Tales of the Dead - Contest Entry Thread

soulebeb14_ESO

The Warded Sauvingnon, or Sauvingnon-Guarded

It started, as most cheese plate parties do: innocuously enough, save that they were thieves –- and Nords.

The Apple Sweetroll Gang, while admittedly not the most menacingly-named band of highwaymen in those parts, was celebrating a string of recent successes. Their prey of late had been rich and well-provisioned, and Deorwulf suggested that the appropriate way to celebrate the largesse of their benefactors was to throw a wine and cheese tasting.

“It's the cultured thing to do!” Deorwulf was fond of puns.

As Snorri regaled the others with yet another of her tales of wenching and derring-do, Berg Jarlsson rolled a grape absently about in his fingers, tongued a tasty bit of cheese to softness, and took another swig from his flagon. It wasn't mead, no, but by the gods, it was pleasant. At first the fine wine, dry and oaky, with sturdy legs like his mum, had been a shock to his palate; now he found that the peppery vintage paired so much better with Eidar cheese than mead ever had!

And indeed, because Nords are clearly known for their restraint, Berg found himself bringing his flagon to his lips so often that the drink began going somewhat to his head. As the taught string of a bow slips into release over the drawing fingers, the rowdy events of the evening slipped inevitably, purposefully –- they were Nords after all -- into a tingling, twanging blur.

He loved Deorwulf! He loved Snorri! He loved the stars! He loved lamp! Cheese and grape alike, the boonest of companions, the staunchest of allies! *hic!*

Berg had desired for a while to amplify the magic in his combat repertoire. Bowmen off-wielding a healing staff weren't terribly common amongst outlawed and desperate men, but scavengers can't always be choosers, and the Apple Sweetroll Gang was glad enough to have him. Still, he wished to be of greater use, and so he'd been practicing an augmentation to his shielding and preservation spell, Ward Ally. He felt certain he'd perfected it!

He also felt certain that now was the perfect time to display his new-found skill.

Berg reached behind with his right hand to the stave strapped to his back; he felt the gnarled wood beneath his fingers, so very different from the smooth curve of the bow in his left hand, and let the words of the spell tumble slurredly from his lips. The magicka surged through him, like the fiery warmth of the wine in his gullet.

With his eyes droopily half-lidded, and with a goofy grin, he lifted and drew his bow, preparing an Arrow Barrage targeted surprisingly well on their exact location.

And so it ended, as so many nights partaking of good companionship and a bottle or nine must: with those cheerfully, boisterously ominous words.

"Hey, guys! Watch this!"

The grapes and cheeses suffered not at all, locked each in its own perfect, individual stasis.

chaktukala

Twas in the nighttime,
the band of fortune drank deep.
Counting their riches.

Then old wise Sam Long,
came 'round looking for treasure.
He eyed the small party.

Sam Long's crew prepared,
shining tools of war once more.
Grinning like demons.

Long and crew drank deep,
carrying off their rewards.
Leaving dead to rot.

Naveer

(Apologies if this is posted too late. I was experiencing forum account issues, and I know little about time zones. So again, if this competition has already ended, apologies.)

Deliverance Of Revenge


We could see them, they were not far below us.
Those.. monsters! How anyone could eat another person this one did not know.
Scarz was glad not have to been the one to find her.. our friend... and ally. Butchered like prepared for a stew! Pieces...
These enemies would pay for their mistake. And stars, watch over her.

A whisper came from behind Scarz's right side. "This looks like it's time. We should strike them now." Drawing Scarz's attention, making this one turn her head to the friendly voice.
Although, before this one replied to the crouched woodelf, our taller companion spoke up. "It seems as such." And with Scarz's opportunity of speech also at hand, this one layed eyes back on the devils below. Addressing both my woodelf and Highelf friends. Still feeling the loss of life. "..We'll see how they handle three of us no?"
After that question of speech, both the males behind this one said almost perfectly in unison. Keeping their low tones.
"They'll pay."

Scarz and Re'co bows were drawn, our arrows pointed ahead once we could see Fa'hal was in his possition. Not too far a distance to our right, still keeping to the higher rockside. Our first journey together as friends all allined in Dominion name, and these monsters had ruined not that... but cut our ally's life short! For their own feeding!
But this one's arrow was to be the first to fly. Straight into either of their skulls would do but, this one chose the right. He appeared more capable of.. the carving.
And letting go of the string... this one fired her arrow. Hoping that it would hit who's life *this one* wanted to lay clame to.
As planned prior, Re'co released his own arrow to the same target we had chosen. So if one of us missed, the other wouldn't with luck. But it seemed this one's training and skill had proven well enough to kill who Scarz had decided to kill. Re'co's own arrow pierced nothing more than a tabletop.
The surviving other had stared for a moment in shock, but he picked himself up to flee. Not much time passing until this one saw witness to the final killing of these monsterous two. Fa'hal's rain of arrows down, upon his head. Both Scarz and Re'co had prepared our second arrows, Re'co the speedy elf managing to fire his second, before Fa'hal's storm had even touched skin or sands. The quick berrage finishing the wood elf's work.
He had turned around too. To see his attackers. This one saw Re'co get that monster right in the eye, and Fa'hal do the same as he collapsed backwards into the dirt he crawled out from! Our protection of future passer bys was made certain, but more so, we delivered our doses of revenge. Titerai will be missed dearly, and these two... they were the only ones to blame for her death. And for not giving us a corpse to burry.

nuyoukai

'Twas not long ago when a particular rowdy bunch of bandits; and a notorious group of pirates, temporarily cooperated to find a treasure, and like many it was of epic proportions--Straight out of the legends! The pirates had learned the location of an ancient elder scroll and sought to add it to their chest of ever-growing treasure. The bandits knew their way around through a a series of hidden tunnels, and so they lead the pirates to their hideaway.
The night after, tension rose between the captain's crew and the bandits. There were reported hushed whispers of both sides threatening to take the scroll for themselves. After a bit, both leaders decided it'd be best to go ahead and look for the scroll to quell their restless followers. The journey itself was tedious, but the parties marched on. Though flea and skeever bitten, they reached the scroll at last. It was hidden behind a rather complex puzzle, but they knew it was THE scroll--The one from the stories they read as children! Its magical energy radiating from within the text pulsed and ebbed at the air around it.
Those who were present in the room became quite anxious. Following what seemed like an eternity, the prirate captain, along with the bandits help, had solved the puzzle and thus gained entry to the ancient knowledge within. On their way in, they had failed to translate an important notice, a grave warning to all those who dared enter. Because of its enormous magical output, nearly everyone had to help carry it. After heaving it up, they began on the long and arduous journey of bringing it to the surface.
A long night of merriment and drinking ensued, both parties mingling. The leaders of both were doomed to their graves, not longed for this world. A few bandits had slipped poison into their mugs, and nobody was none the wiser. While their leaders were liquored up, their crews made off with the scroll and transported it to be stored within a safe, hidden location. The pirates and bandits had agreed to share the treasure among themselves, and to become a giant networked crime organization; to spread terror and gain riches across all of Tamriel.
A lone archer, mistaking the crew for captives, had shot the captain and leader alike. All at once, chaos ensued. Nobody knew their killer, but there were rumors of someone wanting to take the treasure for himself. The hidden archer fled as the chaos grew even further and the mistaken captives fought among themselves. The pirate captain and bandit leader forgotten, the stench of blood filling the air. Flesh decayed and yet none saw. Arrows were buried in the captains and bandits flesh. How poetic, for leaders of crime syndicates so alike to meet the same end and die together at the hands of their followers. Thus is the fate of the allies murdered in cold blood.

CrypticOutsider

Dear Journal,

A few days ago, a man named Thanatos stopped by my farm. I was wondering what it was that he wanted, maybe wanting to trade or maybe he was lost.
He seemed interested in talking to me, so I approached and asked kindly what he needed. It seems he was having trouble in an area that I thought dangerous. He showed me this sack, said he had some kind of reward that would be a shame to pass up so I took the offer.

After getting supplies we went onward as he explained whats wrong, he kept saying that his friend got lost in a cave. He explained why he wanted my help saying I seemed right for the job.

We found a camp near the cave, I was surprised to see a fire and a table with two
chairs and food platters to which I assumed were Thanatos'. After we stopped about 100 feet from the camp Thanatos had a puzzled look on his face as
he approached. After a quick investigation it seemed abandoned, so Thanatos dropped the sack close by.

"So it looks like someone sent us a welcome gift" he had said, "looks like they are gone though, wouldn't need to worry." We waited until the next day to start searching. It was dark, but we used torches since the fire was still smoking. We had no luck. We made our way out of the cave, I ate my rations only because
I did not trust the coincidence of food being on the table. We re-lit the fire, as Thanatos hoped that his friend was not "Hunted!" I felt curious, so I mistakenly asked.

He told me about some cultist group that hunted others for "fun," kinda like a hunter would for animal meat, said they like to lure them into traps before they strike. I just thought that maybe his friend was stuck on traps in the cave, but I had some thoughts that he's been hunted like Thanatos said. I thought Thanatos was going crazy from the food on the table but I didn't think that possible.

We searched for his friend for days, and my rations grew smaller. I was considering leaving Thanatos but this didn't seem like a place to leave someone. I didn't leave, only because that sack was tempting to open. I got so sick of
looking, with low amounts of food it seemed tempting to eat just one piece of cheese on the table.

But tonight, I don't know what will happen now that my food is gone,
maybe I will take one piece of food, it doesn't seem like Thanatos was having issues. but i'm having this feeling that maybe this camp was a trap for us
that we stupidly walked into. I'm considering leaving, I no longer care for that "treasure" in that sack, maybe when the fire dies I can leave in the dark. I just hope that my thought is just a skeptic.

Jadedragon27

I once saw something… and it will haunt me for the rest of my life. I was travelling down an unnamed road, when I was attacked by a small group of highwaymen. Using my magicks and my worn scythe, I took care of them after a quick back and forth. One, however, an archer, managed to catch me off guard. I had just slain the last bandit by sending a bolt of frost at his arm, and as his grip on his weapon weakened, I slapped it out of his hand and caught his heart with my blade. From nowhere, an arrow flew into my left arm, causing me to drop my scythe in the dust. I looked in the direction of the attack, and by a hair’s breadth dodged a second arrow. With my right hand, I flung a fireball into the tree, and heard a scream as it hit home, and a figure ran off into the brush. I let him be as I pulled out the arrow in my arm, and invoked some healing spells to stop the bleeding and close the wound. I searched the bandits for anything that could be of use, but only found a few gold. I went further up the road, and saw what looked like a few pieces of broken wood, so I stepped over to investigate. The wood led behind a massive stone outcropping, to a small patch of barren earth, before branching off into a path of flowers. But the part that tears at my heart even now was their remains. A lone campfire and table stood in between the blooms and the cold stone. What was left of a few barrels and crates were strewn around them, and the… the skeletons of two poor souls rest there. Arrows littered the ground, protruding from wood and bone alike. I stepped closer, and on the table, I saw a blood-stained scrap of parchment next to one of them, and with shaking hands, I read its message.

Dear Tannis,
We set up camp on the south side of a large rock. The plants here are in bloom, and there’s a bare spot on the ground between them and the rock itself. I think this would be a wonderful spot for a house one day, but for the moment we’re just going to set a table and get something to eat. This place is so quiet and out of the way… Lendrik and I haven’t seen anyone for miles. I thought I saw smoke in the distance, but it was just my imagination. The Dominion hasn’t made any presence here at all; it’s a perfect place to get away from the war. I must finish this letter; Lendrik is getting upset and wants me to help with the table. Please be careful, Tannis. I love you.
-Drake

Tears streamed from my eyes as I set it down. I left that place immediately, so they could rest in peace. Akatosh give you mercy.

Valor

“Come now Jhared, we have a lot of work ahead of us today,” I said to my apprentice. Nice boy, comes from a good Breton family, but he has absolutely no sense of humor. I hope to change that. I picked this certain ruin for a reason, it’s a nice place to conduct research and it’s absolutely filled with skeletons for my apprentice to practice his archery on. “Grab that bag, would you? It’s got our most important materials in it.”

“Is it the new alchemy equipment you had me pick up yesterday?” he asked, gently retrieving the bag from the back of the cart and carrying it over to me.

“No, it’s our lunch! One can’t conduct good research on an empty stomach.” I looked for any sign of amusement in his face but found none. I sighed and began to lay out the silverware for our meal. One of these days…

We sat down and began to tuck in when we were rudely interrupted by a couple of skeletons shambling towards our picnic site. I swear, these things are like ants. First one, then two, then you’re either dead or the picnic’s ruined.

But that’s beside the point. The point is that my dear apprentice may have very well saved my life.

One of the two skeletons had managed to get behind me without my noticing, and it grabbed me, yanking me backwards off my chair. Jhared was on his feet in a flash, whipping out his bow. I trusted his aim, and I was not disappointed,as he sent the first skeleton flying, an arrow lodged firmly between its eye sockets. I shot him an inquisitive glance, for normal arrows shouldn’t have had that kind of power.

“Silver-tipped,” he replied, nocking another arrow and training his sights on the second skeleton. I could feel an aura of power begin to gather around him, coalescing around his bow. “You may wish to put up a barrier, master.”

I nodded, and chanted under my breath, summoning a ward that would deflect all projectiles for a short period. As my ward snapped into place, Jhared let loose with a volley of arrows. They arched upward, the silver tips glinting in the sunlight before slamming into the ground, quickly dispatching the other skeleton and littering the surrounding area with arrows.

“My thanks,” I said, releasing the ward around me and observing the carnage. Lunch was ruined but I still saw an opportunity. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a very special gemstone.

Grinning, I activated it, and turned into a skeleton. I stuck my arms out and rattled my fingers at Jhared. He looked unimpressed. “What’s wrong, I’m just trying to be humerus. Get it, humerus?”

He simply stowed away his bow and ignored me. “Master…”

I pointed one bony finger at him, “Pull my finger.”

Jhared didn’t so much as snicker.“Honestly I don’t know why I thought becoming your apprentice was a good idea…”

DraqO

We Two Bretons, A Dirge

We two Bretons
Once proud and once tall
Bore our battle scars always
Watched the last rebel fall;

As we sat and rejoiced
'Njoyed our spoils and all
Heard the High Elven voice
the hiss of arrow, the slice of maul;

Each of us now pinned
No way to move or to crawl
Knew our doom had come
Time to answer the call;

With the last breath I breathed
I let out a guffaw
As I look in the face of that High Elven
Man of the Law.

siledre

note found on table:

they valued our gold and silver, they coveted our women and slaves, they plied us with fermented grapes but realized not that we drink stuff that is stronger, we waited to see what they would do and followed them with those things they stole, it was a fine send off and we even left them a bag of items the wanted more than their lives, we let them keep the arrows too.

Bryowyn

I had once adventured with a small band of friends.

Estula Bradimer, mage extraordinaire. In truth she was mediocre in the magic department, but she was a looker.

Mighty Mathis, really not the strongest thinker, but he was strong in every other way, including the smell.

Jordim Joster, if he was not so darn lucky I am sure he would have died our first night out.

Me, I liked stealth and surprise.

We traveled many years together, but eventually went our separate ways.

It was at least 7 years later when the invitation arrived. A small get together to reminisce about old times.

Obviously I wasn't going, I am no fool. But as the time got closer my curiosity grew. Which of my old companions planed this little party and why. I had to see, I had to know, but still it would be foolish to go.

I made my plan to watch the party from a safe distance. I made it there a couple nights before and saw a table was placed and a fire pit ready. I scouted the place and found a good vantage point to watch from, sheltered from sight to keep me safe.

I woke the day of the party to see the fire already lit and the table set.

Jordim arrived first looking slightly nervous, he stood off to the side to wait. Next was Mathis, never smart enough to be scared he ripped of a piece of meat, grabbed a bottle of wine and took a seat at the table. After watching Mathis eat and drink with gusto for several minutes, Jordim joined him. What truly surprised me was when Estula showed up. I figured she at least was smarter then this.

They were discussing a particular job that involved a nasty mage who was holding a town prisoner. The job had not gone as planned and though we got the mage in the end. We were all quite comfortable after that job, and we retired soon after.

This is when I saw someone standing on the ledge opposite me, the mage? Silently several orcish archers came forward and the rain of arrows fell. Mathis went down first, an arrow to the head. Jordim tried to run, but his luck failed him this time. I looked for Estula, but she was no where to be seen.

Then I heard her voice behind me, “They really are stupid, even after all these years.”

“Estula?”

“Jordim saw daddy a while ago, he told Mathis. They were trying to blackmail daddy, to say they would turn him in for his crimes.”

“Daddy?”

“So, what will it be?”

“Silence, always silence”

Estula kissed me passionately, “Silence it is”

I have been mute ever since, but at least I am alive.

LadyKaliska

Day 11: The Bosmer will not shut up! His bones crackle and creak. Finally, I had enough! I kicked the chair over and of course, he went without much protest. So I put an arrow through his eye. He was an ungrateful lout anyway; he never would eat the cheese. My toys -- my toy broke.

Day 19: Bones of ivory! Beautiful! Beloved! The Altmer reads her book, even after I gifted her fine, unblemished skull with an arrow. Shiny! Beautiful, deadly, jagged things left behind by the orc caravan -- such a perfect ornament for such a fine lady. Still, she reads constantly, staring at nothing; never eating the cheese.

Day 32: Watching over her, still. I lit the candles in the dusk. I laid grapes out on an ornate plate. I make certain that her glass of wine is always full! I am always on her right, watching, waiting for her to finish that book! Nothing I say pulls her from her quiet repose, but perhaps I could entice her with the unfinished wine in the sack. Nirnroot is so sweet, so tempting.

Day 43: The wine is like the finest honey from Windhelm. I could not help but steal a taste of her wine. She makes it look so appealing though! Her ivory reflection taunting me yet. She is so lovely that even the spiders weave their webs in the dainty cage of her ribs. She is all but every temptation. If she would only eat the cheese.

Day 57: I put out the fire this morning, and still she ignores me. Perhaps, she is angry at me… These wretched toys! I hate them! First the Bosmer wouldn‘t stay quiet, and now the beautiful Altmer speaks to me no more. Perhaps I was too hasty, consuming their flesh. No -- her flesh. Next time, I will remind myself to eat slower, and savor each morsel. Next time… Tasty rabbits, I will find them all.

16BitForestCat

Legends speak of a wandering feast. Traveling by hand unseen, it is said to contain great treasure, the finest cheeses...and Daedric peril, for the curse of the capricious Mad God himself haunts this wretched arrangement. To lay hands on or consume anything is to invite Sheogorath's amusement--a rapid descent into madness and death. The last supposed appearance of "Sheogorath's Table" (as the tales call it) was centuries ago. A lone witness claimed to see total abandonment of reason...nude debauchery I shall not repeat here. Nightmares of the scene plagued him for his entire long life.

Or so say the legends.

Today, Leifnir and I found such a table, far in the wilderness. I can only think it a prank of bored bandits, or perhaps their trap, considering the conspicuously positioned bag of gold. However, my considerable arcane skills detect no magic, poisons, or presences nearby.

We must move on, but first we take sustenance here. I tired of travel rations weeks ago.

--Gilandil


(Gilandil's handwriting changes considerably here, as if written while manic or extremely drunk.)

Worms! There are blue worms in my head! Leifnir asks how I know they are blue if I cannot see them. Foolish Nord! They are blue BECAUSE I cannot see them! This is why we needed to burn all our clothing! It is simple!

I must slay the worms before they turn into paper stars and destroy the world. Leifnir says a magic rain of arrows will kill them. He is an excellent archer! The wine bottle is empty, yet has breath enough to assure me this plan is sound.


Leifnir must be drunk. His arrows missed me completely! He was so happy to have his eyes (and...other regions) impaled, I could not bring myself to scold him as he fell bleeding. I believe he passed out. Too much drink! The wine bottle agrees.

No matter. I shall levitate an arrow into my own head. Altmer genius! The worms will not escape!


(A new page, with new handwriting.)

This one writes with heavy tail and heart. Gilandil and Leifnir never arrived at the meeting spot, so Harruna sought them. She found Gilandil's journal tossed away. Then, she found...them. Murdered! Naked! But with overjoyed faces!

This one does not understand what happened, nor does she wish to. Harruna must bury her friends. Their humiliating demise won't be left exposed to all. But first, this one needs restoration. There is excellent food here that escaped the gruesome fate of Gilandil and Leifnir.

--Harruna Six-Claws


(Harruna's handwriting continues, but severely degraded.)

Why does this one wear clothes? Fur and moonlight are all the clothing a Khajiit needs!

Gilandil! Leifnir! Their bald grinning bodies make Harruna laugh!

This one can fly! Chirpcheep, Khajiiti bird! Climb the cliffs nearby! Fly high into the sky! Rhyming!

The moons call! Harruna will drink their moon-sugar light and teach them naughty songs about the..."special"...uses for mage staves!

Now, fly! Fly!

Raiwyn

To those who may happen upon this account:

I knew it was not wise to escape with him. But I do not care about wisdom. I only care about love. The “wisdom” can be left to my father who has never expressed an emotion in his life, save anger. My marriage to a fine young lord was the only part of me he cared about. If he had known of this from the start, he would have immediately put an end to it. Me falling in love with a commoner, let alone one from our own kitchens. He would have killed him then and there before I cared too much.

But that did not happen. Because I am not wise. Because I love. I let my love for Rolathyn, the kitchen boy, blossom and then flower. So much so that I will never be parted from him. We decided to run away, right before my father heard of my romance. The kitchenmaster is such a fool. He thought it wise to tell my father of this as we fled, to what end I will never know.

Rolathyn managed to snitch my favorite cheese and ripe grapes from the kitchens before we left. It is such a kind gesture that may be his last. He is optimistic that we have put enough distance between us and my father’s castle, regardless of the kitchenmaster’s betrayal. But I know my father. He is heartless and unbending and cares nothing for real love. He is coming. I only wanted a happy life together with Rolathyn, but in my heart I know we will together meet a violent death. Even now, I do not regret it. Instead of dying in the castle of a man I do not love, I will die side-by-side with the man I would follow forever.

Heed this traveler: do not choose your mind over your heart. Wisdom is not the answer to everything. Your capacity for love is what you truly are and it can answer life’s most difficult questions. Oh Mara, I can hear the sound of my father’s army across the moor! I must hurry. I will spend my last moments in Rolathyn’s arms.

badnewsBH

It was too easy.

We'd been following the simpletons for two days, keeping out of the reach
of their torches, living off our salted rations. I was surprised how
little the goblins complained. Then again, they'd shocked me with their
discipline and focus as I taught them to use the roughly hewn bows they'd
fashioned from my instructions. I'd always heard they were next to
useless, little more than beasts who were barely capable of the simplest of
manual labour. Clearly, the Altmer who'd spewed his drunken balderdash at
me back in Sentinel had no idea of the feats of which they were capable.
In only a short while, the ten of them had learned a great deal,
particularly the three prize students who crouched with me at the edge of
the clearing. Their loyalty and desire to return the favours I'd granted
them made them seem admirable, certainly moreso than the blithering idiot
in the tavern or the fools in front of us.

I watched with my proteges as the buffoons slumped over in their
seats. They were Bosmer merchants, growing fat from selling arms and
supplies to the Dominion forces. Those same forces were butchering my
countrymen in any part of Covenant lands they could reach. While my
brethren called me mere thief and outcast, I was determined to be more, the
scorpion that struck at the Dominion's heel. These would be the first who
would feel my sting.

I signaled to the others behind us, waving a silent call to strike. They
raised their bows, and as one loosed a volley down upon the meager
campsite. The two of them had the audacity to set up a table and chairs
under the open sky, as though wiling away the evening by the warm hearth of
a country inn. They had also witlessly left nothing but a few flickering
candles to fend off the night creatures. Those lights served only to guide
the shafts that my band hand sent their way. These were our distraction,
the means to grant my star pupils a moment to cast their own light.

As if by divine decree, the merchants were rattled to waking by the arrows
falling around them, piercing earth and furniture with equal effect. I
nodded to my closer companions. Scazo let loose, and his shaft flew true
to impale the first of the scum through his temple. His eyes went wide as
he lolled back in his chair. Nebliz and Karz shot as one, and the pinions
of death sought respite where the eyes of the second filth had been.

I smiled in the dim moonlight. This lowly band of jackals, mocked by the
wolves, would be hunting them very soon.

Holycannoli

Anseld and Riorl

Within the woods deep in the wild
Two outlaws ruled a band reviled
They robbed and plundered all they could
And oft the women they defiled

Anseld and Riorl were they named
Upon a time they once were famed
For deeds of daring and delight
And in the lists renown they claimed

As it chanced their fortunes had turned
And soon they lost all they had earned
Both proud and haughty to a fault
They left behind their kingdom spurned

A band of outlaws soon they made
With others who had sought their aid
They searched the countryside covert
For travelers fat with purse to raid

Late one autumn on a day fair
The outlaws spied smoke in the air
They rushed to find that fire's source
And chanced upon a maiden there

She sat a table laden high
With food and gold that caught their eye
The dust and noise of their approach
Had made the girl jump with a cry

Her guards had moved to intercept
These bandits that suddenly swept
Over them now like hawks on prey
And looking on the girl had wept

“Oh little girl,” Riorl had said
“Your guards are gone, all lying dead”
“Why bring such treasure to my realm”
“That now you tremble from our dread?”

“My business here I cannot say”
“It's best you let me on my way”
“I am to wed the noble prince”
“And he will make you rue this day”

Anseld had thought her words untrue
And laughed as he went looking through
The treasures she had brought with her
But of the truth none of them knew.

Said he to her “Bad choice to dine”
“Here in these woods with fire to shine”
“A light for bandits to come raid”
“Now what is yours I claim as mine”

They helped themselves to all her gold
And of the girl they left her cold
With naught to wear and naught to eat
They sent her away with a scold

Decided they to sit and stay
And drink and boast of this great day
When found they by chance noble maid
And of her folly made her pay

Anseld and Riorl grew content
They stayed there long and never went
Far from that camp where they had met
The future queen that they had sent

Then on a time it came to pass
That noises were heard in the grass
Riorl stood up to see the cause
And saw he then a shield of brass

The prince and his knights found them there
And mad he was that they would dare
To violate his lovely bride
But now he could fulfill his swear

“I've come to take your bloody head”
“As gift to give when I am wed”
The bandits then grew terrified
The prince had filled them all with dread

Slew they the bandits one by one
And took the treasures they had won
“Now what is yours I claim as mine”
Anseld and Riorl's reign was done

Holycannoli

please delete misquote

Jambler

Kales's Journal:
After spending the whole of last night carefully powdering soul gems and staring into the oven, my latest invention is finally complete. The Assassins sweet roll of arrow hail! A sweet roll enchanted with tightly coiled strings of magica, and each thread with an arrow on the other end! This should guarantee our entrance into the Dark Brotherhood. I have to show Obek!

Obek's Journal:
Day 19 of diet.
I am done. No more. Looks like if I ever do make assassin, my main entry point will be straight through the roof. At least my meeting with Kales today should take my mind off the ravaging hunger.

littlewillowb14_ESO

Middas: 0 recruits
A hundred curses on Rugdol’s dimwitted strategy. I handed out his flyers in the warrens and not a shriven soul has shown up to join us. I must talk to our illustrious “leader”. He might have more tusks than brain cells but he’s so slow to talk that he can’t help but listen.

Turdas: 2 recruits
I’m not sure if Rugdol let me have my way because I showered him with pretty compliments or because he had no idea what I meant by the Morag Tong. No matter, hiring them was worth the coin purse. Cut the throat of the competition and its entrails will have nowhere to go but here.

Fredas: 6 recruits
Word must be spreading – a stronger trickle today. They don’t seem impressed when they reach our hideout, though. A few wandered off when they spotted the sacks we’re passing off as cots. I told Rugdol we needed a more impressive cave. We need to grow faster than this. We need to give a better first impression.

Loredas: 14 recruits
Borrowed a table from a noble’s house to add a little flair to the rendezvous spot. He had no problem choosing between a bare dining room and a slit throat – the fetcher even managed to be graceful about it. It wasn’t quite what I was hoping for, but I think it added a certain air of legitimacy. Either way, it’s working.

Morndas: 13 recruits
The tabards I ordered finally turned up. They’re inlaid with gold thread with a moonstone at the center of the sigil. I could only afford two, but I’ve laid them out for the new blood to see. They’ll never get their hands on one, but they don’t know that. Rogdol thought he should wear one, but couldn’t get it over his thick head. It’s almost as though I designed them to be too small for an orc.

Tirdas: 4 recruits
The pool seems to be drying out – no more in today from the bandit camp. Maybe it’s time to resort to the lofty ideas Rugdol was spouting, about honor in bringing down a corrupt nobility. I suppose we’ll need the idealistic ones to round out the scum. Perhaps, with all the finery I’ve conjured here, they’ll assume that the gold is coming later.

Middas: 10 recruits
My army is growing. We’ll outnumber the city guard in due course. A few more days and I’ll send that sister of mine to the Oblivion she deserves. By the Black Maw, I will make her regret stealing my seat beside the throne. I might even keep Rugdol around, if he stops trying to put his dirty great hand on my knee.

Sundas: 1 recruit
None arrived today but the idiot boy from the tailors. He wants to join our cause, says he heard talk of us at the Frost Fire Inn. I must convince Rugdol to move the camp before the city guard catches wind of...

mousekime111rwb17_ESO

"One last meal before the gods."

‘Vorus – my friend, do not despair.’ Aaron managing to only falter in his speech as he continued. ‘We’ve seen this through to the end.’ A tear trickling down the Redguard’s face. Vorus moved to take Aaron in an embrace. They stood together for a while until Aaron composed himself. ‘We’re here now. It may not have turned out the way we wanted, but I’m pretty sure we knew it would end like this.’ Vorus cleared his neck of Aaron’s tears leaving streaks of pale Breton flesh and muddied dirt from months of traveling before saying,
‘Not quite to the end yet, friend. Put away your armor and weapons; I’m done with shedding blood.’

The two were resigned, two months had passed since they’d slain the Aldmerian Captain who had ruthlessly lain waste to the home village of both men. The Bosmer charged with the captain where fiercely loyal though and despite endlessly fleeing on horseback they’d made no ground on the elves. ‘They’re not going to catch up until sunset, we have time to set up something nice.’ Vorus said after Aaron started taking off his armor, Covenant colors severely faded, the metal dented, dirty and rusty underneath.
‘How accurate is that life detect spell of yours?’ Aaron, concerned he wouldn’t be able to have his one last wish only now questioned Vorus’ skill.
‘Accurate enough, come now let’s sell his sword – put our own spin on their Meat Mandate.’ Vorus replied, smiling.

It was getting to the late afternoon by the time the pair had finished organizing their last supper. Having sold the captain’s personal hand crafted officers blade they brought a bottle of fine wine, some good quality cheese and a few other food items. In addition to food stuffs they brought a wagon and a whole dining set. It was an easy decision to make to take the meal away from the village, they didn’t want to cause any collateral damage. As the pair sat down Vorus muttered a small sanctifying spell then said calmly to Aaron, ‘A final preparation, no one will ever disturb this site after we die, the elf *** won’t be able to enact their damned meat mandate now.’

‘You know Vorus, you’ve been the only constant in my life since-’ Aaron started but unable to finish the sentence sipped at his pleasantly aromatic wine.
‘It’s been nice you know.’ Vorus replied – Aaron looking slightly confused, so Vorus then continued, ‘Ten years Aaron, ten years of training, of dangerous recon and of research to get to where we are now, and I’ve always had you by my side.’ With a nod Aaron replied

‘I guess it has.’ The two held out their hand across the table and Aaron peacefully spoke ‘I’m no priest of Mara, but I think it’s safe to say that we’re committed in her eyes.’ The pair smiled and went back to eating as only moments later a hail of Bosmer arrows brought an end to their last meal.

RandomlyKnighted

Like many before him Morong the Quick was once a great leader of the Redguard army. He was known for his wise judgment on the battlefield he quickly rose through the Redguard ranks. His greatest accomplishment being the final attack during the Siege of Orsinium. To others races, he was known as a cruel and merciless warrior. Many feared him and hoped he would someday pay for his actions when he is judged by Satakal.

In his final days, he retired from the Redguard army and traveled throughout Tamriel with one of his long time followers. However, little did he know that both his travels and his life would soon be through. Today, you can find his corpse sitting in the wooden chair where his final meal took place, an arrow lodged in his skull. Also found at the gravesite was his journal, his last entry reading:

“Fredas, 11th of Last Seed

It has been 15 years since I left Sentinel, though I miss it every
day I know that I can never go back. I often wonder if they will
ever forget my name and what I did during the war. I only wish
I could apologize to the families of…”

mad.ferretb16_ESO

Dear Journal

Who knew that arrow duping spell would cause so much trouble? We thought it hadn't worked until about an hour later when the cloud rolled in raining arrows down at us. I was saved unusually by a large block of cheese I was balancing on my head after finishing that large bottle of Cyrodil brandy.

I'll never mess with magic again.

A. Noyed...

Lousaphine

Psst! You! Yes, you! Stop snooping around my things and make yourself useful! I’m in here! …No, stop looking into the trees. A little to the right! In the bag. THE BAG.

Yes, yes, now don’t look directly at me, what if they’re watching?! Do you want to get us both killed?! By Auriel, not the brightest gem of the bunch, are we? Just pretend you’re taking a rest and I’ll tell you how I got into this mess. STOP LOOKING AT THE BAG!

I am Cyrellon Adal, Master of the Scrye of the Mage’s Guild of Skywatch, tasked with travelling to the Imperial City on a bold quest to smuggle key magical artefacts out of the Arcane University to be interred safely in the vaults of the Guildhall. A large party would draw attention, the Guildmaster said over dragonthorn tea in his quarters - we really are the most steadfast friends - so I would disguise myself as a travelling merchant and hire two Fighters Guild mercenaries to act as caravan guards. As the port at Anvil remains shut - I hear there are Dremora living in the Dockmaster’s offices - I would have to sail into Velyn Harbour and traverse Northern Valenwood to reach Cyrodiil.

The two unfortunate mer at my side, the aforementioned ‘guards’, are two imbeciles whose mother’s must have bred with ogres. Never before have I met two so loutish and abhorrent, and I’m not even a little sorry that I will never again hear their oafish observations and rowdy drinking ‘songs’. Perhaps they would still be alive and I would be at my full (and impressive) height if they hadn’t been so debilitatingly inebriated when the bandits hit. Undil to my left - MY left, not yours - hardly changed his expression as the arrow punctured his skull, and his idiot brother Gandil gawped with his eyes so wide that even the most novice bowman could have punctured them straight through the middle (and, in fact, did).

I, of course, engaged my Stendarr bless’d quick thinking and, in the blink of an eye, shrunk myself down to no larger than a scuttler (yet still, perfectly proportioned), crawled into my reagent bag, and have spent the last week living off the plants and fungi I had packed as a gift for my Imperial hosts. Supplies, of course, have been hard to get hold of for our unfortunate colleagues, and I had been adding to my gift bag as I travelled. The Valenwood, despite being full of savages, does boast some interesting flora, though one is slightly put off their food when they can hear the fauna picking apart the carcasses of their former companions. Insects work FAST, here.

…No, please don’t go! My diminished stature leaves me unable to hold my staff! In fact - where is my staff? How I am I ever going to return my physique and complete my noble quest? Will you PLEASE stop going through my saddle bags?!

Hello? HELLO?!

...Auriel, hang it all.

wisshardb16_ESO

Glad I found this before it was over! Here's my entry.

Fate is a strange thing, wild and unpredictable. I often think of fate as the weather of life; mostly it’s steady, ordinary, but sometimes there comes a storm which changes everything. A storm which you cannot fight or withstand: a storm which forces you onto a different path.
In my youth I was a warrior, an arrogant and belligerent man to whom reputation meant everything, yet now I was a priest of Kynareth, who wandered between villages hidden in deep forests and high valleys, offering the gift of healing to beasts and men. Such is the power of fate.
I shivered and pulled my robe closer around me. The sky was heavy with clouds and the wind blew wet with the promise of rain. It was going to be a cold night.
As I came to the end of the path where the campsite was I slowly came to a halt and gazed quietly at the open graves of my friend and my wife. Kjartan, my shield brother, had been called Stormleg for his swift feet, but even he hadn’t been able to outrun arrows, and his bare bones still lay riddles with arrows beside the cold campfire. My gaze wandered to Erica, so sweet and clever in jest, and I walked to her, letting my hand gently brush her cold cheekbone. Her hair had been beautiful, bright as the sun on a summer sky, but it had long since withered now, and her skull was bare except for the arrow that had killed her.
I sat down beside her at the low table I had brought on an earlier visit, and packed up the bread, cheese and wine I had brought to placate their spirits. Like as not the beasts of the land would be the ones to feast on it, but I hoped the gesture would reach them, as I hoped my prayers did. There are many burdens to be carried in life, but I find regret to be the heaviest, and the hardest to put down.
Here my life had been broken, as Kjartan and Erica had been slain by the bandits. Here my pride had been shattered, as I ran to save my own life, rather than fight for theirs.
Perhaps I couldn’t have done anything even if I had stayed and fought. The bandits had been many, and we had been few, and they had ambushed us in the dead of night, drawn by the light of the fire and the lure of plunder, but regret seldom listens to reason, and so I still come to this place carrying offerings and prayers, hoping they can forgive me where I can not.

liennosyarg

Ma and Da are eating outside—I know because I can hear birds and wind if I listen really hard.
“Cheese?” Da says.
“Mmm. Thank you.”
Ma likes big hunks of cheese. I think it's bad for both of us. I hear Ma's cup go clunk the table and even feel it a little. She likes wine but she's drinking milk. The birds are shouting at each other but I don't know what they're saying. Ma moves a little and I can feel the sun, big and warm and full.
“What are you thinking?” Ma says.
Da slurps his wine for longer than he has to.
“I was having a fight with you in my head,” he says.
“About what?” she says.
“I don't know.”
“That's stupid,” she says.
“Actually, it sounded a lot like this.”
I know that some people grow up to wear dead bodies and pretend that their parents were dragons, but I think my parents are the weirdest people I know.
“Okay, I'm sorry,” he says. “What do you want t—?”
“You know what I want to do,” Ma says.
“Lyssa, it's a life!”
“Exactly, what kind of life is this?” Ma picks up her cup but only so she can put it down really hard. “This isn't even our property. We have to risk all manner of danger, just to have a meal outside.”
“Gold doesn't buy happiness.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Will you consider—”
“If I had known that you were taking me out here to try and convince me, I wouldn't have come.” I try to stare at one spot but I can't see. She leans forward, and I hear her elbows go on the table, which means she's covering her face with her hands.
“I lo—”
“Don't.” Ma says.
“What!”
The birds are the only ones talking for a very long time. Once, I pretended that birds were really reading everyone's minds and saying the stuff in their heads they wanted to say and ever since I started pretending I started believing that it was true.
“Oh, blast.” Da says like the fight is over. “Lyssa.”
There's a weird sound, like a twangy kind of thunk that would be funny if Da didn't sound so scared. The birds have stopped chirping which doesn't make sense because Ma and Da have a lot to say to each other, I think.
“I d—” Ma says, but she jerks back, and falls into the chair really hard. There are more twangy sounds and I can feel her arms going in a wobbly swimming kind of way, and Da makes a sound like he's choking or about to cough before I hear him fall on the ground. Ma's leaning back in her chair. I can tell I'm in the sun now, big and warm and full but still very dark, and I think the fight's over and I'll never be born. I can tell that her heart is doing weird things, going fast then slow then slower.

Keir

Me and my brother Astmar were excellent swordsmen but that fight was impossible to win with our small group, Daedra slaughtered everyone and just two of us were able to escape. When we reported what happened to the captain, he was furious, since his son was in our group, all his anger poured on us. Sentenced to death for desertion, we were thrown into a prison cell, awaiting our execution. In out prison cell, there was an old man in a dirty, torn robe. We thought that he was crazy, since as soon as the guard closed the door, he offered to save us if we would play his ‘game’. With a laugh we agreed and then immediately lost our consciousness. When we opened our eyes we were in a dark cave, full of dirt, and Sheogorath starring at us, in his fancy dress. I have never experienced such fear, he said ‘You are in the game’ and simply disappeared. Since the early childhood we heard about the ‘games’ of the God of Madness but we always thought they were fairy tales for naughty children. We found a pair of rusty swords and decided to get out of the cave. It turned out we were in a huge maze. Each step carried a deadly danger, undead were rising from their graves, portals were opening from which daedra were attacking. Three days and three nights we were wandering the maze and fought. It seemed endless, since when we started drawing a map, the caves would change. Exhausted from fighting and hunger, we walked into a small cave, without the daedra and a table, with a pair of chairs in the middle. We’ve decided to sit down and catch a breath. Once we did that, a campfire appeared and table was full with food. This was the first time in my life, when I taught that magic can bring something good but Astmar got suspicious and we checked all corners of the cave, everything looked safe. We ate and ate and new food appeared on the table but we couldn’t get rid from the feeling of hunger in our mouths and only the pain from the arrows, which were shot by the dremora from the portal, made it clear, that we are dying hungry and the food was an illusion. Now we are Orland and Horis, Sheogorath kept his promise and saves us from execution by moving our souls to new bodies and our old ones are still in that cave and it seems like they will become the next challenge to next players.

Leafmint

NPC pub night.

Bob: "So the guy walks up to our mob wearing only a salmon pink dress..."
Frank: "Haha... Stop it, you're killing me."
Bob: "You're dead already dude."

tortara

Cheese and Cabbage for Grossen

"At last, a safe place, a perfect place to become powerful" Grossen declared to himself as he cast his gaze on the grim tableau set before him. There is a story to be told here he thought. Many stories no doubt.

A solid wooden table and equally solid chairs knocked askew lay before him. Complete with two skeletons, shot full of arrows. More importantly , beside them was a heavy bag. An Orc Chieftans horde , perhaps. Whatever food there was had decomposed long ago.

Grossen collapsed in near total exhaustion, his flight from his pursuers had left him no reserves.

He woke to the first calls of the dawn, disorientated and famished. Though his first thoughts were for the two precious tomes in his pack. Bought at the cost of a masters life.

"How dare he insult me , denounce me, call me an untalented coward! l'll show him, they will see!" he muttered forcefully to an uncaring audience.

True, if he had great talent as his master had hoped when he had undertaken his apprenticeship, some seven years ago, he could have returned the decomposed food and drink to fresh, but his only talent was illusion. So, with very real desperation driving him, Grossen opened the ancient tomes, desperately looking for a solution. Alteration was beyond him , but perhaps ... conjuration. If he couldn't create food, perhaps someone, or something could provide food for him , and protect him too.

Many of the conjurings required meticulous, elaborate rituals and equipment he did not have. This one though, this one had very definite possibilities. It just required the name of the being to be summoned. He thought furiously, so many names he had heard and learnt, or rather half learnt... only one he was sure enough of ... Gutsripper! Yes, he will do.

Without further conscious thought the chanting began, and though inept, with complete disregard to proper protocol or safety Grossen did have the power of desperation on his side.

A savage tearing sound and the gut wrenching odour of Oblivion preceded his arrival, landing in a tail spin that sent Grossen flying clear over the table into a semiconscious heap.

Rousing himself he had the fleeting thought, "Clannfears don't talk?!"

"Puppy! Come here! ... Why? Where, when, which, what and sometimes who?"

This last exclaimed by the Daedric Prince know as Sheagorath as he gazed thoughtfully at the dishevelled heap that was not the discarded refuse and clothes that he had first thought it to be. "Look Pup, someone to play with yer"
"Perhaps we should hear what he has to say for himself,. You don't get to see an orc with magical ability and the lack of wit to summon you from your kennel everyday."

"Speak up, out with it ... If your story is good enough we may strike a bargain, or not."

So the story of Sheogorath's favourite bargain begins.

Enjinir

She marked a barb for between my eyes, and to be honest, that was the least breathtaking thing about her.

The first time I met her was in the wilds outside of town. “Met” – Perhaps that’s not the word. I was out collecting mountain flower for my family’s stockpile. Distracted in thought, I wasn’t minding peripherals. With no warning, she emerged from the shadows themselves. She’d an arrow knocked and aimed before I even turned about.

“Drop ye pretty flowers, boy.” She ordered with an even rasp. I picked up on her accent right away – a bandit tribe that’s afflicted the locale for generations.

“Don’t you know?” I retorted, “I picked them just for you.”

What was I thinking? Bandits aren't exactly known for their appreciation of wit. I closed my eyes, welcoming death. I’d stumbled into their territory, and quipped at my executioner. Soon I would hear the woosh and thwack of a twig cracking my skull. For an eternity I waited. And then I heard it.

A giggle? No… I had to have been delirious. But there it was again.

“Got a pair o’ ingots on ye, talkin' back ta bended yew.”

She was a sight for anyone, not just for eyes normally engulfed in books. Red locks and green eyes, she was mer and fit. We talked for a delve’s-length. I can’t recall ever being connected like that. We talked of freedom and family and life and love. She’s a wild stag looking for depth amongst animals, and I a caged bird seeking to fly guided only by heart. We are perfect for each other.

This is it. I need to make the oath while the chance is present. It’s tradition in my family to, when you’ve chosen to settle, share your first meal together at the family dining table. In joining each other, you signify that each will provide nourishment for not only the other’s stomach, but also their heart and soul.

There’s no way we can meet here. Her, a bandit girl in markings and bone, there’s no way she’d avoid stockades upon sight. And me, an educated boy in woven silk, there’s no way my head would avoid bandit pikes.

We must escape to neutral ground.

We’re to meet at the old cliff camp. We’ll share my village’s finest cheese, and her tribe’s finest fruit. She will dine like the queen she is, and I will gaze upon her, a satisfied king.

I do hope she shows. If her tribe were to learn of these plans, they would surely lash out. My concern is not for me, though, as I know that, as much danger as I am putting myself in, she may be taking more risk than I. But love conquers, right?

There was a writer once, a better one than I, who talked of the options of suffering slings and arrows or choosing not to endure trouble.

But then, arrows never sounded like the better option to me.

devonlee95ub17_ESO

Alright, here is my entry:
A wanderer was exploring the forest one night, when he came upon a terrible scene. It was a campsite that had long since been abandoned. The campfire was dead and cold, the supplies had rotten away, and sitting at a table was the skeletal remains of some poor soul. The pale moonlight illuminated the gaping skull with an eerie glow, and arrows littered the campsite, as if an army had all released their shafts at once. However, what most unnerved the wanderer was that despite the obvious age and decay of the campsite, the table had flickering candles and fresh food, as if someone had just set the table for visitors. Feeling a growing sense of dread, the traveler turned to leave when he noticed a strange book only inches from the skeleton’s hands. His curiosity piqued, he opened the book and began to read. Soon, his unease turned to outright terror! The book seemed to be talking about him, and narrating everything he did! At that point an arrow entered his skull.

A Breton was traveling through the forest one night, when he came upon a grisly scene. In a clearing was a strange campsite littered with arrows, and two corpses shot with arrows. One was reduced to skeletal remains sitting at a table, and the other seemed to have only died a few days hence. He had arrows piercing his eyes, and a book lying inches from his cold hands. Intrigued, the Breton picked up the book and began to read….

jackwingrub17_ESO

"Best to lie here and be still my friend, least till the fighter guild have left completely", whispered my cursed companion. I gave a slight nod, eliciting a small creak from my neck vertebrae. As we waited, I reflected on our predicament.

Far from my home in Narsis , we traveled west to record the events of the greatest conflict of our age! Surely these observations could be used so that I may be inspired to create even greater works of poetic verse. My acquaintance was an experienced traveler and not too shabby with a blade, so after some convincing, he agreed to lead me to Cyrodiil.

We traveled for a while until the hot sun hung over the lower glades of Morrowind with such intensity that my companion and I stopped to rest beneath a willow. Upon awakening, we heard a great noise. Alarmed, my friend drew his blade to investigate. At a nearby stump, where we placed our supplies as we slept, was a large and fearsome Kagouti tearing through all our food. I began to exclaim anger until my partner in this venture covered my mouth and suggested we move on. It was a great beast which we would be no match for.

Days passed, and we grew hungry. Our steps dragged and I could no longer think clearly. I fell and darkness overcome me. I had a delusional dream in which a horned figure appeared, eating the flesh of an apple. "Hey pal, you looking a little malnourished there! I think I can fix that for ya. Get yourself up and carry on a ways longer. I'll set a table out for ya and we can eat." The horned man's dog licked his chops with anticipation, and lunged at me. I awoke with my companion staring over me.

We ran ahead, with the promise of food near at hand and surely as we came around a extruding cliff side, we saw a set table. We feasted upon the delicacies set before us. Booming laughter soon followed. "Petty mortals, oh so hungry?" I looked on at my own body as the flesh fell away. I was not but bone. "You'll never starve now eh?" My companion and I screamed, attracting the attention of a nearby band of warriors from the fighters guild. Now here I lie, with an arrow in each of my two eye sockets realizing my folly. Should make for a great verse fable I suppose...