The accused must know for what they stand charged.
“Actually it does- empire does love their formalities. “Bah! It does not matter what I say to you! The nord does not humor the query with a dignified response, electing to spit on the hardwood floor, the heat of her breath and rage steaming up the icy atmosphere. “Do you know why you have been summoned to my… ‘court’? If this… backwater patio could be considered one…” Yet the object of her ire responded with little more than a disinterested sneer, electing to ponder the intricacies of her exotic, henna inscribed fingers, detailed patterns all enraptured around her olive skin… an imperial dragon on her palm. A wild eyed blonde, well build and seasoned despite her icy pale skin, continued to struggle against the bonds put upon her by the grim eyed guards in horned helmets to her side.