» Mon Jun 11, 2012 2:45 pm
I was delving into some long-forgotten Dwemer ruins on my Imperial archer. I thought it'd be nice to fetch me a good treasure in there to buy a horse or something. Sneaking through the dark halls, I easily dispatched many of the weaker Falmer scouts; an arrow to the head and they drop dead. As I progressed, I notice they gradually became stronger, until one room where there is something of a Falmer shaman or suchlike, chanting and waving his staff in a craze. I get his attention with my dear beloved bow, and he soon chases after me. Sword in hand, battle ensues. I'd gotten used to Falmer by then, so that wasn't a big deal. Soon the enemy lies dead, and my brother (who's watching me play) shouts, "NO! Behind it, behind it!".
Marching directly at me is a huge golden construct of pure destruction; a killing machine so large I barely saw it, and hell-bent on seeing me dead.
And that was the first time I saw and encountered a Dwarven Centurion. Heart raced like a jungle drum.