Skooma runners. Dar'Jee knew them by sight, the two dark elves were clad in guar hide armor, dyed black, from head to toe. They sat around their campfire in silence, drinking their flin and eating their bread and potatoes.

Probably stolen from some poor farmer or merchant, the Khajiit thought. He had been tracking the two for days, following their trail from Rimmen, now here-- a few miles south of Chorrol. They were probably intending to sell off most their cargo somewhere in Skyrim, perhaps Whiterun. Their planned destination mattered little to Dar'Jee, this would be their last stop.

The Khajiit notched an arrow, and began his draw slowly, aiming for the dunmer one the right. The elf sported a shaved head and ugly, greying beard-- a mass of dirty knots, home to a weeks worth of crumbs. Just below it was his exposed throat. An easy kill.

Maybe it was the wind, or maybe Dar'Jee simply wasn't as good as he thought, but the arrow was off by inches. Instead of finding it's place in the drug runners throat, it ended up hitting his bread, just seconds before he took a bite. The food was ripped from his hand in a torrent of crumbs, caught by the arrow and flung into the trunk of the great oak behind them.

There was a moment of hesitation, the thugs were caught of guard, and Dar'Jee knew he needed to fire again, on target this time. He aimed his next arrow for the dunmer on the right, the arrow found it's mark, piercing through the soft flesh of the dark elfs stomach. The dunmeri armor did little to stop the projectile. The pain only served to make the dunmer more angry, he drew his dagger and began to charge, but he took only a step before another arrow found it's mark, ripping through flesh, bone, and leather alike, and pinning the hideous dunmer, against the tree, same as the bread.

Dar'Jee fired off one more arrow into the stomach of the skooma runner before turning his attention to the second elf. The fool was confused, and scared witless, he had only just unsheathed his sword, still confused as to what happened to his dinner. Dar'Jee seized the opportunity, drawing his dagger, and rolling from the shadows. He was swift, slicing across the dark elfs throat. The elfs red eyes opened wide, his grip on the handle of his sword loosened. In one deft motion Dar'Jee disarmed the mer, and stabbed the blade down deep into his belly.

"Help me...", the whisper came from the first dunmer, still pinned against the tree. Dar'Jee drew a final arrow, aimed at the dunmers forehead and fired.

"The Brotherhood sends their regards."

The Bosmer chieftain, Elmar Oakum, swore a vow to never allow his son to wield a bow. During his last campaign with the Aldmeri Dominion, Elmar earned the title of kagouti-eye, having slain 26 Covenant soldiers without consuming a single stamina potion. Ignorant to the fact that this war was far from over, Elmar secretly prayed that his juvenile son, Parcot, would live out his life in a time of peace.

On the day Elmar returned from his recent campaign, he called for his son to hunt with him deep in the wooded lands of Greenshade, north of their small village. Excited to hear stories of his father’s battles, Parcot hurriedly followed his father into the woods.

The two Bosmer reached a clearing in the dense woods, and Elmar stopped his son to rest. “Son,” Elmar started, as he placed one arm over his son’s shoulder. “Tomorrow I’m sending you to live with your uncle Wilmar.” He paused. “To learn woodworking skills.”

The willful and excited expression on Parcot’s face morphed to disappointment. “But… father!” He exclaimed. “I want to be a warrior like you! I want to learn to wield a bow and be the most feared Bosmer in all of the Dominion!”

Elmar’s grim expression changed to match the disappointment of his son’s. “Son, you don’t understand what it’s like to see the life taken from someone… or worse yet, having to take it yourself!” He let out a deep breath. “And I never want you to have to understand that!”

Parcot frowned in silence.

That night, Parcot awoke suddenly, having heard aggressive noises from outside his family’s cabin. He sheepishly crept to the front door, grabbed his father’s quiver shortbow, noticing his longbow was missing.

A Dominion Orc stood writhing and screeching in pain, pinned to a great oak tree by the right arm and leg.

“Son!” Elmar exclaimed as he noticed his son. “Get back inside!” Elmar began to charge at the Orc with his dagger drawn, but Parcot saw this as an opportunity to impress his father. He drew an arrow, took a deep breath, and let it fly towards the pinned Orc.

The arrow flew about two feet to the left of Elmar’s head, narrowly missed the Orc, and plunged into the bark between his right arm and abdomen. The WHOOSH sound from the flying arrow prompted Elmar to stagger and duck, a conditioned reflex from having fought so many battles.

The berserking Orc saw this window of opportunity, grabbed Elmar by the neck with his left hand, and swung him ninety degrees, smashing the back of Elmar’s head on the hard bark. The Orc grunted, drew his broadsword, and plunged it through Elmar’s abdomen and into the base of the great oak.

“Father!” Parcot cried. He drew another arrow and let it fly, this one penetrating the Orc’s skull directly between his eyes.

The war raged on throughout the rest of his life, but Parcot Oakum never wielded a bow again.

I used to travel around Tameriel with the most unusual couple, A Nord named Thorkil Iron-Bear, and a Bosmer, Thallwen Fernhallow. I am sure not many people have seen a stranger love affair as a wood elf and nord together but I have. They were some of the most in love I have ever seen a Tragedy what befell them. Us three had many adventures together slaying beast and looting things. You know people put the strangest things in the strangest places, once I found a painting in an empty mead barrel. But I am side tracking back to the tale at hand. We three were helping a small village in the Rift with a mad wizard problem, a mad Redguard wizard problem if that tells you the degree of madness that he was a Redguard that trusted magick. So we ascended the Wizards tower killing many Daedra and atronachs. Thorkil with his two handed great-sword of frost, I with my magick and lightning staff, and Thallwen with her mighty bow, She never missed a shot. The Redguard wasn't much of a fight Thorkil picked him up and tossed him out a window. We looted the place and set up camp nearby on a wooded hilltop. We were sorting through the loot when Thorkil found an odd bottle shaped like a tornado and the lable read invulnerability, he sniffed it and took a swig. Thorkil started glowing a purple color he grabbed a knife and sliced his arm it mended instantly. Thallwen took some and they started playing with it though i objected. It went so far that she started doing trick shots with fruit off his head. Well the moron decided to put many fruit around his body and her use four arrows to shoot them off at once. She aimed fired and as the arrows pierced his body the affects of the potion wore off. She was devastated and I could not talk sense into her she took her life with a sword from the loot pile. I would have buried them but Ogres came out of no where I had to run.

Wake up, lad! Wake up, son.
Father, where has Mother gone?
High up, now: tied one braid too many.
Get up, get dressed. Hurry! Hurry!

Father, the wagon rocks too fast!
Hurry or the Plague catches us at last.
Oh go, beast, go or we'll die!
This is not the place I've decided to lie!

Stop here, beast. This tree is fine.
It will suit the purpose of drink in mind.
Take your bow, son, against troll and ogre.
But you said we were going to the next town over!

Father, my skill with a bow is nothing but stale.
Shut it and let me drink my ale.
You will have moldy potatoes and bread,
I only need mead to cloud my head.

You drown your sorrows and your bother.
I know this would've upset Mother.
Hear me, Father, hear my plea!
Why don't you ever listen to me?!

We didn't run from the Plague fast enough.
I feel it now; it's such a rush!
Rage, anger, a surge of emotion,
And I know them to be set in motion!

Stand up, Father, I toss your mug aside!
Do that again, and I'll bruise your hide.
You will not touch me, not ever again!
This time I'll be delivering the pain.

You feel the arrow wrench through your leg?
For mercy, you will soon beg.
Once. Twice. Thrice. You see what I've done?!
That's what happens when you don't listen to your son!

Oh, for once I am a good shot.
I've killed my father; I deserve to rot.
His blade in my gut against this tree.
My gods, why have you forsaken me?

This Plague they feared was no sickness,
Though it was a mortal illness.
This Plague was not the rotting kind.
This Plague was a Plague of the mind.

A Caravan’s Fate

A gentle breeze traversed the hilltops and scattered trees. The sky was growing darker as the sun made its descent on the horizon. A Dunmer caravan set up camp beneath a gnarled tree as strange creatures howled in the distance. One Dunmer in particular stood out from the group. The way his armour hugged his athletic frame like a second skin and how his sword hung naturally from his side marked him as a skilled warrior. Staring hawk-eyed into the wilderness; he watched. Seryn refused to lax in his duty. The entire caravan, including his wife, relied completely on him and one other guard for protection.
“Seryn, darling, come eat. There’s no need to be so vigilant.”
The narrow-eyed Dunmer tore his gaze from the wilderness to meet his wife’s eyes.
“I don’t trust the wilds Mel, there’s a foul stench in the air.”
The Dunmer woman laughed musically.
“Come now, Brelyna’s cooking isn’t all that bad.”
Seryn allowed himself to grin at the joke. He could never be too somber when Melisi was around.
“I suppose a hot meal could do me some good, but I promised Balvar I’d take the first watch.”
“You’ll be back long before nightfall Seryn, there’s no need to be so tense.”
Reluctantly, but unable to refuse his wife, Seryn allowed Melisi to take his hand as she led him to a makeshift seat beside the crackling fire. Brelyna had a tankard of stew waiting for him.
“It’s good,” he mumbled in between spoonfuls of the thick scrib stew, attempting to hide his disgust. Seryn hated the taste of scribs, but he didn’t want to dampen the spirits of his friends by refusing the meal. Smiling slightly, he handed the empty tankard back to Brelyna.
“Tha-”
An arrow whistled past Seryn’s head, finding the bark of the gnarled tree behind him. Instantly, he drew his blade. With a frantic look in his eyes, Seryn’s gaze found his wife.
“Mel, run. NOW!”
Melisi was frozen in shock. Seryn grabbed her arm and thrust her away from the camp.
“Go.”
Tears now flowing from her gentle eyes, Melisi fled the camp into the untamed wilderness beyond. A second arrow soared past Seryn’s wife as she fled, narrowly missing its mark. The twang of a bowstring betrayed the location of its master. They were close. Unleashing an ancestral fury, Seryn descended upon the encroaching bandits. The archer died first. Like an apex predator Seryn moved through the attackers, killing as he went.
“Balvar!”
Seryn winced as a blade grazed his side. He decapitated the one who wielded it.
“Where are you damnit!”
He spotted the still figure of the second guard slumped against a tree. The hilt of a sword protruded from his chest. Seryn could not overcome the bandits alone. Content to trade his life so that Melisi might escape, he resigned himself to his fate. As more archers emerged from the trees, three words escaped his lips:
“So be it.”

No Flesh

‘Let’s get moving R’angroth, it’s staring at us.’
‘Grump, I’m still hungry. Nice bones, don’t you think S’roarsh?’ R’angroth exclaimed glancing at the skeleton from his cover behind the old and moldy bedrolls. ‘There might be some marrow inside, let’s crack them!’
‘Are you crazy? I’m telling you, it’s looking at us. That corpse is following me with the one eye it has left.’
S’roarsh had to admit the hunger was gnawing at him, just as much as it was on R’angroth. And he didn’t know who he distrusted more, his mate or the skeleton. He had seen R’angroth glancing at him last night, probably assuming he was asleep. He had seen the red glimmer in his mate’s eye. Hunger did that to you. Just a second ago, he saw the same red glimmer in the eye of the skeleton.
‘Come on S’roarsh. Let’s at least get the potato’s, so I won’t have to start nibbling your legs tonight.’ R’angroth’s broad smile showing his fangs made his joke a threat. ‘Those Khajiit are no living death.’
‘Khajiit! You miserable moron, are you born blind? That’s not a Khajiit and never has been. Look at that skull.’
It had been puzzling S’roarsh from the minute he noticed the red eye glancing at him. What had it been, a dark elf? In this area? The corpse looked like it had been killed in a cruel game of execution, pinned to a tree like that with a target on its skull. A sick game of archery, the real target tossed aside on the ground. It was just the kind of game R’angroth and his friends would enjoy. It made him nauseous, he wished he wasn’t so pathetic soft-hearted. He felt like a disgrace to his race.
R’angroth dashed forward from his cover behind the bedroll, diving on the potato’s. The glimmer in the eye of the skeleton was definitely lighting up now. S’roarsh crouched behind the barrel while he suppressed a whimper. The skeleton grabbed R’angroth by the leg and set its teeth in the flesh. R’angroth bellowed with pain, striking the skeleton with all his force. That was a mistake and cost him dearly. The skeleton sank its teeth in R’angroth’s throat, blood spattering on the ground, the tree and the cast-away target. In a last attempt to save his life R’angroth severed the skull from the fleshless carcass, sending the skeletons head flying into the bushes.
S’roarsh stared at the pile of lifeless bones and the fresh flesh on the ground. There it was, a fresh meal. Now was the time to overcome his fussiness. A meal was a meal after all. He left his cover and sank his fangs in the juicy leg of his mate. Suddenly he heard a noise from behind the tree. Another skeleton was staring at him with two red shining eyes, a dagger still stuck between its ribs.
‘Hello there,’ it said, ‘I’ve been dying to meet you.’

It was pathetic, really.

The raid was going according to plan, every strategy going off without a hitch. Sure enough, all it had taken was a few well placed arrows, and the merchants had lost control of their carriage. The Bretons must have known that their days were numbered. At best, they only had a few hours to live. Most would have ran. Most would have searched for help, or shelter, or at least something to defend themselves with.

But these two...These two were different. Ignoring what they must have surely known was their impending doom, they had set up camp, chatting and laughing without a care in the world.

How could they be so relaxed? We asked each other. Our questions were met with equally confused shrugs. All the while, the Breton merchants carried on below, unloading their wares as their voices echoing across the valley.

They were talking about their travels; making obscure references to old adventures and daring escapades. They reminisced over stories of a great hunt, laughed at a thrilling chase to win the hand of an elven princess, and solemnly recalled the discovery of an abandoned treasure trove.

So we watched on, held back by curiosity.

They weren't warriors, that much was certain. Or, if they were, they lacked weapons. Everything that came out of the carriage was just as one would expect from two merchants hoping to sell and profit on the market.

Then they brought out the barrel. The Bretons took a great deal of effort to pull it out, making a grand show of its impressive weight. This only heightened our curiosity. Some among our number suggested the barrel was filled with gems. Others insisted it sealed away some powerful magical artifact. And still, those Bretons kept talking.

Our bickering continued through the hour, growing steadily worse and worse.

We couldn't wait any longer. We had to know what was in that barrel. Gathering our full force, we charged the camp, ready to do whatever was necessary to uncover the secrets that barrel held.

The merchants seemed unsurprised by our attack. Sharing a grin with one another, they cast off the barrel’s lid. Reaching into its dark contents, they drew forth what would be the instruments of our destruction.

Potatoes. Throwing them in rapid succession, one after another, they launched the things at us like arrows.

They didn't seem very surprised when the potatoes didn't do anything either. Within minutes, we had slaughtered them. Suffice to say, we got carried away, maddened at our crushed vision of mystery and discovery.

It was only after the battle that we realized some of our men had begun to act...off. They searched the camp, frantically trying to find something. No matter what we did, they ignored us, muttering darkly about what was really hidden inside the barrel. Not wanting the same to happen to us, we left in a hurry.
As far as we know, they're still there.

"Relirooooon," slurred Jorick, through a mug full of the finest Eastmarch mead "Oh Relirooon, guess what I've got?"

He put down the mug and fumbled around in his bag for a minute before producing a well-crafted Colovian bow.

Reliron made a grab for the bow but Jorick pulled it just out of reach while Reliron’s eyes glazed over looking at the smooth curves of the bow.

Reliron, flabbergasted, asked Jorick "How d... How did you get it?"

Jorick, cocky, replied "just a matter of persuasion, Reliron. Well, that and a dagger at the throat of the shopkeeper"

"Jorick, you have to give me that.. You, you don’t even use bows. You've been using swords since.. well forever!"

"Alright Rel, I'll give you the bow; If I can shoot this potato off your head."

Reliron, hesitant, looked down at his mug then wistfully back at the bow.

"I don't know Jorick, the last time you shot an arrow we ended up at the temple for weeks because of that guar herder."

"Reliron you and I both know that was the guar’s fault. So will you do it or not? Because I bet this fine bow would fetch a decent price in Riften"

"Agh.. You always did drive a hard bargain Jorick. But first I want to try it, make sure there are no enchantments like that 'Daedric' amulet you bought from that Khajit."

"Alright, I'll throw this potato in the air you nail it to the tree and don't bring up that Khajit again"

Jorick tossed the vegetable into the wind and an arrow, like a nail hit by Zenithar himself, flew straight through the potato planting it in the tree.

Satisfied, Reliron handed back the bow.

"Alright" he said, looking worried. "I'll do it, but try to aim the way I showed you" He handed over the bow, took a final swig from his mug, picked up the potato and stumbled over to the tree. Placing the potato on his head, he leaned against the tree and waited.

As he was pulling back the bow Jorick asked Reliron in a nonchalant manner "You remember that Breton girl from Bruma?"

"How could I forget?" replied Reliron, unsuspecting of what fate had in store.

"Well you were probably too drunk to remember at the time but I had told you specifically to stay away from her. Well, old friend, this is payback."

The arrow flew straight and true hitting the target with full impact.

"You, you shot me" Reliron stammered, not quite having processed what just happened.

Another arrow lodged itself in his shoulder and then another in his jaw, but not before Reliron was able to make a grab for Jorick's sword laying on the ground and stick it deep within its owners gut.

Jorick, always a hardy Nord with a taste for mead, raised his tankard to his dead comrade with a toast “To the girl from Bruma!” The mead fell to the ground as Jorick departed for Sovngarde.

Oh dear pretty little journal,

I write because a story needs to be told. Mine of course! A cute young girl appeared and snuck up on me. Which doesn’t happen too often. I panicked and accidentally possessed her. Or was it on purpose? I forget. It has been a few hours, but I decided to make the best of it and run into the forest like any young girl would do.

I came upon a loving couple sitting by a fireplace, talking about how they missed their dearly departed. They looked so forlorn and I felt touched, truly I did. So I resurrect their loved ones! Only two of course. Otherwise the party would have been too big and there weren’t enough drinks to go around! The youthful couple were so excited, that is until their loved one tried to take a chomp out of their tiny little noses. Almost did too! Seems like these two were pretty good hunters. A swing there, a few arrows here, and the loved ones were sadly double dead.

Their fighting abilities surprised and entertained me! I reveled in it! I offered drinks and bread and cheese for everyone! Yet, the two partiers quickly became party poopers and wanted me to leave. The ignorance of these two. Pointing a notched arrow at me. ME! A little girl! So I turned them into ogres. Well journal, you’ve been an excellent listener but I should really go back to Haskill. Poor little fellow is probably shaking in anticipation of my return. I'm sure the little girl I've borrowed can smell her way home. Tootles!

Dear journal,

Where am I? There are dead people and big monsters. I want to leave. The monsters won’t let me. They try talking but then, then one roared. I think they want to eat me, but they don’t. I don’t know, but, they won’t let me leave. I just want my papa...

Everything in the wizard’s cave was covered in dust, abandoned long ago. Behind an old, wooden desk—just past a mess of glass alembics—nestled a weathered journal within a crevice of the rock wall. Its faded pages detailed many twisted experiments, revealing the depths of his madness, hidden from the prying eyes of the Mages Guild.

“Morndas, 1st day of Rain’s Hand, 2E 571

Yesternight I set my thralls upon a group of adventurers that had, to their misfortune, set up camp near my cave. It is fortunate they felt safe enough in these woods to light a campfire as I might not have noticed them otherwise. With dawn’s rise my enclave most certainly would have been discovered. It is not a lie I panicked when their campfire’s light peaked through the cave’s mouth. I feared the Mages’ Guild had found me!

Nevertheless, their misfortune was my gain. As my thralls fed upon their dead and I bound the last of three survivors, the earth trembled. Thunderous roars erupted around us. Huge bodies crashed through the trees and rushed into the firelight. The campfire had enraged a band of ogres! I quickly encircled us within a protective ward, knocking them back thirty yards, barely saving us from being smashed to bits.

The ogres eventually ceased bashing at the invisible barrier, glaring at us in puffs of rage. Glancing around I realized I had created a small arena providing a rare chance to test the ogres’ feeble brains. I could peer into their thoughts and unlock the secrets within their minds as they become frustrated spectators, rather than participants of combat. And if I can access their minds, I can turn them into thralls. The potential of such massive slaves was staggering.

The stage set, I released the survivors' bonds presenting them with an ultimatum. I could release my wards and expose them to the ogres' mercy or they could fight one another to the death. The last survivor free to go. Without hesitation the archer snatched up his bow and in the space of one breath fired three arrows pinning his first compatriot to a tree, mortally wounded. He seized a sword in the next breath, rushed upon the other, and gutted him. It was amazing and utterly unexpected. I might have actually kept my word, but his efficiency was also his mistake. It was too quick for the slow-witted ogres to comprehend. I had learned nothing. So I bound him again, stuffed a conjured potato into his mouth for my own amusement, and left him as a distraction for my escape.

Loredas, 24th day of Rain’s Hand, 2E 571
I've returned to the campsite every few days and with each visit find fresh potatoes littered around the corpses of the first two. (There is no trace of the third). Curious, I've hidden the last three nights watching as the ogres’ make poor attempts to reenact the archer’s fight, throwing and smashing potatoes with their weapons.

Very interesting.