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Doesn't have to be too detaily, just a few words to remember our fallen followers.
**Nerd mode Activated
Faendal of Riverwood. Became a friend for life by being there as I went through the struggle, confusion & eventual happiness of learning I was a Dragonborn. Always supported and fought beside me. Made him the steward of my Falkreath hunting cabin so he could be close to his new wife in Riverwood. Taught me a lot about hunting & archery. Early this morning, my hunting cabin was attacked by hired thugs; he charged in as I fired arrows. We got the first two quickly, but Faendal took a heavy blow as I fired an arrow at the last thug... Faendal's staggering put him in my line of fire. My arrow hit him in the wrist, ending his life, a life cut too short. Since I couldn't bury him, I threw him in the lake, then pretended to tell his wife the news, cause well.. I couldn't actually talk to her, with this being a game and everything.
VexNoFace likes it rough. WARNING: Marking a mods alt account for blatant trolling will get you suspended. I know this from experience. LOL
Lydia was granted to me as a gift for my great service to the Whiterun hold. She was a faithful companion, even though it was apparent that being my companion wasn't exactly her biggest dream. We went on a number of adventures, through forests, mountains and underground dungeons like a true team. Me kicking ass and killing everything, her derping around a mile back. Me taking the spoils of the kill, her whining about having to carry them. Whenever I would walk through a door or narrow corridor, she'd always be there, ever faithfully blocking my way. Boy, I can't count how many fus-ro-dahs the old gal had to endure, but she hung in there with the dedication of a trusty old plough horse. One faithful day, as we were having dinner in our quaint little Breezehome, I noticed something wasn't quite right. That very afternoon I had bought a beautiful Venison roast from Anoriath, for her to prepare and for me to dine on that evening. As I, after a long day of kicking ass and gathering riches, went to feast upon my mighty roast, I noticed something was terribly wrong...she had overcooked it. She must've seen the anger flashing in my eyes for when I looked at her she ran upstairs, but after being my companion for so long she must've known there was no escaping my wrath, and trying to do so only makes me more furious. I ran after her, she locked herself in her room, I kicked the door in, she pleaded for mercy but vengeance answered, as I drew my blade from its sheath and lopped her head off in one swift motion.
The mind is like a parachute: it only works when it's open
The man known only as "Guard" in Winterhold. The poor man lead a life of tragedy but his heart was ever bold.
At a young age, his sweetroll was stolen by a sneakthief. Shortly after that he apprenticed at a local alchemist, but just couldn't get the hang of it. After losing his position, he was forced to work for a damn shopkeeper, who bartered day and night.
Eventually he saved up enough gold to smartly buy some light armor so he could stay light on his feet. He also bought a waraxe, because he didn't like clunky two-handed weapons (though he did respect those who used them). He then set out on a life of adventure.
He became fast friends with a conjurer who would often summon beds, but was lousy at destruction spells and was eventually jailed for burning down a building. Distracted by the imprisonment of his companion, he failed to see the bandit archer in the distance. The bandit fired but one shot and poor "Guard" *single tear* took and arrow in the knee.
Several years later, while patrolling the streets of Winterhold, a Frost Dragon attacked. "Guard" valiantly drew his blade and prepared to battle the beast, but alas, was chewed up and tossed like a child's toy over the side of the cliff.
You're in the topic. Topic is in the forum. Troll is in the forum.