+ to get a potential peak into his soul, to see that he was no threat, but a potential friend and ally.

He was someone who understood what she was going through, to a extent.

+ her grip tightened on it when he approached, which, was entirely fair.

"You hahdrim, your mind, is troubled. . .I am willing to be a listening ear, should you wish."

There was no hostility in his tone, but a softness and. . .understanding.

His bright blue optics shined bright, allowing her +

+ arcs of it to zap away the rust as he cleaned the weapon.

". . .You don't seem all too satisfied with cleaning your weapon, lass." An innocent observation, glancing her way.

He could practically feel her conflicting emotions, the way she looked unsatisfied with her weapon, the way +

+ weapon and pulled out another, this one a gilded bronze war axe that seemed to attract the snow.

Small snow crystals grew on the Irkngthand War Axe of Frost's bladed edge and handle.

Small bits of rust dotted the weapons surface, but his hand sparked and crackled with lighting, using small +

+ metal shining brighter against the snow, snowflakes landing on the weapon but almost seeming to burn off.

Steam rose from the blade, small flickers of flame igniting and dancing across the weapon as he looked it over.

He could have attacked her, but he didn't. Instead, he just sheathed the +

+ to reconnect with itself and healing over, not even leaving a scar!

"of course, if it isn't healed right away, it will leave a scar, but it will still be healed."

he said, sheathing his dagger.

+ school of magic, a healing spell to be specific."

he said, allowing the magic to dissipate into thin air.

+ charging at him and sheathing his weapon in favor of magic.

the staff of the dragon priest sent a wave of fire at him, which he responded in kind with frost magic, canceling out the fire.

+ blazing hot blue flames erupting from his mouth as the flames consumed most of the undead horde.

once he was done breathing fire, he turned to the dragon priest, narrowing his eyes.

"alduin's lordship is over. . .your master is dead. I will send you to him."

he growled at the dragon priest, +

"most notice the fangs before they notice the canines."

he said, shrugging his shoulders as he leaned against the counter, looking at her.

"hmm. . .don't know, what do ya call it?"

he asked, a grin on his face as he raised a brow upwards in curiosity.

"i'm sure she will. it's a classic." the dovahkiin said with a smile, nodding his head.

"my name is Torden. it's a pleasure to meet ya, Kala."

"he didn't have the guts."

he said, a full-blown smile on his face, revealing long fangs and large canines as he chuckled softly.

"finally, someone else who has a good sense of humor."

may the gods have mercy on the wasteland. . .

the dovahkiin let out a snort, which turned into a chuckle, then a laugh as he nodded his head.

"that was a good one, lass."

he said, looking at her, his blue eyes giving off a faint glow.

"why couldn't the skeleton ask out his crush?"

oh gods above, he has terrible jokes too—.

the dovahkiin looked over at her, humming in thought before nodding his head.

"aye, suppose a joke couldn' hurt. laughter is good for the soul."

torden, your sense of humor is shit. you laugh at anything remotely funny—.

³.

Torden stands at a staggering height of 6'10". . .which is considered short for Nords—.