Tales of the Dead - Contest Entry Thread

StopDropAndBear

The Cheater's Feast

Behind the mossy boulder
Where the lavender grows tall
Meet me there in secret, love
From prying eyes of all

I'll feed you grapes and cheeses, love
Into your waiting lips
The finest wines we will imbibe
Kisses stolen between sips

My wife shall never find us here,
The shrill, insipid goat
My love for her all but run dry
Yet flows for you like a moat

A one-time deadeye with a bow
And former pirate, she
Her crew, the Golden Rapiers
Known terrors of the sea

A life of adventure left behind,
To wed this handsome man
Her swords and bows all traded in
For brooms and pots and pans

But now I find her old and dull
Her lustre lost and lorn
She pales next to you, my dove
She is the night, and you the morn

So do not be jealous, my sweet
Of that vexing ball and chain
She'll certainly never discover our tryst
And...say, does that sound like rain?

Rodario

Loredas, 9th of first seed

When our caravan got ambushed by a glaring of filthy beast-mer and I was the only one to escape, I believed death would certainly find me in the form of starvation out here in this harsh and unfamiliar wilderness.

Mercifully, as I was on the brink of forefit, a nice elderly gentleman invited me to a feast of cheese. He insists I call him uncle Sheo. It's strange, I don't remember having an uncle. Must be the hunger.

Katava

I thought he was handsome and exotic. He doesn't look so handsome now with that arrow sticking out of his head and dead eyes staring at the cheese I secreted out of my family's larder. I thought I was going to be a great hero with collections of wondrous stories, and I didn't even last one day!

Lying here on the ground with an arrow in one eye and blood starting to blind the other, I can only think about the day Maros walked into my family's tavern. I had never seen someone like him in all of Skyrim, and he captivated me from the moment I asked him if he wanted mead or ale. Most Dunmer are too weak for our mead, but he impressed me by downing a mug and asking for another right away. He stayed late into the night, inviting me to eat with him and fascinating me with tales of his adventures. I have never been out of Eastmarch and these wild tales of the Dunmer lands made me thirst for adventure. What a stupid girl I was.

I spent the next day dreaming about the handsome adventurer with his dark hair and intriguing red eyes. I imagined the adventures we would have, the monsters we would slay together. Father yelled at me to get my head out of the clouds.

I never thought I would see Maros again, but it was fun to day dream. That evening, however, he returned! He told me more of his stories, and said I should join him! My heart leapt at the thought, but I tried to be coy. I told him that I was frightened and I didn't even know how to hold a sword.

"Ah, beautiful Svana," he said, taking my hand lightly, "you can come with me, I will protect you and teach you how to be a proper adventurer."

I know I must be dying. Time is funny when you are dying, I have heard that you life flashes before your eyes, but I can only remember the past few days, my last few days. Through my blood-tainted eye, I see the milk-drinking cowards who rained arrows down on us from afar rifling through Maros' camp.
"This one's still alive," one of them says.

A filthy Bosmer in Dominion armor leans over me, "No problem," he says and he grabs the shaft of the arrow. I finally start to feel pain and I let out a weak cry as the Bosmer says "For all their talk these Nords die easily enough."

NolaUnderhill

“The perfect con is the con you’d least expect—the con you’d never even know was a con.” Those were the words my brother Jakobi and I lived by. We were the best conmen in all of Tamriel. Yes, I said were…as in past tense…as in no longer…as in dead. But don’t worry, I’ll get to that. My name is Dennigan, and this is the story on how my brother and I were duped into the perfect con.

Like I said before, we were the best—well, at least we thought so. It was hard not to think that way, I mean, we went from province to province gaining more and more gold than we knew what to do with. With each province our plans got more creative, more elaborate, and more perfect. We got so good that it actually became boring, so we started getting crazier with our plans.
But the thing with piles of loot is that you need somewhere to put it—or hide it if you want to keep it, that is. Up to this point we didn’t really have a place since we moved around all the time; but one fateful day we were ambushed by a band of goblins. Thankfully, we got the best of them; though I did take an arrow in the knee. Hurt like hell. Anyways, we found their little cave behind a small grove of trees and decided right then that it would be the perfect place to hide our loot. The trick was to find a way to scare off any adventurers so they wouldn’t go snooping around.

So we pitched a camp right in front of the grove that hid the entrance, gathered a bunch of goblin arrows, and scrounged up a couple dead bodies from some graves conveniently located on the side of the road nearby—don’t judge, it’s not like they had anything going on. We set the bodies in the camp, used them for target practice, and made it look as though these poor souls had been enjoying their dinner when they were ambushed by goblins. It was a perfect plan, if I do say so myself. Unfortunately, we weren’t the only ones who thought so.

What neither of us took into consideration was that there might be more goblins, and that they may be cleverer than you or I would ever give them credit for. They silently watched us and waited until we fell asleep that night before they struck. We didn’t even have a chance, I’m afraid. But the real kicker is this: they liked our plan so much they decided to duplicate it and then some. They burned the bodies we found in a giant bonfire and then placed our bodies in their stead—in the same way we had them seated to boot!

So there you have it. We’ve been sitting here ever since guarding our—well, the goblins’ treasure. But you know what: Our con worked better than we thought.

wulfere

Garrick awoke with a start. There it was again. A snapping and popping sound.
”Murdle?” he called tremulously. “Sarge?”
More snapping...the sound of booted feet and the tent flap was whipped open.
Garrick screamed like a wean, clutching at his bedroll as a huge hairy and hideous visage appeared in the opening.
“Aye lad it’s me...ah had to goan drain me weasel.” said the ugly brute in the opening.
Garrick relaxed.
“Gaw Sarge ye nearly scarred the shite outta me!” he had, in fact whittled a bit.
Then he noticed the fire outside the tent and nearly whittled again.
“Sarge! What are ye doin? The enemy will see the fire!” he nearly squealed in his panic.
He hated this whole business and wished he could be back on the farm with his wheat crops.
They never tried to kill you. Well except for that one time when that daffy wizard came through town and said he could make it rain.
Murdle only smiled at him and said, around a mouthful of cheese.
“It’s ok lad. We be on the far side of the hill from where the battles to be. They cannae see shite.”
Garrick relaxed a bit.
“Wull I guess that’s ok than. Ye mind moving? I need to go do what ye just did.”
Minutes later Garrick stood by the fire. The air was chill this early in the morning and he warmed his hands as he looked about. No one was here. He looked over at Murdle, who was sitting at the only table in the makeshift camp. Ever-candles burning and a fresh meal laid out.
“Sarge? Whare is everyone? I mean they aint here eatin. Has the battle started aready?”
“No lad.” said Murdle. “I done sent them to get ready though.”
Garrick reflected that they all needed to practice. This small band of Militia from his town was not really trained for fighting more than a few blokes from the other towns come to raid a coo or two. At least he was Sarges hand picked gopher. He might not be killed today.
“Ah, who’s leadin em?”
Sarge swallowed a massive mouthful if something unfortunate. Pickled rat by the smell and answered. “Ah sent em with Scuffy. He can handle et.”
Garrick was aghast! “SCUFFY!? That fellow with the ferocious squint en one bad eye!?
He gets lost in his own barn! An ye sent him out with our archers!?” He railed at Murdle.
Who, for some reason only looked him with a befuddled expression on his homely face.
“Garrick...Whots that hummin sound?”

flynn.steppeb16_ESO

The nightingale, The man and the cheese:


"It was late when he arrived and too late when I arrived".

I found my son early in the night with multiple arrows sticking out of him,
laying in a pool of blood.
His dead eyes where staring at the stars, never would he watch the sunrise again.
To tired to cry, I walked to an old chair and fell asleep.
I would never make such a mistake again.
it was midnight when he came, that was when I woke up.
Watching him made me scared. he was watching the moon, ready for everything.
On his back he carried a bow with gray arrows...
The same arrows that were sticking out of my sons almost disintegrated body.
This was the man that killed him!
Anger filled my whole body when I stood up.
In a matter of a second the man stood before me.
His armour as black as the night and his nightingale logo shining at his chest.
"What where you trying to do?" the nightingale said.
"trying to revenge my son!!!" I said when I drew my knife.
As soon as my knife was out of the sheath, he took his bow and shot an arrow.
The arrow arrived and before I knew it I was pinned on the chair.
It was impossible to explain the pain I felt coming from my hip.
He walked towards me and puled the arrow out.
"Why?" I asked while crying "Why did you kill my son?"
"he tried to steal my cheese from the table, So I fired a volley of arrows at him." he said while walking away.
"It's just cheese." I said.
"It was my cheese," he said while firing an arrow at my head.
I felled the arrow piercing true my brains, and the last thing I thought was: "me and my son died because of cheese?"

Dylipse

Antonius Glabrio
Quintus Iocundus

The afore-mentioned personage has been marked for honorable execution in accordance to the lawful tradition and practice of the Morag Tong guild. The Bearer of this non-disputable document has official sanctioned license to kill the afore-mentioned personage.







[Hastily scribbled on the bottom of the writ]
Glabrio-Male, Imperial, short brown hair, 6 feet tall
Iocundus- Male, Imperial, long blonde windswept hair, beard, between 5 and 6 feet

Outside the Haynote cave at NOON every SUNDAS

HEAVILY ARMED STAY HIDDEN

Aarlur

Master Arhus told me to writ a joornal, so I can prakticing writing. So dats wat I do now.

We arrived to the ruin yesterday. Some old mine or wat. Dvemer livd here many years ago. Shors bons, wish I know wats so intersting in dem! Dey died alredy! We going up today.

We went up yesterday. De place fluded with goblins. Dose dirty little vermins were shutig arrows at us. Coards! The master wounded a bit, but its nothing sirius.

De last too days I trid to do some scouting, but I kant go close to de mine. Too much goblin. Dis stupid writing make me tirsty.

De master red my joornal today. Se began to cri, but se didnt sad way. Strange.

A sniky litle dark elf arrived to de camp dis morning. He had some statu, a totem. He sad he took it from the goblins. He sad dey want it so mucch back, for excange dey let us in de mine. De muster didnt belived for him but she payed anyvay, because de totem simd intresting.

Last nayt I saw som goblin around de camp. Dey never cam down befor.

Last nayt mor goblin cam down. The master examind de totem and se sad de elf didnt layd. Its original.

Cant sleep. I hir de goblins. If dey tink dey can lunch a surprise attack dey will be disap

MrTibbs

As was tradition in her family, Mable brought fresh food for her long departed brothers to show honor and respect for their deaths. The Legendary Outlaw Boarthine Brothers, or "Wild Boar" Brothers as they came to be known. Undefeated in every fight and feared by all only to be killed by some milk-drinkin' cowards and their blasted night arrows.

Normally, this time honored tradition would be carried out by their wives but since they were unwed it falls to their sister Mable. Tradition demands they be left were they fell, making this spot as legendary as the men themselves. All in the land know better than to disturb this spot. A story told to children and perpetuated by the superstitious of untold doom should one be so brave...or foolish.

"Sleep well Brothers," Mable says dangerously tapping one of the arrows against her arm cop. "You will soon have company and be able to take your revenge for all time."

Unbeknownst to the cowards who killed her brothers she has finally tracked them down through the specialized arrows they used and will now show them who taught the "Wild Boar" Brothers what they knew!

Tralfamador

Must... loot... that... Heavy Sack...

Cody

Halmer and his brother Joruk received a strange letter from an unknown person, who told them They wanted to meet the brothers. This person claimed to be a member of the fighters guild, and told them in the letter, they had been accepted. the brothers have long wanted to join the guild. They have been practicing and applying for years. The meeting place was near some ancient ruins near falkreath, with a table set, and a banquet prepared.

Unknown to the brothers, the person was actually a long time family rival, Rolaf. The brothers family attacked Rolafs family years ago, and killed everyone. Or so they thought. Rolaf survived hiding in the nearby woods of his home, as he watched his parents be executed brutally, by the brothers family., and has been dreaming of revenge ever since. The brothers parents had been murdered a few days ago. Everyone assumed it was a robbery gone wrong But it was actually rolaf who killed them. Rolaf is a master Nightblade and eliminated them with ease. The brothers however, were different. They could not simply be stabbed a few times, like he did with their parents. The brothers, were, after all, expert fighters, and in the brothers response letter, they said they were coming fully armored and armed, as they felt they should celebrate with their gear with them.

Rolaf got help from some friends, and when the brothers arrived and sat down, Rolaf gave a signal, and his friends, who were expert archers; unleashed an arrow volley. Halmer immediately jumped to his feet at the site of the archers, and tried to rush to the side, but was shot down by the archers. Joruk was still sitting at the table when Rolaf shot an arrow into his Head. the Food was still on the table. With his vengeance compete, Rolaf put away his weapons, and started a new life in Bruma, located in the far away lands of cyrodill.

Danhopeless

Journal of Grand Cheesemaster-General, Wheylord Cheddariel of Anvil

Turdas morning;

At last, the momentous day is upon us. Today, I judge. My decision, is, as they say, final. So much depends on my approval, or lack thereof, that I can scarce contain my excitement. Of course, I will present my customary stern countenance, positively dripping with gravitas, as I make my pronouncements, but internally I will be in a state of considerable arousal. Fortunately, my robes of office are loose fitting and bulky, if magnificent, and lend one a sort of dignified grace.

This year’s finalists are a mixed bag; the returning champion, Ivar Sheep-Worrier (must remember to remain upwind of him this year), a comely Breton lass named Brie Boursin, and a shifty looking Bosmer whose name escapes me. In the preliminary tasting rounds, Sheep-Worrier maintained his usual high standard, with a positively boisterous vintage Eidar that brought a tear to my eye, sentimental old fool that I am. Boursin’s offering was wonderfully rich and creamy, but more than that I cannot recall since she seems intent on using her fantastic frame to sway me. I freely admit, it is… distracting. The Bosmer had a face like thunder when, after much lip-smacking consideration I pronounced his sample “extremely woody”. Most amusing! As easily wound up as a broken lute string. Yet he has no retort; simply paws nervously at that pathetic bone bow of his. Such is my authority, reputation and power!

I have reached my decision. The Breton shall take the prize. She has proved herself… capable. The Nord I suspect is still drunk from celebrating last year’s victory, although in truth he should win once more. No matter. In my summing up, I have prepared some choice phrases for the Wood Elf, who I plan to place a distant third. Not for his race, the fine art of cheese making, I will gently posit. I may even wonder aloud through what accident he came to feature in the Grand Final. Then I’ll let him have it with a barb along the lines of “If only you were as skilled a cheese maker as you are with your toy bow!” Sublime!

Now to assume my place at the tasting table. This year’s Tamriel Cheesemaker of the Year Grand Final will undoubtedly be the best yet!

Vizzinator

Fredas, 4th of Second Seed

I’ve gathered all the things I need and thought of everything to make this perfect. Concord grapes, Olroy cheese, her favorite, and wine straight from High Rock. I’ll arrive early to light the candles then race back to escort her to the spot by the ash tree where we had our first kiss. I wonder if she will remember the spot. What am I thinking, of course she will! I’ve prepared a campfire so we can hold each other and count the stars as they blink into existence. I will pray to Mara that everything goes according to plan.

- Astron Fanrian


Loredas, 5th of Second Seed

A particularly good night I’d say. It started off with Bazbuk and Ghurul betting over who was going to get the first kill. Faldonor always looks disgusted when we talk of death, as if he doesn’t have blood on his hands. Pathetic Bosmer! Though he does have a point. If we let them live, then we can rob them twice! No, it’s easier to put them out of their misery than have to deal with the authorities.

We had enough loot to split between us so we headed back to camp when we happened upon two unsuspecting victims. A barrage of arrows quickly ended the life of one. I wonder what his last words were. The second had enough time to stand up and see the arrow plunge into her eye. Might have missed her had she stayed seated. Too bad, she wasn’t bad looking for a Breton. No matter, she’s dead now. The others didn’t see the shiny new ring I wrenched off her left hand. This will fetch a hefty price! A particularly good night indeed.

- Venndris Faloendus

Toxictoyoursanity

Betrayal. A lesser woman would have blamed the Daedric pantheon for her fate. But not her. She knew it was coming. It was only a matter of time. They found her around sunset – a spread of cheese and wine across the table. The wine was cheap, the cheese almost spoiled, but at least they were eating tonight. The fire crackled and popped, the last of the fire salts catching fire to the kindling. She didn't ask him where he got the salts from, only that it was the only thing they had left to start a fire with. When he asked her to betray the others, she didn't hesitate. He wore a smile of the man her father had warned her about – tempting, mischievous. She should have known better. She had seen it once before. It was parable passed from Stendarr himself – nobody betrayed Captain Blackheart. Justice would be served. It was only a matter of time. She had heard the whispers in the streets of Evermore – the pirate king gone mad, but on the shores of Halcyon Lake – they seemed a lifetime away.

As the Ayleid ruin at the center of the lake glowed in the night, Gjarma took a swig of wine. A lifetime ago, she would have never touched the stuff. She had been a good woman once, but when kings call – good men (and women) go to war. When her duty for king and country was over, Gjarma returned home to nothing. Everything she had fought for in the Imperial province of Cyrodiil was gone. Tamriel only existed as an arena for war. Blackheart was the first man to give her a purpose to live after she deserted the war. The gold was good, but the corruption tortured her soul. To be soulless would have been a blessing of Akatosh.

After her failure at Haven, she was ready to get away from it – the war, the dark magics, and even Blackheart himself. When he asked her to betray Blackheart, the others, she didn't hesitate. It was the perfect way out. The Daggerfall Covenant, Bangkorai, Halcyon Lake – it was the peace she wanted, but not the one she deserved. She didn't deserve any of it. She couldn't commit to any of it.

When they found her around sunset, she didn't bother to draw her sword. She offered one last prayer to Kyne. Gjarma lost her faith during the war, but she still remembered what her father taught her on Sundas. The first arrow was a warning shot, a welcomed courtesy in a world without it. It landed amongst the wine and cheese. At least she knew it was coming. It was only a matter of time. The first volley of arrows struck down her partner near the fire. He at least deserved it. Gjarma took one last swig of wine (it wasn't mead, but it would do) and waited for the next volley. A Nord's last thoughts was always of home.

Ravalox

A note found inside the heavy sack:

My dear cousin Abnab,

As you know, Tenorak and I have been working to collect materials for our esteemed employer who creates wondrous things with them. I know that the family has been concerned that you and cousin Ezdab need to find a way to earn the coin to move out and make your fortune in Tamriel.

We have been collecting enchanting supplies for a long while and have found it not that difficult and it is very exciting too! Imagine the chance to explore ruins, crypts and other ancient locations just to collect some dusty relics to bring back for loads of gold. Today, we have completed our latest quest netting us a huge (and heavy) sack of materials.

At this point, Tenorak and I will have enough gold to retire, and we would like to offer you the opportunity to take over our clients. Fortune has indeed smiled on us all; this is an offer you should not pass up!

Your cousin,

Nonarab

gjarvis25

A Breton's Parabole

Young Rene Aleui, what a charming man was he,
Such a treat for the gentry and Lord and Lady.

The profession he held was one to desire:
Singing of love, and hearts burning with fire.

Yet tales tell of blemishes and strikes on his name,
Stories of lusts and reputed ill fame.

For his tastes were for lovers of higher position,
Long hours he spent, plotting roguish transgression.

His fate was sealed when he chased the Duke’s wife,
Little did he know, he had forfeit his life.

Many a night he would steal her away,
Returning her home, ere break of the day.

The Duke became wise, and revenge he would get,
as he plotted for murder, one night when they met.

As they courted and caroused over wine by the water,
The Duke’s Men did arrive and make ready for slaughter.

Struck true by an arrow as she reached for a drink,
For ever and eternity to her chair she did sink.

Frightened and shocked Rene fell to the ground,
More arrows were whistling and falling all ‘round.

Clutching his side as he rolled on his back,
His eyes turned upward and his features went slack.

Seeing two shafts as they fell through the sky,
Young Rene Aleui took an arrow in each eye.

So ends the tale of a man who would thieve,
And I tell you in hopes that I make you believe,

That stealing from others will leave you bereft
Of morals and honour, and blinded in death.

Champion561

Gambling Log

____________ Winnings:
_______________________________________Gold Won:

Galmar: 25- 16- 9- 4- 12- 4- 13 _____________83

Thobal: 17- 7- 18- 12- 7- 19- 15 ____________95

Finthil: 0- 0- 0- 0- 1- 0- 0- 0 _________________1


(Scribbled at the bottom of note)

Let this be a lesson to cheating nords and those who would anger a wood elf.

Greeleyjustin

Loud Mouth Morimer.


Morimer's wife had just recently passed and here he was standing on my doorstep asking me to come with him and celebrate.
"Just a few drinks, nothing major," Morimer pleaded, trying to convince me.
"What will people think, seeing you out celebrating!"
"What do I care? I have just had an incredible turn in luck!" Bellowed Morimer.
"You don't consider your wife's passing to be luck, do you?"
"It's more than just the luck of her passing,"
The look Morimer had on his face struck me with the desire to follow him to the tavern and hear what was so lucky about his current situation. As we entered I noticed a large group of men sitting in the corner. For some odd reason I felt as if they were waiting for something. I couldn't take my eyes off of the man who had the head of the table. And he couldn't take his eyes off Morimer. We took a seat at a table for two. Unfortunately it was closer than I liked to the table of men, but Morimer refused to change seats. I was very distracted as Morimer began his story. I had the overwhelming feeling that I wasn't the only one interested in what he had to say.
His story began at their wedding. He told me for the first time he had met his father in law, he showed up in a carriage fit for a king. His wife seemed very unhappy during his visit but refused to talk about it. Later in the marriage Morimer found out that his father in law was trying to bribe his daughter with a large sum of money not to marry him. This made Morimer furious that she would withhold that kind of information. He never seemed to consider the fact that his wife chose him over a very large chest of gold. As he bantered on, it became clear that Morimer's father in law had money hidden in a cave for his daughter in case she ever decided to leave him. He told me that after years of trying to convince his wife to trick her father into giving her the money had made him start to loathe his wife. He was tired of working every day in the sun. He wanted the luxuries only money could buy.
As we were drawing close to the climax of the story, Morimer was damn near shouting. He described his wife's decline in happiness and her fathers push for her to leave Morimer eventually telling me about the night his wife said she was leaving him. She finally succumbed to her fathers consistent effort and accepted the money. I was shocked that Morimer seemed so full of joy.
"How is any of this luck?" I interrupted. Morimer sat down and leaned back in his chair.
"Guess what I found this afternoon?" Morimer said with a large smile. "The cave! My brother and I are going to unload it tomorrow."
He had sprung up knocking his drink over, gaining the attention of everyone in the tavern. I glanced over to the table full of men and noticed they seemed completely unaffected. It was obvious they had been listening the entire time. I turned to Morimer looking at his big grin and felt concerned for him. What was this helpless fool to do?
I wished him luck, as it was getting late and my wife surely would be giving me a rough time about it. I started to walk out and heard Morimer ask for another drink. As I passed the table that had been overly curious about me and Morimer, I noticed they were all staring at Morimer. I stopped for a second and considered the motives these men may have. I drew the conclusion that they were just looking at Morimer in jealousy. Maybe they would get drunk and beat him out of jealousy. In turn Morimer hopefully will learn to keep his mouth shut and be more aware of his surroundings.
It's been weeks since that night. And I sit here thinking about my friend Morimer. I picture him living in a castle with servants, eating the finest cheese and drinking the most expensive wine. But images of those men staring at Morimer keep interrupting my thoughts. I have the urge to find and contact Morimer, but I always just talk myself out of it. He is rich now and has no time for people like me.

Vashankha1

“Wheel of Fortune”



Pehn Devoit and Kooshon Minks were not adventurers although they strove to be as such. The Lords were neighbors and each had lost farmland to drought and found themselves working beside the very people they had underpaid, and on someone else’s farm to boot. They were not privy to survival by honest toil, and set off to find an alternative path soon afterwards.

Their path became clear with a discovery tucked in the recess of
an old tree. Barely visible under gnarls of the roots winked the glint
of steel. Kooshon found the source of reflection to be a locked chest. Using a stone they smashed the lock, believing they had discovered treasure, only to find random junk. To their disappointment the treasure turned out to be pieces of mismatched armor and an assortment of axes.

The defunct lords decided to don the gear and go adventuring. They had
seen adventurers pass through town, and if those low born could
make fortunes, so too could they. They did travel far and wide in their oversize gear, andtheir wicked axes for which they possessed no natural talent at wielding. Often the pair hadbeen mocked and sometimes beaten and thrown from taverns when they proceeded to put onairs in front of actual seasoned adventure types. One tavern reveler suggested the two thoughtthey were sons of the great adventurer Pliny. Asking around the two discovered that Pliny was simply a man whom townsfolk called Pliny the Elder. Pliny was a renowned adventurer but had retired from adventuring and was a bow maker in town.

Desperate, the former Lords decided to seek what they presumed Pliny had stashed at his house, what they believed to be years of plunder. They were aghast when the old man apparently lived modestly having spent his loot on farmland for himself and his only son. Pliny said his real breadwinner was his famous “OofOof cheese” and that bow making was purely supplemental. They heard tales of the odoriferous, but delicious “OofOof cheese.” Townsfolk claimed the odd name came first from the reaction to the smell, and then from the wondrous surprise at the taste. Thinking of becoming cheese mongers in another town, the pair demanded the recipe, and when Pliny said his wayward son had it, they set upon the elderly hero with their axes. Pehn and Kooshon ransacked the house and discovered the old man had lied! They discovered the recipe under a floorboard and a wheel of the glorious cheese itself in the pantry.

Away in the wood, they feasted on plunder from Pliny’s house and rejoiced at their
future cheese enterprise. Unbeknownst to them, seven bowmen had found them
by the unmistakable scent of OofOof cheese. Just before the onslaught of arrows and spells of flame disintegrated their gear and flesh from bone, the bowmen cried “We are the Seven Sons of Pliny!”

Their last thoughts were of how old man had lied about more than just the recipe.

ForfiniteStories

Theodard Coppercroft and Belladyna Gaering, who are in a happy relationship, desire to date. Theo secretly desires something more seclusive, such as a picnic. The excursion would be extravagant, ripe for a proposal. To cover his deliberate attempt, Theo coincidently brings her to a fully occupied tavern just outside Daggerfall, which provokes them to eat outside instead (there is no where else that is near.) The inn lends them a spare table and a set of chairs (occasionally an intoxicated Nord or an Orc would smash one.) He knew this place would be occupied due to the recent troubles elsewhere. Concerned that such a picnic would grant unwelcoming attention, the piles of heavy boxes and bags bandit bait, Bella is then comforted by the fact that they are only a short stride away from the nearest city, let alone the inn. Bella argues that the actual distance is scaled down; that these places aren't actually as close as they seem; that this isn't Daggerfall (a reference to The Elder Scrolls II: Daggerfall's massive world size.) Theo replies, "Uh, yes it is," pertaining to the nearby city of Daggerfall. Theo also suggests that his supplies would blend well with the proximity to the inn, from which some of the supplies derived (another location needs something that this location has an abundance of, and vice-verse.) Surely one would not thieve such property, especially when traffic is present?

Assuming that Theo is up to something (the proposal she doesn't know about), and rightfully so, Bella beckons her friend, Barbolda Stonehouse, to join in the excursion. Theodore doesn't want this, and searches for (or rather, is found by while searching for) and encourages Rodore Ravenhart, a popular womanizer it is said, and a pesky admirer of Barbolda, to draw her away from joining. Intimacy requires privacy!

Rodore secretly plots against Theo, knowing that he is a wealthy and undeserving merchant. Theodore, as is per norm of a merchant, always brings his things, and is clearly using the "picnic"'s location as a convenience in regard to his job rather than just pure flattery and coincidence.

Rodore is a disciple of Sanguine, and because of this, because of his relations with the Daedric Prince, and his own lot in life, there was something else at stake. The loot, yes, the loot. But also the ring. Yes, the ring. He needed that ring.

During their picnic, Bella wonders where Barbolda is.

Due to the close proximity to an inn, Rodore wants to prevent a scream, leaving him unable to kill just Theo and do whatever he pleased to Belladyna before killing her. He had to kill them both at once, lest he make a run for it.
However, the supplies of which Theo had brought were worthy, and so he opted to continue with the theft. Probably not the best junk to sell for the best coin, but it was still something. And he had nothing.

A sudden rain of arrows slammed down on the couple. Rodore covered the scene with his horse and wagon, and began loading the content in earnest. To his humor, he noted a couple of bottles of love potions, probably intended to get Belladyna to say yes during the proposal.

Rodore had a run of bad luck, the rather distraught young lad he was, contrary to popular belief, and could not afford one of his own rings nor the affection of Ms. Stonehouse or anyone for that matter. In Sanguine's name, a stolen wedding ring would please the Prince just right, and secure an enchantment that would not only instantly swoon the victim, but also lay claim to the soul of anyone who'd say yes (it had a soul gem fragment on it.) Barbolda was surely his target, for above all others, she was the woman he desired. In order to keep a marriage, Sanguine promised, Rodore must sacrifice another. For all his services to the young Rodore, this was the price he had to pay.

Not that he cared much for Theodard and Belladyna anyway.

Red_Scarlet

Hello Puppy-Killers,
Sheogorath here. Let me tell you the tale of the last supper. A cheesy tale with an enigma glaze!
Guests at me house must follow one rule. Never touch me cheese! Especially me swiss-areo cheese!
Beautiful, rare, hole-less golden swiss cheese, with a wondrous surprise! Tis more rare then black bird pie! Now if we could mix the two, what a taste!...oh wait where was I?
Oh yes..
Can you guess what that surprise is? Tis recommended to eat this cheese in crumb like amounts. Great for pest removal too, but such a waste! Note to self, putting swiss-areo cheese in a black bird pie would produce undesired results...Who would want to eat dead black bird pie?
Sorry got cheese on me mind....
So, these guests of mine where connoisseurs of fine wines and cheeses. They have tasted every brew and cheese throughout Tamriel. I lured them errr...I mean "invited" them, to try my collection of rare goodies of Demora wines and cheeses! The only catch....I mean "rule", was they could not have any of me swiss-areo cheese, that sat in the center of the room. Its wafting aroma, that kings have given their kingdom up for to get close enough just to smell this cheese....
One night whilst I was distracted by mortal who wanted some books back... say you might know them! In fact you kind of look like them.....wait no, you don't look like a cheese depraved skeever!
As I was saying, these guests of mine, gave into temptation and stole me swiss-areo cheese! They ran and ran for what seemed like an eternity. The scent of the cheese attracted a lot of unwanted attention...ever seen a thousand hungry skeevers on march? What a sight! Finally, they came across some chairs and a table that seemed randomly abandoned. Small note, only the daft would accept random furniture in the middle of no where! Hungry and mad with the craving for me swiss-areo cheese, they cracked it open....

Swiss-areo cheese is made with the use of an oblivion portal, where the demora craftsman infuses the cheese with hundreds of arrows! The portal causes the arrows to be reduced size. When the cheese is allowed to breath, the holes form in the cheese in the shape of arrow slits. What happens to the arrows you ask? Well that is self explanatory if you get my points....

So what a finish! A last supper to die by.. I mean for!!

Next time in your travels, if you see a table out there that seems out of place, look for the cheese! But remember small pieces!

Tis better to admire swiss cheese, then to become it!

Rhyvos

Page 3 Middas, 6th day of Mid Year 2E 379

I've awoken in the night. My body, weary from the days of travel would willingly succumb to sleep if only my mind would follow suit. My thoughts, race ever onward, miles ahead, carefully calculating every cleft, river and valley as we dare not utilize the roads. No, we won't make it any easier for the ***. Perhaps we'll manage to elude whomever it was that the houses have dispatched following our escape from Davon's Watch.

---

Page 4 Turdas, 7th day of Mid Year 2E 379


My dearest Farena. She does not know of the dangers that lurk beyond the shadows of the great Ash Mountain. I speak not of the flora and fauna but of an organization of hedonistic murderers. A group who's name is whispered from dark corners and at the tables of shady dealings. A brotherhood they call themselves. Tho fortunately for us, my father isn't the only one with friends on the other side of the fence. I'll admit that my curiosity may have gotten the better of me as I was able to learn the savage nature of our pursuers from a former associate of the family while traversing through the town of Narsis. I only hope that our brief stint there went unnoticed.

Still, in light of my father's senseless plot and knowing of what may come of us should we cross paths with our would be killers, I cannot the draw the courage nor the words to tell Farena the truth. She believes this all as a stroke of spontaneity and that we are headed off to the Summerset Isles for our honeymoon...if only the fates weren't so cruel.

---

Page 6 Loredas, 9th day of Mid Year 2E 379

and just who are they to judge? Were it not for that flee bitten Khajiit Rhaz'a-Di and his skooma peddling band of cut throat merchants, our families would never had been the wiser of our...rendezvous. Now look at us. Forced out into the wilderness, far from civilization with what belongings we could muster before we were slaughtered like sheep. I curse their names!

Although I must say Farena certainly seems to be enjoying the journey for the most part and has even taken it upon herself to prepare an evening supper. A modest spread of artisan cheeses and a bottle of Jazbay Cabernet from the vineyards of Sathram's Plantation. But I digress. I fear if we are unable to reach the Silent Mire by mid day tomorrow this very well may be our last meal.

Alec83

An Addict’s Shame

I ease my head above the crevice between two boulders. I have a clear view below of my prey: two Imperial lads traveling with the comforts of the Imperial City. They’ve brought an ornate wooden table with matching chairs. I wonder why they journeyed to this abandoned corner of Greenshade, but I thank Y’ffre regardless. “Thoronir is getting his fix of Skooma tonight,” I whisper.

***

Skooma entered my life years ago. One night when I’d gone hunting, marauders broke into my house and killed Cuunel, the lovely Bosmer to which I devoted my life. I returned to find the thieves disappeared with our valuables and my love was lying lifelessly in a pool of blood. I couldn’t bear losing her. I turned to Skooma as a reprieve from the pain of Cuunel’s absence, but in reality, I traded one torture for another.

***

I yank an arrow out of my quiver and aim at one of the Imperials. The arrow lodges in his right eye. He spins around, and when he completes one revolution, I send another through his left eye. His startled friend rises as an arrow pierces his temple; he collapses back into his chair. The camp seems clear, but Imperials suddenly swarm from nowhere. My trembling hands fire arrows rapidly until my quiver’s empty. I duck behind my hiding spot to catch my breath.

When I manage the courage to steal a peek, I discover there were in fact only two Imperials; the others resulted from my demented mind hallucinating. The only temporary fix for that is another round of Skooma, so I hasten to the bodies. I uncover large sums of gold from the first. I also find a nearby memo stating their business: aiding local Treethanes in subduing the Skooma users. He’d been searching for me, but luck would have it I found him first.

The other has fewer coins but a more harrowing letter. It’s from his wife begging for his safe return home. I recoil and shiver violently. Do the tremors indicate my body’s craving of Skooma or my boundless shame for slaughtering somebody’s innocent spouse like my darling Cuunel? Disgraced, I thrust their belongings down and flee.

The senseless attack reveals the murderous brute Skooma created. I resolve to liberate myself from its clutches, though I understand the struggles that I’ll encounter. The convulsions. The pain. The desperation for an end.

But I persevere. Years pass before I’m fully weaned from Skooma. Freed of its grasp, I feel obligated to return to the scene and pay respects to the dead Imperials whose sacrifice led to my salvation. I arrive and find decomposition finished deconstructing their flesh and organs. I’m unaware of the Imperial tradition for honoring the dead, so I establish my own. I offer the finest wine and cheese I can afford to their skeletons. Imperials like that, right? It’s an insignificant gesture, but as I walk away, I feel Y’ffre and Cuunel smiling down upon me.

foreverblasting_ESO

"Roldrid's Wedding Day"

2E 434

It was late one Sundas afternoon in the middle of Last Seed, when the new King of Camlorn, Roldrid my half Brother, had sent postage to visit him and his newly beloved, a Red Guard priestess " with a heart of fire, sent all the way from Sentinel", he acclaimed. Not but a few months ago I had been squired into the Lion Guard, as the threat of Werewolves grew and had been rumored as far south as the very doorsteps of Camlorn, though I missed him dearly my duty and loyalty belonged now to my brothers of the Guard.

On the second day of Heartfire, I received word from Roldrid again, he began by reminiscing of when we were young boys how we would parry wooden swords shouting at one another whom would become heir to Camlorn. Then he trailed off into something about breaking marriage pacts with the Jarls to wed his newly engaged Red Guard bride. He seemed to be blinded by this new love so much so you could see the anxious splotches of ink as I continued down the letter's end. I trembled as both fear and joy spun like a whirlwind inside my gut, he jested on.. "what's the Jarl of Windhelm gonna do? Order his men to run us down on my Wedding day? Like a pack of rabid Werewolves?". I coughed up a burst of laughter only to of shed a tear, unknowingly followed by the final words I would ever hear from him, "Mother says we're going to have the finest cheese and wine in all of Tamriel, in celebration of my most glorious Wedding day!"

As it would forever haunt me, just three days before Frostfall, orders came to bolster Evermore Guard, it was then I received word of the bloody massacre at Camlorn, Roldrid's wedding day...

Vorpan

Miela,

The trap is set.

Not too far from the road we have placed all which was requested. The table, the chairs, and of course, the food. After preparing the remains we shot both them and the area we set up with arrows, just to make it look good.

Hungry travelers will not be able to help themselves but to eat the food left lying there. By the time they stop to wonder why there is such a fine table in the middle of nowhere, not to mention fresh cheese and berries on a table where skeletal remains are seated, it will be too late.

Their eyes will grow heavy, our people will take them, and we shall feast!
Oh how I hope it is a Khajiit that takes the bait this time. For no one makes Kitty Cat Stew quite like you.

- Shegrn

ttylerrocks4u

Sheogorath's treasure

(note left on the ground)



Oh, Hello there I been waiting for you!!! Your Uncle Sheo here!!! Sorry about the mess was just straightening up some last minute preparations. Please don’t mind the unwanted guests on the floor. They were just dying to try that cake!!! You would think they would have been patient enough to wait for you and share!!! Silly Dunmers always having there cake and eating it to!!! Taught them a lesson didn’t we!!! (laughs) Oh you should have seen it!!!...ohh....ehhh....

Anyway, now for what I invited you here for if you notice over by the crates and barrels there is a bag... never mind the contents. Just something these guests stole from me in my former home of Eyevea. Oh the memories there. That was the day I got my new niece Valaste!!! She is such a dear always with the Butterflies. Just the other day she got to try out the WabbaJack! Oh the fun in watching some passerby's seeing two skeletons at a table.

Oh dear me there I go again telling tales....Any who if you could be a dear and please drop that off at my mansion in the Shimmering Isles. There are some directions below for you to follow. I would greatly appreciate it. Please have some cake or wine if need be before you leave. Simply Be careful though heard the wine is a little sharp. Get it sharp... like the arrows!!!!

Your lord and relative,

Uncle Sheo

AoEnwyr

Dearest David,

There is a sense of fulfilment to be had in serving others and at times certain perils.

I do fear my dear Lady would be not long for this world if I wasn’t there to look after her.

Recently we travelled through the Aliki’r when we happened upon a rakish looking fellow in Sentinel. I was tasked with engaging him as our guide, despite expressing my concern. One does not develop a lithe musculature such as his through honest dealings. Clearly he had spent a life thieving and seducing witless housewives. While I know my Lady as a pillar of foresight and resolve, this rogue’s rich brown locks and full pouting lips may have lured a lesser mind to acts of foolishness.

As we passed east of Bergama, Harrod told us the tale of the “Lover’s Luncheon”. As it goes, a young Orc made to woo his lover though demonstrating both his romantic nature and fearlessness in one fell swoop. The dim fellow devised to do this through presenting her with a midday picnic in perilous place, an Ogre’s Cave.

Danak, as was his name, laid out a table of the finest morsels at the entrance of the cave, lit torches for atmosphere and a fire to keep his lover warm should she choose to reward him for his romantic gesture after the meal.

Danak’s seduction did not go as planned. The Ogre itself posed no threat as it was out doing Ogrish things for the day. Orc’s though, appear to be a constant danger to themselves. Danak, after several goblets of wine, was frustrated that the Ogre had not returned so he could show his lover his ferocity by slaying said Ogre. While we may debate the manliness of the bow as a weapon choice, none the less Danak had grabbed his weapon and in a drunken stupor went to make for a nearby oasis in search of the beast. His lover swayed him to settle and in sitting back down at the table, he removed his quiver placing it on the nearby barrel of pitch used for torch and fire fuel. In his rage however, Danak had backed into a torch, the underside of his quiver quietly smouldering away. Soon enough the quiver was fully alight on top of the barrel. The barrel, having not been resealed exploded in a rain of pitch and fire, lodging arrows throughout Danak and his lover. The nearby Oasis where Danak had intended to hunt his foe was later renamed Ogre’s Bluff in memory of the lovers.

Naturally my Lady thought this horribly romantic and insisted we make a detour to see where the lovers met their fate. As it turns out, the cave is still inhabited by an Ogre. Unfortunately dear Harrod somehow stumbled into its path as I ensured Lady Laurent’s escape. I have included a sketch of the scene as we came upon it. Prior to meeting the Ogre, of course.


Your friend

Stibbons

Subjectt16

Fredas 20th day of Second Seed
Whilst travelling with local bandits we came across two peasents. We assumed them to be newly weds as they sat across from each other and shared the look of new love in their eyes. They held hands and dined on cheese, grapes and wine. I heard the words "Gwen I love you ever so much and I do so more every day", I found this to be quite sweet but one of the bandits sniggered at this remark and made a gagging sound.
A great deal of time had obviously been taken into preparing this evening and it showed. A grand table and two chairs must have been difficult to get into the wilderness even with help. I envied their new love and wished that I still had someone to share those kinds of moments with. As I sat there reminiscing on loves lost, one of the bandits muttered "Enough of this gooey c**p" and loosed an arrow into the gentlemans head. I assume it killed him instantly as he made no sound. Gwen however screamed to the divines and scrambelled away holding the cheese she had been eating.
Everyone in the group (Except myself) fired on the girl as if she were a wild boar. An arrow buried itself straight into her right eye and pinned her to the ground. The only orc in the group thought it would be funny to shoot an arrow into her other eye and then leave her to be eaten by the wolves or trolls. Laughing, they left the girl to a miserable death as they went back to the road to find the nearest Inn.
I approached Gwen as she shivered and moaned on the floor. I drew out my iron dagger and gently pressed the cold metal to her throat. As I ended her suffering I thought about all the death I had seen. All the murders and all the suicides. We live in a cold dark world and you have to make the best of it. Even if it's something as simple as having a picnic in the woods with the one you love.
- Ulfur

Alleria Warbird

He thought he could spurn me.

I watched them, preparing that meagre meal, looking as happy as if it were a feast. He beaming and fawning over her, tenderly stroking her swollen belly. He sat her down at the table, went to tend the fire himself.

I waited until he turned back to her before I let my first arrow fly. He was beaming at her as he saw it pierce her skull. I made sure he watched the life leave those bright, contented eyes.

I saw him break.

Only then did I send his death flying to him. To heighten his dread, I let arrow after arrow fall around him, upon the fire still burning alongside him, upon the few supplies that were all he and his lover had needed. Still he wouldn't run. He didn't look for his killer amongst the trees. So lost was he in the image of his destroyed Beloved. He would have stumbled to her, blind to his own peril. I aimed one to bring him down. Away from her.

Finally fallen, he watched as I moved over him, my last arrow poised. His jaw was set, his face beaded with the sweat of his pain.

I remembered his words then, his insults. I was deluded was I? He denied to know me? He threatened to inform the guards of a stalker, following him, his new wife.

I am a reasonable bosmer. I could forgive his disloyalty, even now.

“Will you deny me now?”

He only stared, his teeth gritted.

“Do you not know me?” I heard myself scream. And, “I know it is me you would love!”. The readied arrow shook as I held it, stretched back.

He held my eyes as he uttered, “I love you not.” My jaw clenched in rage. I held my breath as his mouth opened again, to form his last words.

“I know you not.”

How can a woman stand such scorn? Such lies? My arrow plunged through his eye.

I won't be punished for their crimes, for the retribution they brought on themselves. I will not leave these corpses here to send me to the gaol.

My final act will see the happy couple transformed! To look upon they would be as any two forgotten skeletons, the like of which litter this Divines-forsaken land. My busy little black pets are always hungry, and no flesh remains upon any unfortunate I should conjure them to swarm upon, whether that unfortunate is yet dead or not. Hundreds and hundreds of them, all crawling legs and shiny eyes, and greedy razor sharp mouths.

Surging from my staff, they stripped the flesh of he and her, as I watched. There identities will not be known.

But for the fresh foods upon the table, no one would know these bodies had not lain here for years.

I will leave behind some of my flesh-eating friends, looking like a gift for any that should come prying.

derek_jonesb16_ESO

Dear Ma,

Hope this finds you well. Me and Virwil have found a job. We are working for a rich man called Mr Theo Gorash. We have to guard a heavy sack. Remember you told us never to work for onions again? Well Mr Gorash is paying us in cheese. You won't believe it, Ma, there's more cheese than we can eat! I haven't told you the best part yet, we are both skellingtons. That's right, skellingtans! Mr Theo says hold still lads while I disguys you and he points this great wand thing at us. You would have laughed till you wet yerself, Ma. It took him about 5 goes before he turns Virwil into a skellerton. First he turns him into a chicken. Then he turns the chicken into a book. Then he turns the book into something else. Then he kills him. Then he brings him back as a skellintern. What do you make of that? Virwil says to tell you he is alright and sends you his love. I don't remember much about being turned into a skellintern but Virwil says at one point I was a skeever and i norred his foot. Then Mr Theo gives us a load of arrows and says make it look like you've been attacked lads. So I am sitting here with an arrer sticking out me head and Virwil is lying on the floor with an arrer coming out his eye! We can hardly stop laughing. Mr Theo says when his friend comes to get the sack we are to jump up and frighten him. What a surprise that will be! I bet you are wondering what is in the sack. Well Mr Theo says you never know until you open it. But I am betting that it is tomaters. The next time you see us we will be rich!

Your loving son

Delmni