Mortariit

O Bare Foot Wandering Gait; Take Me Somewhere Nice

UserboxesEdit

This user is male.

31	This UESPWikian is 31 years, 7 months, and 10 days old.

This user has been on UESPWiki for 15 years and 8 days.

This user enjoys quality literature.

This user is an avid writer, and is rapt in the art of stringing words.

This user loves reading and writing in the Stream of Consciousness Narrative Mode.

This user is an existential and moral nihilist.

This user has an account on GoodReads and DeviantArt.

This user admires James Joyce.

This user could rant for hours on the genius of Steven Erikson, and on his masterpiece: Malazan Book of the Fallen.

This user mellows to Mogwai and Radio Dept.

This user lives Tool and Korn.

This user breathes Radiohead and Gorillaz.

This user raves to Noisia and Black Sun Empire.

== Pictures (For the largest size, click on the picture, then click again.) ==

The courtyard glows vibrantly with the incandescence of Magicka.
Leyawiin; dilapidated, moldy, flooded.
The chapel's glow contrasts amiably with the firmament.
Forlorn eyes search vacant space, sleepless.
Hyacinths dance beneath the rain.
Memoirs and histories, stories and accounts; food for the escapists, food for the scholars.
Mist lingers over the river's surface, reflecting tranquil serenity.
A great sentinel watches over the cozy town of Bruma.
Diversity graces the streets of the capital.
Galaxies dwell a great distance from Nirn, though the psyjics can reach ever on.
Budding mages and apprentices go about there intellectual pursuits in the alchemical garden.
Universal centering, extra-sensory awareness. Spiritual assimilation.
Huddling from the sky's tears in their abodes.
Shovel came down hard, upon this lump of meat's head.
An alchemists station is rich in archaic purity, and boundaries are expanded.
Mindless servants stand idle.
Man lays sprawled, claymore lodged in his frontal lobe. Excellent throw.
Gaits slow in the Arboretum, prolonging the passing beauty.
Falling water strings lucid strands from all that is dense and opaque.
The shanty towns of Bravil hold disease and social squalor.
Decay, rot, and death hand over and through the slums.
Blue daphnes metaphysically purge woe and leaves only awe.
Ponds are perpetually fed by elevated land.
A poet basks in the tranquility of isolation.
Bird eyes scan indifferently over the landscape; sentience being its only admirer.