Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-7262318-20180208203611/@comment-7262318-20180218131346

"Bah, you don't need big, empty manors and a handful of brown-nosing servants to be satisfied," Goriyn said.

"No but being rich sure ain't a burden, either," Baros murmured.

"Oh, rubbish! Being rich, that's a fate worse than death, my friend," Goriyn said, plopping down and grabbing a bottle. "Everyone turns against you. All your enemies double down and want to bust down your doors and take your riches. All your friends want you to die and usurp what you have. All the governments want you to die so they can take your money and use it on some hair-brained war machines," He waved the bottle around. "It's lonely at the mountain-top, friend, but everyone wants to be there..."

"They're Demons, my friends! Demons!" The old man hollered once a crowd had begun to gather. "This place... evil, horrid. Once human, maybe, but corrupted. Mind and body savaged beyond all reason. Dremora, we all thought, but not nearly as competent. Rage, rabidness. From some pit in Oblivion, farther down than any mere Dremora could reach!"

Dunore sighed as the man continued to ramble on. "Please, ignore him. He's not entirely here with us..."

"Oh, I am completely here. But the truth? The truth be buried under this dirt and firewood, by you! You tell them what it is, but nothing of they're nature. They're purpose. Who is to blame then, when the travelers take no heed and come back as a pile of regurgitated bones!" The old man hissed.