Tales of the Dead - Contest Entry Thread

Z3mlyanka

Jeffrey and Samus had never been warned of the curse of Laughing Rock. To them, It was no more than an old wives tale. The two just so happened to stumble past it one day as they were heading out for a secret picnic that they had both promised not to tell their wives about. They had reached Laughing Rock and unexplainably both become quite hungry and sluggish. In hindsight one might imagine the sight of a candle lit dinner table brought on these emotions. Jeffrey immediately got to emptying the food from his sack and set an even spread on the table.
“Jeffrey, do you not fear it strange that such a place stands here in the middle of this forest and there is no one around to inhabit it?” questioned Samus.
Jeffrey looked around, at the unlit fire place, the finest dishes upon the table.
“It is rather odd” he replied inquisitively. “These candles have just recently been lit!”
After a moment of silence, they both started to laugh. Hysterically. After a minute they were both seated but with heavy tears rolling down their faces and a tight grab on their bellies, in pain from all the laughter. Once the laughter was mostly subdued they finally took the opportunity to eat some food. However, something about the way that Samus reached for the cheese had Jeffrey in hysterics again, laughing so heavily that he almost winded himself.
The sight of Jeffrey choking on his own laugh whipped Samus up into a frenzy , causing him to fall back off his chair and onto the floor. This stunt broke something inside Jeffrey because the moment it happened his laughter finally became so intense he could no longer breathe. Slowly and probably in much pain as well, the two choked to death with laughter. Some say they laughed so hard it permanently curved their faces into the extreme smile you see on both of their skeletons today. Back in town the wives came to learn of the secret picnics their husbands would embark on weekly. The town’s folk say that shooting an arrow is not only a sign of respect for Jeffrey and Samus but also a warning to those that pass near. Sometimes you should listen to your wife.

Dominator046

Second Turdas of Sun's Height, 581 E2:

Those free brothers have been seen coming up from the south again, and they've a foul sort of reputation. Oddly, they were so polite when we'd met on the roadside - offering so much as to compliment the garb my khajiit companion and I wore - only to be hurried along by the captain of our guard. Pompous oaf, some dreg born out of Cyrod and taken to protecting his betters - then presumes to give them orders. I gave him a scolding right for, for fear of the wholeness of his pay.

I have not seen him since morning, since he again thought to speak of those men to the south as if they were some sort of villains. I told him to make rounds if he was so nervous, but it must've enlightened him some as he made north with the men that thought to follow him. Just myself and my Khajiit mercantile wizard appreciating what life has to offer a well born man and his appreciated help. It was Jirvazir's suggestion that we partake of the Cropsford dairy, and it was so good that we pressed for a deal on all of this cheese. Brilliance if there ever should be any.

Jirvazir is a goodly man, and fortunate as well, for not many in the Empire these days see the cat-men of the south as more than rugs. When I found him starved and looking akin to living death, I couldn't help but note a spark of intellect behind those eyes as he watched for opportunity in the slums of the Market District. It was not long after I took him in that he began adding to my fortunes, paying off his debt to me faster than I'd ever thought. I dreaded the thought of losing his touch to another after the expiration of his internment - Zenithar weeping - but fortune had it he saw the sense in staying with me.

Looking at him now, with a body befitting a man of leisurely life and pleasant means, he seems more alike a brother to me than the one I have in the legion. I have heard progressively less from him, a sad thing, but the legions always seem to be doing something or other. Weren't they in Black Marsh a few seasons ago? Now I hear they are attempting to move north into Falkreath? Not that I care, the savage barbarian folk of all the outlying nations could use some civility. Even those Bretons, playing at petty kingdoms.

Hah, Jirvazir just got another piece of that cheese, he does seem to love it. One piece in each hand, and one is nearing half gone already. I think I hear our guard back, from the sound of boots and metal from the scrub to the side of camp. I trust my next entry will tell of the wisdom of my lecturi---

Talrenos

One day, while playing ESO, we encountered something strange....

"You know were in an area that's over our level dude, we need to get the h*** out of here" said Sniffs-Others-Armpits. "Yeah, I know, but theres a blue book to read there, and I gotta get it" I said. "Oh gawd, you and those pointless books, what do they do for you anyway? You don't actually read them." He said. "I like to collect them, they get added to this list I have and I want all of them" I replied. An emote of /facepalm flashes across my screen...
"And what do you get for collecting them all, something legendary I guess?" We have this conversation all the time, he knows the answer already but likes to bait me out. "No, you get nothing at all. Its just feeding my OCD for collecting pointless things" I said. "Well at least you admit it. Where is it at, I don't see it." he queried. "Right there by the skeletons, on the ground" I waved in that direction. "Uh, ok, I don't see it, but I do see a red box with the word 'MISSING' all over it." he said. "Oh your just bugged, that's it, i'll go get it and then we beat feet back to the shrine." I started to move to the derelict camp. "Hurry up, I want to...Oh sh**, that must be a quest area or something, I can't see you anymore, your just a floating grammar mark now." he said. "Ah you did not take that quest back there did you? Well now were screwed until I either finish it our you run back to those ruins and take the quest too." I said.
"Oh screw that sh**, you drop the quest, I aint running back there alone, remember those elite trolls 4 levels over us back there? So you bett.." he said.
"Sniffs? you there? Your not moving...". My screen indicates to me in yellow text 'eso_radnor17 has logged off' I look down the road at some approaching noise just to discover those two trolls we left behind were now making a beeline toward me. 'eso_radnor17 has logged in' "Damn it, that art load error just hit me and I crashed. Uh, dude, your dead, what happene....OH SH**!!!"

A few moments later at the wayshrine I meet back up with Smells. "Hey, now we know why there are dead bodies all over there." I said. "How come if were so far from there now your still a floating grammar mark to me?" he asked. "I have no idea, but I bet you need to get that quest. Gotta go back anyhow, I dinna get my book."

Smells spun in place a bit, jumped a few times in front of me. "Screw getting your damn book. Im going to go play some counterstrike" he said. I sighed and logged for the rest of the day....

Araflin

To his Greatness, Dread Sorcerer Kiphet, Overlord of the Valley.

Herein is the report of today's performance testing of the new goblin recruits:

We tracked and hunted quietly enough once I knocked Umgrot unconscious and left him tied to a tree near my horse. The quarry was two humans and a Khajiit. The humans were easy enough to follow in their bright clothes and with their shrill laughter. The Khajiit looked to be a slave or servant. Once they settled by a cave we prepared the attack.

Many of the recruits missed their targets but some did manage to grievously wound a damp camp-fire, a crate received a mortal blow, some grapes will never make wine, a table was sorely pressed, and a shadow of a tree barely escaped to move another day.

Of note during our skirmish:
Little Fingle is an excellent sneak but shot himself in the foot in our first volley.
Don't ask me how.

Rigi One-eye had circled around the camp to catch any that tried to flee, knowing he was useless with a bow I had agreed. Unfortunately, he was equally useless with a sword and the fleeing Khajiit tore out his throat.

Fert the Younger acquitted himself well, picking a good spot and taking his time firing the arrow that slew the male human through the head.
The human's words as we attacked were, "You never take me anywhere, you said. Others get to go on picnics, why can't we? You said. What's the harm? You said. I should have listened to mother!"
I believe this must have been something of a ritual death chant to his wife as it follows a stanza often used in Orsinium love poetry. Lucky for us that silenced him as I know such works can be very elongated and repetitive.

Grufl Eight-Toes fired one shot with two arrows that put out the females eyes! Thankfully, it silenced her awful whiny scream of, "Lawrence, Noooooooo!".
Undoubtedly one of the gods they pray to and an attempt to burst our eardrums.
I punched Grufl later for taking a risky shot simply to show off.

Umgrot is a good fighter but has yet to learn the finesse of the hunt. Or chew with his mouth closed.
I only mention him again as, on our return to my horse, he had freed himself, sported a bloody fur-hide cloak, and had made enough "chicken" stew for all of us.

There was no sign of the fleeing Khajiit.

I will supply further recommendations to the recruits final postings in the guards, hunters, cooks, or "for experiments", as my lord demands.

Yours in servitude,

Tak gro-Rahek, Master-at-Arms.

---

Also (purely as humour for readers, not as an entry);

The travelling merchant had put on a good spread for those waiting to purchase.
However, when Umar gro-Urzuk emerged from the changing cave and said, "Does this armour make my bum look big?".
The correct answer was not, "Yes".

Srugzal

soldat-48433eb17_ESO wrote: »

<story in Russian>

@soldat-48433eb17_ESO‌ , is there an English version of this so that we can all enjoy it? Google Translate doesn't do it justice, obviously. Thanks!

xScribe

I sat there shivering in cold, when suddenly my mother popped up from the bushes, screaming that my father, a noble Nord named Klarul Heimfall, and my brother, Augost, would never come back from their annual hunting trip. As a kid I thought that my mother was just concerned and that she said such things just because she drunk too much Ale, but as time passed by and I grew older, they ineed never came back. Every time that I asked my mother when my father and Augost would finally be home, she'd tell me that they left us. My father had a new wife and Augost went to Cyrodiil to join the Imperial army. At least, that's what my mother told me. Little did she know that I visited them often. I knew that they set camp near a rock not far from our mansion. When I visited them for the fist time they had arrows pointing out of their head. I guess that mom got mad, because she used to throw alot of stuff around the house when she drunk too much. my father and Augost were also a little pale and speecheless, but I never minded it. I could spent time with them, as family. Every time that I visit them they look slightly skinnier, that's why I decided to bring food with me, so that they can feed, when I'm not around.

~ Roikul Heimfall

Destrian_Isolde

They were in the woods that night. Vargun pulled Strerious' head close to his by the cloak. He seemed to be waiting for something.There was a large gust enough to break the silence. He used this opportunity to whisper, " on my mark." The wind died down again as another large gust followed. In it's ambient noise, both cultists dashed from their hiding spot ,under some thick brush, and charged to the forests edge. The wind began to die down again, but before he knew it, Strerious saw the pale full moon light glow against Varguns' back, unbroken by the trees, and he smiled.

They were out.

"Keep running!", yelled Vargun as he pointed towards a rather large rock by the mountains edge not far from where they were. After what seemed like forever, they finally made it to the rock. Both of them jumped and landed full frontal on the ground behind it. There resided the small camp they had set up two days ago. They looked to each other, exhausted, then laughed.

"I can't...believe...we..made it...", exhaled Strerious.
"Praise be..to Molag Bal..", exhaled Vargun.
Strerious lay his face back in the ground. Vargun stood up, walked behind the table and put the heavy sack in a corner between their two small crates of food. He grabbed a bottle of wine then sat in the chair closest to him and began to eat cheese. After awhile Strerious stood as well and moved to the other chair on the other side of the table and took a seat.

"Strerious....", said Vargun as he finished a bite.
"Yes?"
"Mannimarco will pleased to learn we have yet another sacrifice for Molag Bal. You did well in capturing that wood elf youngling. It's nubile soul will give pure power to the dark anchor. I will tell him of your skill", Vargun raised his bottle, "and-", then Strerious' expression turned from happy to fearful as he saw three arrows land in line on the table, then another pierce Varguns' temple.

He fell back out of his seat as three more came raining in from the right. He quickly got on all fours and tried to run but was cut off by three more. That's when he heard a wood elf land behind him. He screamed as the elf grabbed his cloak and flipped him over.

" Where is the child?"
"It has already been delivered.."
"Don't lie to me BOY! We followed you here and have been watching since you arrived. Where is he?"
"....."
"I will give you one last chance...", said the elf as another arrrow flew precisely between his head and shoulder, penetrating the ground between Strerious' legs.
"Ok ok.. I-"
Strerious heard a faint cry.
Damn! the sleeping spell wore off![\i]
The elf was drawn to the heavy sack and opened it to reveal the child. The elf threw up his hand. The signal sent two more arrows towards Strerious, piercing both his eyeballs in tandem.

MAD007

"legally reside in Australia, Canada (excluding Quebec), Denmark, Finland, France, Germany, the Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Spain, Sweden, the United Kingdom or the United States (the Territories); "

You need to give us the Legal reasons why players from Quebec Canada aren't allowed to write a story for this contest.

This is unacceptable! I'm a paying customer like everyone else and I can write in English just as good as anyone.

This seems very discriminatory towards us here in Quebec.
I'm very disappointed at the direction your company is taking for this contest.

Is this what we can expect from any contest coming in the near future from Zenimax?

(Hopefully this doesn't have anything to do with LottoQuebec ? stupid French laws in this province are fkn annoying!)

PhoenixAshe

“Another round for everyone! C’mon boys, let’s make this a night to remember!”

The Breton man grins widely, showing the rotten, yellowed state of his teeth, and raises his glass. Half of the reddish-purple liquid ended up running down his heavily salt and peppered beard, but he didn’t seem to notice. The rest of his crew cheers, slamming down their mugs and passing the bottle around to refill them. One, a lanky blonde with an incredibly weather-worn face wearing a purple bandana, pipes up.

“Three cheers for the cap’n!”

The men do so, ending in more uproarious laughter, and the captain speaks up again.

“Ah, but we couldn’t have done this without your map of the city and the patrol routes! How many nights did you stay up watching them again?”

“For a week, sir.”

“Aye lads, a week he could have been boozing and layin’ with the wenches!”

More laughter, and someone started dancing, grabbing at everyone else one at a time to try to drag them in. Of course, he only had three chances before he tripped over his foot and fell face-first into the table.

“Ol’ Bart’s gonna have to spend his share on fixing his face after a hit like that!”

“Maybe he won’t worry about it; maybe it’ll make him look better!”

Fists slam the table as they laugh more, but this time the laughter is broken and they all become still, staring at their beloved captain. He had frozen in place, an arrow stuck through the side of his skull. In the same moment everyone started to move away from the table, the sound of more arrows whistling through the air was heard. Purple bandana fell backwards out of his chair, an arrow having pierced each eye.

They drew their weapons and charged the tree line. Two more hit the ground, one right after the other. An arrow had passed through one heart into the second. Once they reached it, a Bosmer female wearing a bloody guard’s tabard dropped from the trees, landing on one of them. Her swords cut cleanly into the pirate’s neck and his head landed a few inches away from his body.

The last one hesitated, throwing his sword on the ground. The clang of his own sword hitting rock made him jump.

“Please don’t kill me! I’ll share! F…Fifty-fifty?” He asks, voice shaking with fear.

His eyes flicked to the growing pool of blood beside him, and he started backing up, howling when he saw she was closing in.

“You can have all of it! I don’t want it anymore!”

“All I want is my husband. I can’t ever see him again. Do you know why?”

The tip of her sword rested against his chest, and she waited until he took a breath to speak before she plunged it in, whispering in his ear.

“Because you killed him….”

She freed the sword with a wet squelch and a twist of her wrist and let the body fall.

xtamsynx

A note left on a bed:

"When you discover what I have done you will be shocked. I can’t blame you; weeks ago I would not believe I was capable of this. I beg you read these words before you make your final judgement on my soul.

Johann was my brother by another mother. From childhood we spent every day together come biting rain or blistering sun. He was more adventurous than I, climbing higher up the mountains of Tamriel, swimming further out to sea, talking to the prettier girls. I did not mind being left in his wake, for he always came back to include me in his joy.

After we became men we shared a home and worked in the forest for the Baron, felling trees. I was content with my life, earning enough to fill my belly and warm my bed. But Johann looked for excuses to explore deeper into the woods. He would return with glorious tales of forgotten caves and abandoned mines and we would drink until dawn.

Two months ago he did not return. I searched as far I dared, until the shadows chased me home. I stared at our fire all night, desperately waiting for a sign my brother was safe. The next day a shout came from outside while I sat with an untouched plate of food. Johann had been found; huge angry wounds criss-crossing his body. He could not describe what had befallen him, except to talk of monsters and teeth.

A month ago I was frightened awake by his screams. Johann was wide eyed and thrashing in his bed, as if trying to get out of his skin. When I approached he threw me away with a strength he did not possess. From the floor I watched my brother transform. Flesh tore from his bones to show hair, claws sprung from his hands and his teeth grew to daggers. Somehow I managed to push him down the trap door into the store. I lay on the door while he howled and fought, tears staining my face. Thankfully Johann remembered nothing of the change so I was spared delivering an explanation.

I knew I could not let him exist like this, becoming the beast on the full moon. What if I could not contain him? How long before he hurt someone? With the heaviest of hearts I devised a plan. The Baron took pity on our situation and agreed his help.

This night of the fattest moon I will bring Johann for a celebration supper. I will lay a table with the finest foods and we will reminisce and laugh about our happiest times. As the sun sets and the beast emerges, I will tell him I could not have asked for a better companion and I cannot imagine life without him. The arrows will fly from the Baron’s men and we will die as we have lived. Brothers together. "

butterfly442

You will not get free ideas from me. Pay me first.

You pay people to steal ideas from others in the form of a contest?

You should be ashamed.

Take those guys paychecks and fire them.

Horkerloaf

So this Night Elf walks into camp one stormy night. "What brings you to a lonely camp on this dangerous coast", she asks,suspiciously noting the boxes of new weapons stacked about the camp." Why I am making a fortune selling arms to the neer-do wells and mercenaries who frequent this coast", I reply. "Don't you think you are equipping them to be murderers ?", she replies. "Well you are equipped to be a prostitute and aren't", I replied. Arrrrrrrgggggghhhhh!!!

Ridicularded

"Yo Vern"
"Wassup Bart?"
"Wanna play Lawn Volley?"

Lotten_83

Journal – date unknown

We have been on the run for god know how long now. I’ve lost the count of days. Our feet are aching, are legs are soar. At least we have the money to buy our self some fine food and we have finally found a decent camp, seems deserted it has furniture and all but not sure where we are but it’s a beautiful place.
But why did I put my poor wife trough this. She had nothing to do with those evil people. She cries herself to sleep every night. I can’t comfort her anymore. It’s like she’s giving up. What was I thinking about when I asked the Dark brotherhood to help me and that sick ritual…All that money and even Hamonds death wasn’t worth it. Sometimes I don’t know if I’m going crazy or if I can actually hear them, it’s like they playing a sick cat and mouse game.
I have prayed every night since we left to both Stendarr and Arkay. I hope they hear me…and this meal will not be our last.

Richard_Arisen

“The Ballad of the Worm”

Behold this tale of tragedy,
Of lovers felled by darkest deeds:
Celeror the Swift was he,
And Fariel, his bride-to-be.

The Bosmer pair, though faint-of-heart,
Were young, and sought the light of stars.
From Elden Root, they did depart,
To seize the fortune youth imparts.

Along the way, they found a site,
A camp cloaked red in dying light.
A table and some chairs stood by-
The perfect place to feast that night.

Said Celeror, “The evening turns!
It’s time to feed that which does yearn!”
But, unbeknownst to them, they were
The targets of the Cult of Worms.

With weapons drawn, the cultists swayed,
Exulted by the trap they’d laid.
Without a warning to their prey,
The vile Worms began their raid.

The first to fall was Celeror,
Who blinked his eyes and saw no more.
The path into his skull was bored
By deadly missiles from the horde.

The hail of arrows that ensued
Left even Jone and Jode consumed;
And when their light, at last, resumed,
Poor Fariel met fatal wound.

The cultists cheered, and then they froze,
As from the ground, a spirit rose:
T’was Fariel, who scorned her foes,
“My curse shall claim you in repose!”

Unease, at first, the cultists felt,
But, rather quickly, laughter swelled;
And thus, a merry feast was held
To slander those whose lives were quelled,

But as they slept with crooked sneers,
Dread Fariel brought true their fears-
Into the Ooze, they disappeared,
Swept fast away by Y’ffre’s tears.

The bodies of the lovers killed
Were never roused, and lay there still.
Their spirits wander, unfulfilled,
Afflicting mer with fortunes ill.

In passing, one can hear the moans
Where two young lovers met their end.
So, traveler, beware these bones,
Lest your remains remain with them.

insanitywelcomeb14_ESO

They had found it. It had taken them a better part of the year, but they located the cave entry. Two scholars and a party of eight well trained men. They brought enough supplies for a month of excavation and research. The men worked hard at securing the site, while the scholars began taking notes and searching for anything to help identify the cave. By the end of the first day, they had located several artifacts just within the mouth of the cave alone. As they came out of the cave they came face to face with a couple of the men working security. They were covered head to toe in iron and steel armor. One carried a two handed sword strapped to his back, while the other carried what looked like a crossbow in his hands. The scholars looked up at them and smiled.

"We found it! Found proof that the treasure we read about in those ancient journals exist!" The excited scholar lifted up the heavy sack and opened it. Inside were gold and silver, precious gems and a strange idol. "You see? With this we can fund the expedition for another year!" Both of the scholars were so excited, both happy beyond belief. They went about packing stuff in crates and celebrating with food and drink. The two heavily armed men watched and waited while the scholars rushed about.

The one with the crossbow stepped forward and spoke in a stern and demanding voice. "I think we will be taking that. Right there is enough to take care of my boys here for quite a while." Laughter echoed through the camp as two scholars looked up from where they were. One had sat down while the other was backed up to a crate. Looks of horror appeared as it dawned on both men. All of the men they had hired stood with weapons drawn. Four had crossbows, the rest had different melee weapons. The four men with crossbows stepped forward and took aim. The scholars begged and pleaded in vain as the sounds of wood and string went off. The crossbow bolts lanced out like missiles, hitting there targets. Laughter echoed through the darkness as the armored men began to take the riches out of the heavy sack. Leaving the bodies where they lay, the men divided the treasure among themselves. Then mounted the waiting horses and took the wagon that had carried many of the supplies.


The men laughed as they rode out into the night. "That will teach people to think before they go running their mouths!" They continued on into the night, laughter fading in the distance. As time past, the embers in the nearby fire began to dim. And soon, the small camp was swallowed by the night.

nordsavage

This is the journal found on a Thieves Guild Operative and reads as follows.

~Day 1
I am commissioned to steal back rare books used as payment in the Dark Brotherhood's Black Sacrament. The books must be far harder to replace than the mountain of gold offered. I provision and leave in the morning.
~Day 5
I "obtained" a fresh corpse from a contact to use as my "Key" into the Brotherhood. I am going to take it to a where they are rumored to gather and claim it my handiwork. I hope the ploy works as my life surely depends on it.
~Day 6
By gods or luck the scheme worked, all except that argonian Fills-With-Arrows seemed glad to welcome me as an initiate.
~Day 7
It did not take long to find the books and swap them out, but that blasted argonian has been shadowing me I just know it. Certainly he did not see me take the books. I'll leave soon just to be safe.
~Day 9
I made it to an Inn ran by a known fence on the way to meet the client. He is to warn me of anything suspicious. I'll sleep hidden in the stables just to be on the safe side.
~Day 10
I am on the road again after being warned that an argonian with a bow and few words was lurking inside the Inn the previous night. A good thing I did not stay in the rooms. I am not sure if it was Fills-With-Arrows but I'll quicken my pace anyway.
~Day 12
Nearly there. I cannot wait to be done with this job. I jump at every shadow for fear of that damned lizard even though I have not seen a trace of him.
~Day 13
I have given the books to a very pleased client and he a bag of gold to me. His generosity did not end with gold. There was also a celebratory feast waiting and I filled up on food and wine to forget the journey here. There is no sign of that scaly assassin. Another job completed, now where to spend my . . .

Addendum written by Fills-With-Arrows
~Day 13
The moment this traitor became an initiate he was bound by the Five Tenants, two of which he has broken and thus forfeit his life.
Never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.
Never steal the possessions of a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.
Let this be a lesson to those who would not fear the Black Hand and dare to steal from its grasp.

Hail Sithis the perfect chaos.

De_Von

17th of Frostfall
We have finally reached our destination. I think we have to create a temporary camp for the night.

Hm, Markus found a table with a couple of chairs nearby. And there is a bit of food on the table! How fortunate.

We decided to wait for night's end here. I guess this place is abandoned for some time, and we do no harm to anyone if we use it.

Ok, we have made the campfire and Markus found a bottle of wine stashed in some garbage near the table. He asks about the directions again. I had to show him the books so he got a bit of confidence in our plan. All this enterprise was just a mere farce to get him out of the town for my boys to rob his place. But he believes we are after some nonsense daedric artefact. What an idiot. Yes, we really found these books in some old rusty shack, but to hope they would lead us to treasures?

Bah, now he wants to eat this mouldy cheese...

Hey, is that an arrow??

Woah, someone is shooting at us!

It went right through his eye. What in Oblivion is happening???



(Distant laugh) You shouldn't have touched the Sheogorath's cheese!

Mother_Goose

This is obviously over the word limit and likely bends a couple copyright rules, but it was a fun idea that immediately came to mind when I saw the actual area in the Daggerfall zone where this picture hails from. This is NOT my official entry- just a fun piece that begged to be told. Enjoy!

She watched, all but invisible from her hiding place on the bluff overlooking the sandy spit of beach upon which an incongruously elegant dining set had been arrayed. Two men were below, both Bretons; one all in black and wearing a kerchief mask with eyeholes concealing his features, the other man seated behind the heavily laden table. The first was tall and lithe, his manner relaxed, gloved hand settled on the hilt of the sword sheathed at his hip. The second was short and somewhat rotund, his clothing rich and his hair in retreat from the crown of his head, huddling in a fringe around his ears. She gritted her teeth as she felt a drop of blood along her slender neck slip downwards in a crimson rivulet, but remained motionless.

The smug little man dressed as a merchant addressed the man in black. “So. It is down to you and I, and my remaining guardsman who holds the girl.” His eyes narrowed as the pirate in black shifted his grip on his sword hilt. “A good way to ensure she is dead before your next breath, that…,”his gaze dropping meaningfully to the gloved hand.

The dread pirate froze, then casually moved his hand away from the hilt of his sword, shrugging. “Shall I explain..?”

Somewhat petulantly, his voice sharp, the seated fellow retorted, “There is nothing to explain! I know you are trying to steal what I stole fair and square!”

The masked pirate tilted his head slightly as if considering. “Perhaps we can come to an understanding?”

The merchant slammed his fist on the heavily laden table, cutlery jumping and a goblet overturning, glittering porcine eyes flashing in anger. “There can be no deal!”

Unperturbed, the pirate commented in an indolent manner, “If you will not cooperate, we would seem to be at loggerheads.”

The merchant leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Obviously I will not engage with you physically, and equally obvious is that you cannot match my wit.”

Even from where she watched she noted the flicker of amusement conveyed by a twitch of lips as the man in black asked, “You are that intelligent, eh?”

“Let me put it to you this way; Hermaeus Mora?”

“Yeah?”

“Moron.”

She blinked from where she was watching, a superstitious shiver momentarily running a cold finger down her spine. She saw the pirate blink through the eyeholes of his mask, registering his own incredulity, though his pose did not alter.

“I see. Well then in the spirit of cooperation, I cede to your own specialty; shall we have a battle of wits?”

“For the elf?”

The man in black nods and the pudgy little merchant leans towards him from his place at the table, beady eyes glittering. “This will be for keeps…to the death!”

“Of course.” The pirate sketched a brief bow.

The little man bared his teeth in a smile. “Splendid.” He gestured to the empty chair opposite his position and the masked man settled agreeably. The pirate reached for a silver rimmed glass decanter full of wine, settling it closer to his opponent. “Would you be so kind as to pour the wine for us?”

As the shorter man poured the wine, the pirate pulled a tiny vial of white powder from his breast pocket, proffering it to the merchant.

“You may attempt to identify the odor, but do not allow it to come in contact with your skin.”

The balding fellow suspiciously accepts the vial, opening it and carefully sniffs. “It is odorless!” he scoffs, scowling at the man sitting across from him.

The long limbed man reclaims the vial, smiling agreeably as he nods. “Indeed. What we have here is the alchemic residue of powdered Cornflower, Emetic Russula, and Imp Stool. It is odorless, without taste, dissolves instantly in liquid, and in this form, the most deadly of poisons known to mortals.”

The little man hmms as he eyes the vial.

The pirate pulls the two matching, wine filled goblets closer, picks one up and lowers it beneath the table surface. When he raises it, the glass vial is empty and the wine looks just the same. The outlaw then takes both goblets beneath the surface of the table, spending several moments switching them from hand to hand, then settles one in front of his plate, and the other in front of his opponent.

The slender man smiles across the table. “All right: which has the poison? Here is my challenge to your intellect. Decide which goblet to drink and we shall find out who is the smarter.”

The bald man gives a short bark of laughter, slamming his hand on the table to emphasize his disdain for the challenge. “Far too simple! I merely need to apply what I know of you. Would one in your place put poison in his own cup…or in mine?”

He pauses to study the man across the table before continuing. “Now, the obvious gambit is to poison your own goblet, because you know that only a Nord brained fool would accept what was put in front of him. Given my vast intellect, I know better than to select the goblet you placed in front of yourself. However! You also know I am a man of divine intellect which you would have counted on, so I can clearly not select the wine in front of me, either.”

The man dressed in black smiles genially. “It seems you have made your decision, then?”

The smaller man crows triumphantly. “Don’t bet on it! Because powdered ‘Ravage Health’ comes from the Ebon Heart Pact, as everyone knows. And Pact territory is entirely peopled with criminals. And criminals know they are not trusted, and you being a criminal as well, I cannot trust you or them! So I can clearly not choose the wine you put closest to yourself!”

Mildly, the pirate nods his head to the shorter man as if conceding a point. “You truly have superior reasoning skills.”

The fat man slapped his hand on the table again, jeweled rings flashing. “You haven’t seen anything yet! Where did I leave off..?”

Obligingly the pirate prompted, “Criminals.”

Jowls quivering, the richly dressed merchant leans forward. “Yes! Criminals, and you must have realized I would have known the powder's origin and taken that into consideration when you placed the goblets, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”

The man in black shifted in his seat, appearing discomfited. “You are drawing this out…”

Sensing victory the smaller man grins wildly. “You know better, don't you? You defeated my Nord bodyguard, which means you're quite strong. So you could be thinking your strength will overcome the poison. So I can’t choose the wine in front of you, clearly. But, you've also bested my Altmer mage which means you must have book sense. And in educating yourself, you must have an appreciation of man’s mortality, so you wouldn't want to chance it and put the poison in front of yourself…so I can clearly not choose the wine in my cup!”

The man in black shifts his eyes away as if in nervousness. “Your deductions shall not wring any indications from me…I won’t be tricked…”

The short man exclaims in triumph, “It has already happened! I can read you like a book! I know which goblet has the poison!”

The man in black tensed. “Then choose.”

Smiling broadly, the merchant responds smugly. “I will. And I choose...” He stops abruptly, peering behind his adversary. “What in Oblivion can that be?”

The pirate cranes his neck to look behind himself. “Where? What do you see? I see nothing.”

The bald man quickly switches the goblets while his opponent has his head turned. He shrugs. “Hmm. l thought I saw something. Maybe not.”

The pirate turns to face him again and the merchant giggles.

The taller man narrows his eyes behind the mask. “What amuses you so?”

“I promise to let you know. First however, let us drink from the goblets before us.”

As they both raise their cups, the short man hesitates with the rim of his goblet at his lips, carefully watching as the bandit drinks first, then follows suit and swallows his own wine.

The man in black settles the mug on the table and pops a grape into his mouth, regarding his opponent. “You guessed wrong.”

Roaring with laughter, the merchant gasps, “So you think!” His voice grows louder in triumph.”...That's why I laughed at you! I switched goblets when you looked away. You have been bested, fool!”

The dread pirate is quiet, a small smile playing around his lips as he watches the flushed looking merchant.

Seeming not to notice, the little man gleefully continues boasting. “You are victim to one of the most basic of ploys. Everyone knows the first is "Never make a deal with a Daedric Lord”, but only slightly less well known is "Never go against a merchant who has a thriving ice cube delivery business in Whiterun!”

Cackling loudly and slapping the table, the merchant abruptly chokes off and falls face first onto the table, his head giving an audible thud.

The man in black sighs murmuring under his breath about the benefits of Snakeblood while gingerly wiping his lips. The pirate stands up, brushing himself off, and looks upwards where the captive elf had been left with the remaining mercenary. He freezes and holds up a hand, “No wait!”

A rain of deadly arrows descends upon the man in black, a couple piercing the dead merchant for good measure. He falls back, riddled with arrows, gasping his last breaths. The Bosmer lady on the bluff stares down at the scene with a grim set to her lips, then turns to the Seeker Daedra watching from the nearby corpse of the last mercenary. “Our deal is complete. You have freed me, and I have slain those fools in return.”

The tentacled Seeker made a wet gurgling sound that seemed to serve as laughter and nodded its misshapen head. “The Master is pleased.”

The elf grunted as she slung the bow over her shoulder and turned to leave. “Be certain Hermaeus Mora knows I shall have no further dealings with him.”

The Seeker made an obsequious bow, a wet, mucous thickened voice issuing from somewhere under twitching tentacles. “Of course, Princess Cornflower.”

It watched as the elf strode away, then floated down the short cliff to hover by the dying pirate. The man reached towards the vanishing figure of the Bosmer desperately. The Seeker leaned over the dying man in an interested manner. “Should I have told her you were her lover in disguise come to rescue her..?” The man’s eyes drifted upwards as they began to dim behind the mask, his final words whispered with his last breath.

“As…you….wish….”

QueenLilly

The fire crackled and Danren sat with his knees to his chest. He heard approaching footsteps and looked up to see his two brothers who started laughing together.
“Finally, I was getting worried,” Danren said getting up.
“Don’t worry, little brother,” Kam laughed. “I got us dinner!” He sat at their wooden table they placed just under a ridge and began setting out the wedges of smelly cheese.
“Just cheese?” Danren looked at four, five, no six wedges he pulled out. “Hardly a meal for heroes,” he grumbled.
“And grapes,” he assured pulling out a cluster.
“Oh also!” Jon-ra said with a smile. “I snagged some rich blokes loot!” He held the emerald colored bag proudly with the man’s crest on it. “Tomorrow we’ll have some real mead! Not this dirt alto wine.” He took a seat at the table and Kam sat across from.
Danren sighed. “I thought we’re meant to be heroes… not the thieves heroes go after,” he said quietly as he shifted his leather armor uncomfortably.
Kam lit the three candles on the table. “Yeah, but we need money to buy good armor. Yours is ready to fall off, and we can’t go fighting daedra naked.”
Jon-ra tossed the sack by the empty crate. “Just relax, soon we’ll have our moment to save the king or some high up noble-type and be recognized. Then we will be getting paid for all kinds of jobs.”
“Exactly,” Kam assured taking his helmet off and tossing it away
“I guess… I just really don’t feel like we’re heroes yet…” Danren said looking at his worn out, cotton boots. They were always hot and a little itchy.
“We have the qualities of heroes,” Jon-ra said. “Our grandmother had a tragic death, that’s step one, tragedy, we’re bothers, that’s a good too, we don’t have a home and live on the land, and we kill every daedra we see!”
“Don’t forget my amazing beard!” Kam laughed stroking his facial hair.
“That too!” Jon-ra picked up a wedge of cheese and held it out to him.
“No thanks,” Danren said looking back at his fire. It was starting to smolder again.
“Alright,” he shrugged. He went to take a bite when something struck the table.
The three looked up to see an arrow sticking in the candle. As Jon-ra cursed loudly, he started to stand to retrieve his blades when an arrow struck clean through his skull. He tumbled over backwards the chair. The cheese fell to the ground.
“This is it,” Kam wheezed with an arrow in his chest suddenly as Danren screamed. “This is your moment—your tragedy. Go!” He slumped back as his eyes closed.
Danren was stuck with only fear as more arrows littered the campsite and he was glad for his topgrain hide Jon-ra stole for him, stopping an arrow. His cotton boots seemed to move on their own, carrying him away from his fallen brothers to begin his new journey as a hero.

DuelWieldingCheesyPoofs

June 27th,

Been traveling a few days now, decided to set up camp just over the border of Deshan into Riften.

looks like we successfully managed to flee the plague. Excited to start a farm in new lands, free from infected poultry and contaminated waters.

some of the camp members have developed stomach craps, doesn't seem to be the plague, no signs of anyone taking bites out of each other.

better settle down for the night, a storm is coming.

Day 3,

still stuck in the makeshift camp, running low on supplies, we are down to our last piece of cheese. I can explain it, but there seems to be a strange feeling in the air. Phillips is sat in the corner, sharpening his arrow, looking very strange.

Johnson thinks its the cheese, it has a strange tang, and he thinks its twisting our minds.

best to sleep with one eye open and my bow under my pillow, if this is my last entry, presume everyone's had the same idea, take heed, don't eat that cheese!

spanks

The Joker and the Thief

The wind swept across the mighty hills as noble guests arrived at the castle for the annual feast and dance. The watchtower was lined with guards, ready and waiting, should an enemy use the gathering as an opportunity. Princes, enjoying the view from the watchtower, looked on as the guests arrived. In the distance two riders approached. The wind grew in strength howling through the watchtower lookouts. The riders separated a ways up the road and traveled down different paths. One rider approached the keep as the other disappeared into the howling night. One of the guards halted the stranger and asked what his business was at the keep. Removing his cloak the guard could plainly see that he was indeed a Joker. While the guard questioned the Joker about his invitation to the feast, the other rider came up from behind and pickpocketed a key to the keep off the guard’s belt then vanished into a group of nobles entering the keep. After the Joker was turned away, the Thief entered the armory and disguised himself as a guard. He proceeded to notify the guard at the gate that he was relieved from duty and was to return to the barracks. The Thief allowed the Joker passage into the feast. Once the Joker arrived in the kitchen, where the wine for the event was being kept, he discretely drugged two of the three barrels waiting to be tapped. Then the Joker made his grand entrance into the feast performing spectacles and stunts of which the audience had never seen. As the nobles drank they became increasingly weary. When everyone at the feast was fast asleep, the Joker and the Thief went to work robbing the noble guests of their fancy jewels and coin purses. The Thief loaded a wagon with the stolen goods. Hitched up, the Joker and the Thief rode quickly out of the keep and into the night. Realizing what had just occurred, the Captain of the Guard sent an entire platoon of guards after them with an order to make an example of them. After riding for two days, the Joker and the Thief settled down in a secluded area to rest and enjoy their ill-gotten goods. The Thief tapped a barrel of wine he had stolen from the keep and the two began to celebrate. After a while, the Joker realized that he was becoming drowsy and that they were drinking one of the drugged barrels from the feast. The Thief leaned back and was out cold as the Joker sitting across from him fell out of his chair and passed out. The King’s guards happened upon the two the next morning and acting on their order they formed a firing squad of archers and executed the two where they lay.

Audigy

My dear rascal,

if you find this letter, then your mom and I will no longer be.

It saddens me deeply but we were not always honest with you. It has been 12 years since we found a little boy laying all alone at this very camp. No track of his parents but a wolf watching over him. When we approached this child, a figure hidden in shadows spoke to us.

"12 years he has, nothing to confess, return he has, his life to rest"

Your mom and I took off with the child, raised it as one of our own - scared of the day that would ultimately come on its 12th birthday.

For almost 12 years now we tried to find the answer to what would happen to this child when it returned. We approached the darkest spirits we knew, entered places and experienced things that we can never talk about - yet the answer to that question we never received.

Therefore your mom and I decided to offer ourselves to whoever or whatever should await the child on its 12th birthday here.

My son,

we are sorry, sorry that we couldn't solve this puzzle and that we don't have a better present for you to your 12th birthday than this letter with more questions than answers.

In love, mom & dad.


"at the back of the note covered in blood the word Cascas is written"

Hobo_Baggins

“By the end of the night, you’re going to put an arrow through this bag.”

Roderic’s words echoed in Elyn’s mind as she released yet again. They taunted her as the arrow missed its mark, just like all the others, and landed squarely in the dirt. They mocked her as her well-intentioned lover chuckled softly behind her.

“Maybe we should take a break.”

“But--”

“It’s nothing against you, honest. But we’re losing light, and I’d hate for all this lovely wine and cheese to go to waste. What’s the point of a romantic dinner that nobody eats?”

Elyn turned to meet her lover with a defiant stare, hiding her hunger in the shadows of her desire to learn, to rise above her reputation as a legendarily bad shot. She was angry, not just at her lack of progress, but at Roderic for giving her such an impossible task. He had set the bag up behind their table, giving her even less of a target to miss. He was a real archer, a good one, and this exercise simply wasn’t fair.

The audible grumble of her stomach drew a sigh from her lips. Wordlessly, she dropped the bow at her feet and stomped off towards the table.

*******

Roderic wobbled slightly on his feet as the night’s wine passed through him to become one with the grass. It was dark now, the fire was dying, and he and his lady love were both blissfully intoxicated. It was time to stumble home.

As the man struggled to tie the cord around his pants, his foot hit something in the darkness. Curious, he reached down and came back with a pleasant surprise – his bow. Feeling around a bit more with his hand, he recovered one of the arrows Elyn failed to use.

One last hurrah before the night’s end. One look of astonishment on his love’s face as an arrow whizzed past her in the darkness to split the bag. One impressed woman satisfying her man.

Roderic grinned like a devil and let his arrow fly.

The wind blew.

The relative silence of the night was broken by the wail of a man who lost everything in an instant, courtesy of his own hand. He ran, he fell, he fought to get back up, but it was no use. His entire world was crashing around him as he fought back the bile in his throat. He looked to his one sanctuary in times of trouble, his lover’s gaze, and saw nothing but death.

Mad with grief, Roderic fell to his knees, grabbed the nearest arrow and jammed it into his own eye.

*******

The howls of a dying animal had drawn the hunter, and as the light of dawn illuminated the macabre scene, a dying animal was all he saw. He didn’t think the beast would survive much longer – nonetheless, best to put it out of its misery. The shot was point-blank, straight into the creature’s head. The hunter didn’t believe in missing.

Olfinol

The Price of Success

Pray, dear listener
Harken to my song
A story of science gone right
And the tragedy of science gone wrong

Tis a tale of two brothers
Who hoped to make history
Destined instead to just
Create mystery

Nyil was a fletcher
A master of his craft
Arrows his life’s work
Feather, head and shaft

Osthan was a cheesemonger
Blessed with a nose for curd
His cheeses the toast of Tamriel
In case you hadn’t heard

Osthan toiled the livelong day
Creating a never-moulding cheese
While Nyil devised an explosive barrel-cannon
To loose a hundred arrows with consummate ease

On the fateful day when each succeeded
They both showed off their great creations
A cheese to end all cheeses
A machine to silence nations

The went to a secluded spot
Well hidden from any watchful eyes
For both feared they were being stalked
By fletcher and cheesemonger spies

The beer and wine flowed freely
As both revelled in their glory
And if alcohol hadn’t been involved
This would be a far less tragic story

Thus Nyil sat and sampled cheese
Whilst Osthan, suffering from too much booze
Rolled out the barrel
And lit its fuse

With a thunderous boom, a hundred flaming arrows
Were into the sky consigned
Straight up they flew, for foolish Osthan
Had not tilted the barrel, as Nyil had designed

Very much the very worse for wine
The brothers shared a mutual frown
As both so drunk too late recalled that
Whatever goes up, must perchance come down

Death rained in a hundred flaming shafts
Unlucky Nyil died where he was sitting
Surrounded by immortal cheese
Like tiny tombstones, somehow fitting

Osthan fell before the blown up barrel
Arrows striking skull and stopping heart
Neither brother would be able to celebrate
Being master of their respective art

Their deaths were swift and certain
And there they lie, unto this day
Two skeletons filled with arrows
Their clothes and flesh burned clean away

So know my friend, ‘tis mystery no more
How those poor souls came to expire
Learn ye lessons from this sorry tale, avoid the devil drink
And beware the price of your desire

Bluerealmstudios

The final tale of Edgar Rowe, whose deeds, no one shall ever know.
An act he took, convincing plight, became his end, in late of night.
A gift was given, stayed out of sight, so not to draw on Stendarr's might.

A feast laid out to tend his need, no meat, no rum, nor even mead.
He ate & drank and wondered why, clouds had gathered, blackened sky.
Betrayed no thought, a vixens smile, wrapped in silks, but smelled of bile.

A change did turn, a beast of hunger, too late regret, no love, no plunder.
Teeth to daggers and fingers to claw, heart of terrors, her endless maw.
To string and shaft, he placed his fate, afraid, misguided, a panicked state.

Drew back, released, many times his hurry, a chance, his luck, a fatal flurry.
Blood eyes, twin jewels, dark gods made stronger, his hope, two shots, they glared to longer.
Relief he felt, his prey to ponder, but flesh reformed, left only murder.

Before his thought, to run or hide, in did one, the father stride.
His gaze, to her, the sightless corpse, his mouth to move, his throat now hoarse.
Final was the coming strike, into his head, the father's right.

Shadow cast, last sight, then fading, alone his corpse, forever waiting.
Revenge it seemed, was just and proper, at least his fate, she also did suffer.
Dead, time lost, the gift of vile, left still upon her face, her smile...

- The Final Tale of Edgar Rowe, Extract From ' Parables of Stendarr's Mercy' -

Mother_Goose

**Official Entry Story**

~Three Wishes~

Cold blue flame swirled about her form as she arched and gave a moaning sigh that rose above the lapping wavelets licking the sandy beach of the narrow cove. Her sister watched her, hovering apart from the scene, waiting for her companion to be done with her entertainment.

Tantalasia kicked a wedge of cheese off the edge of the richly appointed feasting table in a desultory manner, a pout curving her lush, daedric lips downwards.
“Why do they break so easily, sister?”

The discordant harmony of her otherworldly voice seethed with dissatisfaction, drawing the unblinking regard of her twin flame atronach.

A cold, blue hued shoulder lifted briefly, uncaring gaze taking in the gory sight of the heavy feasting table festooned with two arrow ridden corpses.

“They are simple things, these mortals-consumed by their appetites, and predictable in their ambitions. Yet even so, these two exemplified the worst of base desires: Of all they could have wished for, they asked for a sack of gold, women and a feast fit for a King. How foolish.”

Tantalasia laughed, the wicked sound seeming to stir the tall sea grasses that fringed the slight bluff overlooking the carnage. “Well, we were entertained briefly when we saw the look on their faces…from delight to horror in the span of a mortal heartbeat…”

An answering giggle came from the twin daedra as she spun blissfully. “None can say we did not give them what they wished for…”

Unholy delight was exchanged in soulless glances. “Why, I do believe those female Drauger archers hadn’t been invited to a feast in a dragon’s age! I wonder if our two hapless mortals found them too skinny for their liking?”

Matching titters clashed and chimed as the two flame atronachs spun and swooped around the grisly scene before they settled on the small overhang butting up from the sandy spit. A large circular portal of virulent fire winked into existence behind them and they regarded the tableau a final time.

“Vacation always ends too soon, don’t you agree, sister?” The second atronach nodded in agreement and turned to leave. “Back to work, then. Perhaps we will get lucky and be assigned to the Halls of Honesty again.”

Her companion clapped in delight and followed her through the portal. There was a flash as it winked out of existence, leaving behind the sulfuric fumes of the Oblivion plane and a singed patch of grass.

Orious13

Honeymoon Day One

I can’t believe he gave away our honeymoon suite in the Summerset Isles for this. “A picnic” he said. “We’ll breathe in the freshest air and gaze upon the most fragrant flowers,” he said. He knew I could never resist him when a lute’s in his hand. By Stendarr’s word, his voice is so deep it’s almost Daedric.

That’s a chilling thought. He almost convinced me once. He had that…that… What’s it called? Honey…hunting? No Honningbrew Mead? Yes. Yes. I think that’s right. Anyway, he went on and on how he wouldn’t have a voice if not for that Daedra. “If not for that Boe? I’d have the fingers of an Argonian. The voice of an Orc! –hiccup,” he’d say.

You see, he proposed to me with his lute, so I had to say yes. It’s been one week and I’m already sick of him. All he does is drink and talk about that Boe friend of his.

But why here? Sure the flowers are fragrant, but the air is far from fresh. It’s often downright revolting. Almost deathly and I know how death smells. “Have to pay my dues,” he said. “Want to keep my voice,” he said. I don’t quite understand it. I just want to hurry up with this picnic dinner, get back in our carriage, and head back home.

Stendarr’s mercy find me,
Llysilde Stormheim

--

Honeymoon Day Three

There it is again. Every few hours the ground starts to rumble and shake like an earthquake. The wind starts to whistle and roar like a league of Dunmer bandits. “They’re here! They’re here!” he’d say. I don’t get it. And I’m just about through with it all. When he takes a break from his mead or when the mead takes a break from him, so will I. I’ll pack up the carriage and his precious mead. Then…then he’ll have to return with me.

Stendarr’s mercy find me,
Llysilde Stormheim

--

Honeymoon Day Seven

I forgot all about why I wanted to leave when he withdrew his lute and sang to me. “I’ll sing songs about you when we’re with Boethiah! Cupid has set us free!” He’s so great with words. When he sings, Cyrodiil is a much nicer place. I almost can’t hear those dreadful horns anymore.

“Look in the sky,” he says. “Can you hear it? Can you hear them scream through the air?” he says. “I’ll get to keep my Lute. I’ll get to keep my voice! Finally they’ve come,” he says. I’ve never heard him cackle before.

Come to think of it the sky is getting cloudy. The darkness came so fa…

Minudra

Falanar's Diary

We have been hunting the Trolls for days now. They are crafty creatures who keep doubling back and hiding in camps and caves. We get glimpses of them but it's like the moors are trying to hide them.


Today we caught one of the Trolls out in the open. Pathetic thing in ragged hides and the smell, by the gods the smell! We managed to wound it with are arrows but its screams drew the other two trolls. They grabbed the wounded one and ran for the tree line. The screams almost sounded human and lasted most of the night. They went silent about the hour of the Wolf. Myabe now I can get some sleep.


Marak woke up screaming again. He has been having the same nightmare since the attack. He says he dreams of a troll which bursts into his home, drags his sister from her bad and rips her in half. The White Skeever is there too, laughing in its high pitch voice. I hate that skeever, one day I am going to kill it.


This morning started out nice. It was not raining for once and the guar are no longer trying to nibble on my toes. Oh there tricky little things, they run just as I wake up but I know its them. Marak picked up the trail not far from another ruined camp. All that was left was a bag of marbles and a boot.


It seems Hircine likes these vile Trolls. The hills has turned and the sky is purple with blood... The Trolls have worked out how to use bows, I swear! They use them as well as any marksman I have met. They shout at us in mad words too... we never killed a young girl!... We are now the hunted... Must protect the cheese or the White Skeever will be upset with us.


We have lost the Trolls. They must be in leagues with a Daedra, how else could they ride horses? There are many of them now, baying and chasing us. Why won't they let poor Falanar sleep. Instead I sit here guarding the cheese... Yes the cheese speaks to me... whats that, Marak has stolen a piece of you... No I could never eat him even with the new feathers he has grown... Is that strum the sound of your tail, lovely White Skee...................

Ballfry

[to be discovered by the player at whichever Mages’ Guild hall is nearest to the mysterious table]

12 Sundas, 2E 243
Memorandum from the Office of the Archmage to All Guild Instructors (as transcribed by Finneas Whisperquil):

Under no circumstances shall apprentice mages be allow to cast, or obtain knowledge of Portal. This is the last and final warning I will issue on this subject.

Any instructors found in violation will be immediately dismissed from the Guild.

My patience for these incidents is at an end. Just last week two of our apprentices returned to the Guild hall in the wee hours of the morning, drunk (another memo on casting while intoxicated will follow shortly, -F.W.). Somehow they got hold of Portal instructions and managed to transport themselves, along with our our entire breakfast nook, to the middle of Stendar knows where.

To make matters worse, the lingering portal lit up the Guild hall like it was Saturalia. Our ever intrepid town guard, who I’m sure with whom you are now familiar, are not overly tolerant of unlicensed and unplanned Aetherial disturbances, especially at four in the morning. The guard captain ordered a full volley be fired into the portal before we were able to close it. He insisted, against my earnest attempt to persuade him, that Deadra were going to come pouring out and destroy the town.

Our relationship with this ignorant rabble of a guard is already tenuous, as if this incident wasn't bad enough. We are a breath away from having “observers” stationed in our Guild halls.

Instructors, let this be the final warning. I grow tired of dictating these memos.

Addendum to Memorandum:
Be on the lookout for said breakfast nook. If by some miracle we find it, gather up the good silverware. Oh, and If you happen across our two young apprentices, inform them they have been expelled.