Tales of the Dead 2 - Contest Entry Thread

Winchester1306

-STAKES-

Lust. If ever a definitive sin had to be assigned to me, it would be lust. Looking back on my meagre life it is sad to admit that the one moment worth considering as ‘interesting’ was my death. But, I am getting ahead of myself.

*

My name is Claudius Valandis, and I am . . . was, an Imperial guard. Descendant from a long line of ‘vampire’ hunters, I broke the tradition along with my father’s heart when I chose to not follow in their footsteps. It was yet another Fredas and I had just finished my rounds (The Watch had assigned me to patrol the Green Road this week) for the day before dusk set in. Arriving at my lodgings for the week, the Inn of Ill Omen, I secured my milk-white horse and made my way inside – eager for a drink.

Footsteps drew near as I sat by the hearth nursing my second flagon of mead. Reluctant, I raised my gaze. Before me stood a lithe male, Breton if I had to guess, of average height. His face, on the other hand, was anything except average: skin as fair and smooth as marble; prominent facial features chiseled by the finest sculptor; and mesmerizing eyes that tempt you like the things of the night. Admittedly, I must have looked quite the fool merely sitting there, gawking. It was he who spoke first.
‘Care for another?’ he said, indicating to the forgotten drink in my hand.
‘Err . . . s-sure.’ I said rather hesitant, still in awe. He drew up a chair, sitting himself down, before signaling to the innkeeper for another round.

*

It was quite a few hours and even more mead later. Careto (as he introduced himself to me) and I now found ourselves sitting outside by a large boulder beneath the star-spangled heavens. He had with him a bottle of Shadowbanish wine and I brought with me a wheel of cheese for us to share. I sat close to him with his arm wrapped around my waist, staring into one another’s eyes. Around his neck hung a vail of ruby liquid which I came to discover is an extremely rare wine according to him, and that Careto is a collector of some sort.
‘Do you wish to see my ‘spear’?’ he asked, winking.
‘I would not be opposed to it.’ I responded, blushing.
He came to his feet and smirked down at me: ‘You first.’
Quite drunk and rather aroused, I fumbled with my buckle and clumsily pulled of my trousers. A dangerously playful glint danced in his eyes as he nodded approvingly. ‘Ready to see my ‘spear’?’
Frantically I nodded until my head was forced still by the sharp tip of an actual spear. ‘You see, I have spent quite some time trying to find you – and came to learn of your weakness for men.’ Careto said. ‘Now, meet the demise your father bestowed on mine!’

I swallowed hard as the spear pierced my temple, and then . . . darkness.

blueberrydonut

Erina’s Journal

Day 43

I am so tired of this journey, but Elian insists I need experience out here. I want to take a break! Send me to an inn, I’ll be a barmaid! And he thinks he’s a hero by instigating all the bandits and stealing their goods. I think he needs to take more caution.

Day 76
I am getting the hang of sleeping and hiding by the trees and bushes. Although it helps that there are several bandits after us---especially after that stint my brother pulled! Those farmers were lucky that my idiot brother and I were camping near. We really did save them cause of my brother. I actually feel stronger and proud of myself.
He can be such a dolt, but I love him.

Day 87
I think we are being followed. Those bandits are very near and I am afraid. Elian says we have to separate to confuse them, but I don’t think it is a great idea.

Day 94
I knew we shouldn’t have separated! Why did he remove his helmet? I told him to keep it on…but it wouldn’t help

---

WHY!!! This can’t --- this can’t be happening. To leave Elian like that….it is so horrible! Why?!? I can’t… why? No.

---

Day 386
Elian says he likes the cheese and wine I left him! I feel great because he let me borrow his pants to infiltrate another bandit camp nearby. I asked to borrow his helmet, but he said he might use it later.
I will have to steal a couple of sweetrolls for him when I get back. I don’t understand why he won’t come with me.

jaydresden

"Trapped, trapped in this body. To have life stand still forever, that is the punishment I must endure for what I have done. Never to move but always to live."

Katomatic

Yes, yes it’s me. How long? Must be quite a while as the bones are beginning to bleach. The cheese, I should have known not to buy from an Argonian, it’s barely aged! Ahh, the wine, it was nectar on my lips and as soft water as it slipped down.

How was it? We’d been on patrol and our turn for a bit of a sit down. Pulling out that cheese and wine was the most exciting thing to happen all day, for the most part. Quella and Wrrauq, I’m sure, were just as tired. Quella pulled out the deck and we started to relax. Looking at Quella I saw a warrior who had survived many battles, Wrraug was young and full of energy, teacher and student. We passed the deal several times, drank wine and told our not so tall tales, not for the first time. We smiled and laughed with shining eyes and wide grins. Then time for a brief nap.

Now, looking at my bones, and that spear, yikes. I should never have slipped that card up my too short sleeve.

Probitas

Personal Journal of Randy McFee.

"I've just come from a short dalliance with the wife of Baron Lewender. Why that fool leaves such treasure at home to go off searching for gold is something I cannot fathom. The heaves and sighs that filled her bedchambers whilst we sported are worth more to me than any gold or jewels.

The reason for the short stay was due to the sudden and unannounced return of the Baron. It seems some retainer was currying favor by mentioning his wife's infidelity. Thankfully I managed to escape before being caught and I'm doubly grateful that Iola does not blame me; she whispered such to me as we hurriedly parted. I'm sure in a few weeks to a month we'll be able to pick up where we left off.

I've been trudging most of the night, and this area looks well sheltered, so is a good spot for a respite to replenish myself. I'm certain I was not followed."


<The remaining pages are torn and bloodstained.>

Dylipse

The voices won't stop.
They won't stop crawling in my head.
Itching scratching clawing gnawing my brains.

I went. Went I did to someone who could make the voices stop. Make all the itchy, scratchy, burning voices stop. WHY WON'T THEY STOP?

He said he could make them stop, he said he would make them go away.

They followed me. From the mountains. All the way here. Those words, those itchy voices in my head.

Why are they following me? He said to make them go away I would need the cheese. The cheese will talk to the voices. The man with the white beard and cane said the cheese would make them go away. FAR away!

The wine was mine, it could not talk.

The cheese spoke to the voices and spoke of bitter mercy. Mercy. Mercy mercy mercy mercy. From the scratching voices in my head. I DIDN'T MEAN TOO.
I was a soldier. I was a bandit too.

The cheese said the bearded man would give me my bitter mercy for the words. That's what I deserve. Bitter mercy.

Owww

I don't like cheese anymore.

branham84peb18_ESO

Hello mortal. It’s me: your old pal Sheogorath! You can call me the Prince of Madness… actually that lacks a certain je ne sais quoi. No, no and no the Lusty Argonian Maid has sung; you must call me Sheogorath. Why must you? Well if you don’t I’ll reach into your plane of existence, grab you by your puny human neck and make you smell my cheesy breath… I think it’s cheese; it might be worm tart. Bah I digress. Just trust me; no one wants my breath in their face.

Where was I… oh yes! I gather you’ve met Mr. Spear-For-Brains. He doesn’t chatter anymore; not since his tongue rotted away. I miss his incessant 'you tricked mes' and 'please help mes'. I’m no trickster though; nor do I go back on a deal. As grand-pops said: 'always read the small print'; it’s not my fault our imperial chum couldn’t read atomic particles. See it’s right here on this soft Bosmer vellum; that is to say made of Bosmer… not by a Bosmer. Oh dear… Seems I forgot to write the small print; this is just a stain from breakfast. This must be how Hermaeus Mora felt when I beat him at Chess; quite embarrassing but hey ***!

My impaled friend here wasn’t always skin and… well he wasn’t always just bones you know. On that especially dull night six years ago; when he still had flesh on his limbs and no metal in his cranium he called to me or rather he called to anyone who would listen 'I will give anything to be immortal' he begged 'with immortality I can become rich; by the eight I could even become emperor'. Then he really caught my attention 'oh mighty Sheogorath, most glorious of all deadric princes…' What? No I didn’t make that last bit up, that’s what I heard just as clear as I can hear that little sissy whimpering over your shoulder; oh that’s you! Back to the point; I’m not one to keep a man from his dream.

To cut a long story short; I gave him his immortality. I thought it might be entertaining and I wasn’t disappointed. While on his way to relieve himself the very next morning he tripped on a rock I may have accidently put in his way; down the sheer cliff face he tumbled, head over heels; bare bottom over chest! Incidentally embedding his own spear in his brain cavity during the process. You should have seen it; I hadn’t laughed so hard for centuries! It still makes me giggle. He must have broken his neck; he never moved again. Thinking about it, maybe I should have mentioned that despite being immortal he was not immune to injury or decay… oh well I gave him cheese and wine… that will make up for it!

Remember if you see skinny bones around do say hello; he gets lonely trapped in that bleached white mess he calls a body. Bye bye.

blisstree

Bromthar sighed deeply. At least, he imagined himself sighing deeply. It is, after all, a bit difficult to sigh when you're a skeleton. He thought to himself "How did it come to this?" His thoughts drifted as a lifetime of memories passed his inner eye.

"I've always been a magnet for bad luck - a veritable poster child one might say." He winced inwardly remembering the time when, as a child, he was trampled by the horse of an adventurer rushing off to some crisis or other, giving him a permanent limp. Or the time he was running from a big, mean bear and ran right off a cliff. The water below broke his fall, but the slaughterfish had a bit of a snack on his left pinky toe.

"And to think I was stupid enough to think it was over when I was impaled on the tail spikes of a harvester during that Molag Bal thing. I was sure I was going to Sovngarde." He began to seethe, thinking about that dumb ol' necromancer that made him stay here, as an undead dusty skeleton, guarding this stinky, dank dungeon for all eternity.

"Now this. That necromancer is going to be so mad that I can't patrol with my head pinned to the wall with this spear." He wondered how a scrawny bosmer adventurer had managed to drive a spear through both his skull and a stone wall.

"Look at the bright side," he imagined his dear old mum telling him. "at least you didn't take an arrow in the knee like poor Mrs. Greymane's son."

Windbearer

4th of Morning Star, 2E 583

Deadra are nothing if not persistent. They have followed us ever since our departure from Bruma. We are nearly to the pass through the Jerall Mountains, and surely they will not follow us to Skyrim. For two days they have dogged our steps… creatures black as night, with terrible snarls. We had no time to rest, and I fear for my companions’ lives. They remind me of the families back in the Eastmarch… before we attacked with Fildgor’s army. The people in the villages south of Windhelm were innocent, but we slaughtered them for a false king. If only I had seen then what I see now, maybe I could have… done something… been something. But no, a life of exile in Bruma was more than I deserved after what I did.

I made a decision. I gave them my map, told them where to go. They didn’t want to leave me, but I showed them my wound, which has begun to fester. They ran off a few hours ago, and I stood here on the path, yelling at the top of my lungs. The creatures came, and I killed as many as I was able. But now, I am tired, and cannot stand. I found a rock, next to the road, where there is no snow on the ground. Here, I will rest for the last time. My friends left me a bit of cheese and mead in my pack, against my wishes. Yet, I have never met a Nord who wasn’t thirsty for some mead, especially after a long battle. I will rest, though even now I can hear the Deadra coming… snarling…laughing. I have done many things in my life which should keep me from the halls of my ancestors, but Shor willing, maybe this will be a death honorable enough to see me to Sovngarde. At the very least, it will be enough to see my friends to safety, and myself to peace. So here, so far from home, I end the account of Olunn Shield-Arm, traitor, mercenary, friend.

Braiking

The Prudish Argonian Maid
Volume 3
ACT IV, SCENE IV, CONTINUED


Creecius Colto
I believe this is a great location to stop for a rest.

Crosses-Her-Legs
But sir, our journey has barely begun and the homestead is so very far away!

Creecius Colto
This will be a long journey, before we go too far I would like you to polish my spear.

Crosses-Her-Legs
I do not understand, I polished all the weaponry and armor before we departed, sir.

Creecius Colto
There is one spear you missed.

Crosses-Her-Legs
You embarrass me, sir! I am but a maid. It is the mistresses spear to polish, not mine.

Creecius Colto
The mistress is not here, someone must polish it.

Crosses-Her-Legs
Your spear is too much for a simple maid, sir.

Creecius Colto
Just the tip then, my dear.

Crosses-Her-Legs
You are allowing me your spear, and you just want the tip inside then, sir?

Creecius Colto
That will do, my dear.
...
What are you doing with that spear?


END OF ACT II, SCENE IV

Glitchez

Journal Entry 1
My name is Jarthol Kraghorn son of Jathen Kraghorn and eldest to Elesta and Sartial my younger sister and youngest brother. My father has sent me on a mission to speak with the Lords of Cyrodiil to ask for help in these troubled times. Molag Bal has turned our keep into a strong hold and has fortified his dark anchor with multitudes of undead and daemons. We were rushed out of the town through catacombs.
Jarthol Kraghorn

Journal Entry 2
I have been on the road for one day now. I never realized how beautiful the country side is. Although I have ran into a few troubles with the goblins and a few creatures I have never seen before, this is a fantastic journey.
Jarthol Kraghorn

Journal Entry 3
It has been four days since I’ve left the attacks on my small group have gotten heavier we eat with our backs to each other, we sleep with two centuries at watch now. These goblins are persistent and each day their attacks are swift and precise unlike normal goblins.
Jarthol Kraghorn

Journal Entry 4
It has been ten days since my last journal entry. I am all that is left of my group. I have found refuge near a small enclave I have left most of my rations behind my weapon is broken from the battles and I have little fight left in me. If I fail and die on this journey please bring this journal back to my father as proof that I tried my hardest to save our town.
Jarthol Kraghorn

Journal Entry 5
It has been two days since I wrote last. The goblins have lost interest in finding me, I hope it’s safe to move ahead. I shall be to the city in three days.
Jarthol Kraghorn

Journal Entry 6
I see no one when I turn around, but I hear sounds. I feel as though I am going insane. This shall be my last meal before safety. I shall relax with a little cheese and wine. No reason going into the city like a mad man I shall be composed and ready for the Lords of Cyrodiil.
Jarthol Kraghorn

Dissentinel

[This journal is found near the body. Not all of the entries are legible because of dark red blood stains, but these can be made out.]

Last Seed, the 20th

By Zenithar, we sure hit the jackpot today. When my brother Draylin first convinced me to join his little ‘ring o' bandits’ some years ago, I was a little nervous. Actually, more than a little. The image of my severed head mounted on a pike haunted my dreams at night. Still, the dreams Draylin had told me of adventuring and stealing from the rich caused me to join. Neither of us had dreamed of this. We will feast tonight!

Last Seed, the 28th

Last night we found two new recruits - A Redguard woman, and one of them catfolk who claims he can track anything. They seem all right, though I don't like the looks they gave me. The pair speak in hushed voices among themselves, and the only thing they've said to me thus far is "More mead!"

Hearthfire, the 1st

Draylin wants us to move out and target a busier road. If you ask me, I think we should stay here where the coin is decent and the danger is minimal. Then again, Draylin is always right. Where would I be without him?

Hearthfire, the 4th

The Khajiit recruit managed to track down a wealthy merchant's caravan. The fight was quick and brutal - the guards never saw us coming. As we looted the caravan, Draylin climbed atop the carnage and retrieved a silver crown with emeralds embedded in the metal. Though he was covered in gore, I looked up at my brother with the crown upon his head and saw a true leader. My joy did not last long - I saw a rush of movement, and then a spear that went right through Draylin's chest. I froze, horrified. Around me my comrades paused, terrified. When I saw the Redguard tear the spear from my brother's body, I grabbed the nearest items - a wedge of cheese and a bottle of wine - and ran. I heard the Khajiit howl as he gave chase. Through the forest I sprinted, my mind and body focused on the sole task of escaping.
Diving into a bush wherein I thought to hide, my spidersilk pants became caught in the prickly thorns. I cut them loose with a hunting knife and sought a new place to hide. When I could run no more, I came here. I'm famished, so it’s a good thing I brought some provisions from the caravan. There will be time to eat later. For now I must wait, and hope they don't find me.

ovdose

“Wrong Move”

“This looks like a good spot,” thought Malcus, as he was taking a stroll away from the walls of the fort. Malcus was a laid back Imperial guard, who was in the habit of wandering off on his own to get away from the noise and rules of being near his post. “This is a fine place,” Malcus yawned, “for a nap!” He was initially looking for a spot to sit and enjoy a snack of cheese and wine, but his walk took him much further than he expected, so he drank the wine on the way and became tired. Before he began napping, Malcus took off his helmet to make his rock pillow more tolerable; which was a terrible mistake, for a wandering Bosmer who had been hallucinating for the past two days was drifting towards him.

The young Bosmer was named Eplear, and he recently lost his father to a madness caused by the Daedric Prince Vaermina. In his anger, Eplear swore himself Vaermina’s enemy, and thenceforth set out to upset her in any way he could. His last mistake was praying to Vaermina’s enemy, Peryite, on her summoning day. While in physical form, Vaermina visited Eplear personally to place her curse on him.

Cursed with madness like his father, Eplear stumbled upon the area in which Malcus was napping. A strange noise drew Eplear curiously toward Malcus, but by the time Malcus was in his view, all he saw was an enraged tiger, ready to pounce! Eplear drew his spear, ready to kill the monstrous beast before him, and threw it with all his might. For a brief moment, as the spear left his hand, the cloud of Eplear’s hallucination vanished, and he realised that the monstrous tiger was actually an innocent Imperial. As the spear flew toward Malcus’ head, Eplear turned and quietly muttered, “what have I done?” to himself as he walked away.

Digger67

It is really strange to see a Bosmer walking next to Dunmer, who is talking and laughing with a Redguard. Everytime I see an Osimer, and a Khajiit within site of each other, I expect blood, fur and claws to suddenly burst into a frenzy. Yet after four days of the Tamriel games being held here in Malabal Tor, there has not been one act of violence amongst the various races, even with everyone carrying, and waving their countries banners, and chanting for their favorite athlete on the fields. With all the wars, infighting, border disputes, and power struggles it is hard to even fathom the peace being held through the opening ceremonies for the Tamriel Open Games, more less the entirety of the Games. Yet, here we are four days into the games and not so much as marital dispute to dust my knuckles on.

"I joined the TOG Guard 8 moons ago, not just for the coin, but to be on the frontlines of the obvious violence, and war that these games are purported to bring. It is looking like another peaceful day, and with most of the crowd already in the Arena, I can't help but to wonder what the Misses packed for my lunch today." She said last night that she was at the Market and came across one of those Guild Traders that come into town occasionally. She said this guy was from the Bleakrock Barter Co , and she had received a great deal for my lunch.

The noise from the Arena is already at a level louder than I have ever heard, which was to be expected since today is centered around the throwing games. There are several local favorites expected to bring home the top spots for accuracy, and distance.

"There it is, the sound I have been waiting for... The horns announcing todays games are ready to begin, more importantly, I make one last patrol then its meal time"!

"I think this is a good spot for lunch, the Heavy Platter Toss just ended and it sounded like the local favorite Mike Diskus won top spot for both Distance and accuracy."

"Oh joy, my favorite...Invigorated Kavah Red, and Shivering Isle Guyere Cheese! Wow, listen to that crowd"....Spear Chucker...Spear Chucker...SPEAR Chucker...SPEAR CHUCKER! louder and louder....SPEAR CHUCKER!. "I do like how those Bleakrock Barter Co. guys Cut the Cheese, this is extra pungent" SPEAR CHUCKER!...SPEAR CHUCKER!.."Ole' Spear Chucker is one of the local favorites, known all throughout Tamriel for his distance in the Spear toss...and equally known for his lack of Accuracy"!

"I am giving my wife an extra pinch and squeeze tonight for this lunch"... SPEAR CHUCKER!....SPEAR CHUCKER!....SPEAR CHUCKER!....OHH SHIIIII......"I immediately knew, Ole' Spear Chucker missed his mark...Again! not sure about the distance though..."Wow, I just developed a splitting headache.... wonder if the crew down at the Bleakrock Barter Co sell excedrin? Wait...is that Arkay the God of life and death? My wife will kill me if I don't get his autograph..."

GOREKIN

Near theses very woods a young Khatjiit name Taymoora was sitting down to eat berry cheese again. Taymoora hated that smelly cheese. The smell would get into her fur. She pleaded with her mother but mother just smiled replied eat it cause their are others out there who are hungry and would love to have the cheese. When Taymoora mother was not looking she hid the cheese under her shirt. and said I am done may I go out and play. Taymoora mother smiled and yes.

Taymoora got outside her hut and ran into the woods where she found a skeleton. She wasn't afraid at all and began to talk to skeleton. She told the skeleton how she hated cheese and berrys, The skeleton never talked back. She smiled well mom is always right. She left the cheese with the skeleton.

Next day a drunken Khajiit was staggering in the woods. He has been drinking ever since he lost his skooma business.

Dam adventures took my skooma he yelled while he took another sipped of his drink. He almost trip over the skeleton.

Am I not Skooma he inquire from the skeleton.
You sit there with cheese and I got nothing. Some adventures burn down my Skooma trade.

“You think you better then me”? Not talking? How about we fight for your cheese or trade.

I give you my last skooma. We got a deal?

He handed the Skooma bottle.

The bottle just hit the ground.

The drunken Khajiit was mad.

How dare you ruin my last bottle. He began to write on the rock curse anyone who.....he then heard the chains come out of the sky. He knew he best get home.

Next day a young Khajiit was in the woods. He had a new weapon that his brother made that he called a spear. He took it in his hands and tossed it up in the air. It went a lot father then he thought. He ran up the hill in the woods to see where it landed, To his surprise it landed into the skull of a skeleton. The skeleton had a chest piece on but no pants. He tired to remove the spear but it wouldn't move. He then looked at the rock close by with the inscription curse anyone who....it scared him. His brother then called for him. Hey bro come and see theses pants I got...He left the skeleton and the spear.

That night their was a full moon. The air was still. The skeleton turned his head. It reached up to tried to remove the spear but couldn't. He then looked at the rock curse anyone who... It was then his hand reach down and realize he had no pants. He started to etch more the inscription curse anyone who takes my pants. He then raise his head towards the sky and cried out a scream.

Not to far away a wood worker Khajiit began to cough uncontrollably.

Kurtbuckle

Abbot slides to a stop behind the rocky outcrop, panting. He leans out just far enough that he can see the road. Dust hangs in the air, disturbed by the pounding of his feet, but the road is otherwise empty.

Abbot turns and presses his back against the wall, letting his aching feet stretch out in front of him. At his side rests a bundle of cloth, within which are the spoils of his latest trip to the city.

After a longer rest than he should have risked, Abbot begins to tear the tattered, sweaty garments he'd left home with from his body, then tosses them as far away from himself as he can. He shifts the bundle of loot closer to himself and rips it open to dig through its contents.

First he pulls out a bottle of wine, which he quickly uncorks and uses to slake his thirst. As he lifts his hand to his mouth, a pungent odor escapes from beneath his arm. He crinkles his nose and splashes some of the wine on himself to mask his stink, then sets the bottle down.

A twig snaps to his left. He freezes, watching and listening for anything that moves. Minutes pass, too many to count, and it seems like nothing moves for miles. When he is satisfied that there is no immediate danger, Abbot continues.

A plate and a piece of cheese join the bottle of wine next to him, and then he pulls the real spoils of his latest heist from the sack. He'd found real leather armor! He straps the thick, leather covering to himself awkwardly. It is a little too big for him, and he isn't as familiar with Breton design as he is with his native Bosmer style.

Once he is confident that the chest piece will at least stay on his body while moves, he reaches into the sack to get the rest. He pulls the helmet out, then reaches back for the pants.

The sack is empty.

He lifts it over his head and shakes it, but there is nothing left. He curses and throws the sack away from him, then pouts against his hiding spot.

His despair is interrupted by a deep whistle coming from his left. Abbot looks up, toward the sound. He doesn’t even have time to cry out before the tip of the spear tears through his eye socket and embeds itself in the back of his skull.

Arvoneth

The Bounty.

Tick tock. Tick tock. I watch the clock in the tavern tick away as I wait for my order. I ordered a large piece of imperial cheese and a fine bottle of Alto wine to wash it down with. That’s when Menulis comes in, a fellow bounty hunter and informs me of a new target.
I gather my cheese and wine and head out alongside Menulis. I made sure to bring my cheese and wine with me. The hunt at hand was probably the hardest I have ever handled, but we can do this. I split up from Menulis and start finding tracks to follow. I see countless animal tracks, but it’s not until an hour I run into boot marks heading deeper into the forest. I inspect the marks and from what I gather, someone has been dragged away from a bush. Oh no. Menulis. He must have been taken. I sit my cheese and wine on a nearby rock and then follow the tracks quickly but carefully. Until I hear the voice of Menulis exclaiming that he was alone in the hunt.
I wait until nightfall before sneaking into the camp by myself. I pickpocket a bandit and find a small key. Must be to a cell. Hopefully the right key. I sneak into the cave which the bandits seem to have taken over. I quickly pull the key out of my pocket and open the cell. I let out a sigh of relief when I realize it was the right key.
We start to sneak out of the cave when we are spotted. Menulis with no weapon, and me with only one weapon. I decide to give my sword to Menulis and use my shield as a weapon. Not its intended use. We fight off five or six bandits when we see the target. The man on the bounty page. We decided to fight him. It’s a long and tiring fight. But after a few minutes. He falls to his knees and dies. Menulis picks up the body and we leave the cave.
We decide to split up to lose any bandits that may follow us. I let Menulis keep the sword as he carries the body back to claim the bounty. We plan to meet back in town in a few hours. But for now, I plan to rest. Just on the edge of the forest, where I left my cheese and wine. I sit down, take my helmet off and relax. Just as I am about to eat my cheese, I see a slight movement out the corner of my eye. I place my cheese beside me and just as I am about to stand up and investigate. I see a large stick getting bigger and bigger. I realize now that the “stick” is a spear and I have no time to move out of its way. I realize that my not so well lived life, has come to an end.
The End.

alexMIGHTY

Deciding it was time for his break, Lathrok headed through the forest, towards his favourite sitting rock. A peaceful enough place, to relax and ponder upon life under the warm noon sun and count the plunder made from his recent 'business trip', which he had gained through his family-trade; Goblin-whispering. A career only the most fearless, or the most foolhardy, would ever dare pursue, as the volatile and ferocious nature of goblins is well-known, and only the fearless or foolhardy would tempt it. Once there, he reclined, shifting and shuffling until he made himself comfortable.

"Life couldn't be better!"He thought to himself, "Another successful haul! Who would have thought they would trade their gold and valuables for useless sticks and rocks? The little fools!" Lathrok smirked, and reached for his burlap-sack, which held a wedge of mature Mammoth's cheese, and a bottle of fine Nord mead. He broke a piece off to taste, it was pungent and fruity and the armoa filled the air almost immediately upon being unveiled. With a mouth salivating with anticipation, he took a bite. After more cheese, and a few hearty swigs of his mead, Lathrok removed his helmet, wiping away sweat that had gathered on his brow, looked to the sky and thought,

"What could possibly go wrong today?"

It was a beautiful summer's afternoon, the forest was alive with blissful birdsong which was carried along the cooling breeze. Lathrok closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep. He awoke to the sound of rustling and twigs snapping in every direction. He opened his eyes and saw a starved looking figure nibbling at the wedge of stinking cheese. The scroungy, and equally smelly, goblin looked up and was met with Lathrok's fiery glare.

"Wretch!" he bellowed, "I'll have your stupid head!"

Lunging towards the scroungy goblin with fury, the goblin squeaked and fled back into the bushes. Watching as the goblin ran, Lathrok soon realised a thousand eyes were fixated on him, and a much taller, fatter goblin approached, large spear firmly in his grasp made of familiar looking materials Lathrok had traded earlier that day.

This goblin glugged Lathrok's mead with a harsh, commanding presence which resonated the aura of a chieftain. A chieftain of this clan, it would seem. Lathrok, now dumb-struck, slowly gulped as the chief drained the bottle with a louder gulp before releasing a tremendous belch, which was quickly responded to with the unanimous roar of laughter from his tribe, and let the bottle fall from his hands, it slowly rolled to the feet of Lathrok, who was now pale.

"Whose the stoopid head now, eh?!" the chief grunted through broken teeth, and leapt with full fury and a spear held high towards the screaming man, who up until an hour before couldn't believe his luck, and at that moment, the forest fell deathly silent again, as a flock of ravens flew away towards the sun, overhead.

Mercutio

He was a man of few accomplishments. He disliked crowds, a crowd being defined as any space that contained more than himself. While not fully agoraphobic, he only felt truly real when at his computer, online. writing. He could have happily lived his life never crossing the threshold to his domicile into the outer world.

As this was not practical he had, over the years. nursed one talent of which he was a true master. He had learned that it was impossible to become invisible, but becoming quickly forgettable was almost as good. The skill had been honed through much trial and error.

Never hang on the fringes of a group. Such lurking attracted attention, elicited deep primal emotions of the predator circling the herd. Don't be in the center either, for obvious reasons.

Dress in attire neither too bland nor too rich. Do not wear anything distinctive of a personality at work, such as a flavor of the month hat or Hawaiian shirt. His favorite choice for urban camouflage was khaki. Khaki was the universal vanilla of fashion.

He kept a slight smile on his face. A non-threatening, pleasant smile. He kept his eyes kind.

A rookie mistake was to avoid as much conversation as possible, to quickly excuse and extricate oneself from social engagement. While physically average in almost all other respects, his baritone voice had thwarted his attempts to remain forgettable on many an occasion. He now let a would be conversationalist speak first, then mimic their accent back, keeping his pitch soft and gentle, a non-whisper devoid of any distinction. He replied with uninteresting, mundane responses. When talking he looked at the bridge of the intruder's nose, the illusion of eye contact. Whatever opinions were proffered, he would politely agree with.

More importantly, he would actually, temporarily, share the mindset of whomever was talking. Disagreement shone in the eyes, it couldn't be helped. So he performed quick mental gymnastics and shunt his own true opinions aside, replacing them with those of the speaker. The second he was again abandoned he threw the mask into cerebral trash bin.

He rarely had to excuse himself from the dialog. His antagonist, sensing nothing worth noting, would soon drift away. Memories of him would evaporate like morning fog.

So he swam through life, through the demanded currents of work days, gatherings, shopping trips, play dates, and every other loathed excursion into a world he had no desire to partake in. Just another fish in the school.

When he was finally able to again retreat to his sanctuary, a yoke was removed. The smile shelved, eyes again hard, his voice and opinions once more his own.

And inevitably the darkness he fought so hard to conceal again swelled up inside him, extruded from his pores, overtook him like a passionate lover. He did not resist. It was who he was.

He died from a spear to the head while eating cheese.

Moomins

He said he had a sharp pain in his head, I didn't believe him. Turns out he was right....

Drennen_Skullcrusher

Why did Frald have to put the cheese and wine so close to that old skeleton? That skeever breath knows that I am terrified of skeletons. Ever since the first time a skeleton stood up and came after me with an axe I have been afraid of them. Well I guess I shouldn’t feel too badly about it. Some people are afraid of spiders, others can’t stand tight spaces, I just happen to get the creeps from moldy old skeletons. Okay maybe I can use this spear here to kind of knock the skeleton away from the food, here it goes.
Hahaha, I totally didn’t mean to stick it right in the skull, at least now I know it won’t stand up when I go for the food, I hope…

Atomik_Explorer

A Historic Monument For Thieves

Here lies Lanark Blue, a beginner thief and a reminder to all new ones why ultimate focus in your training is key to survival.


Lanark Blue was a thief who had a quite literal "to die for" passion of cheese. In fact it was cheese that brought round his untimely demise. The story is told to many a new thieves of his tale, it's much too long and i can't tell just anyone who isn't a thief, so i'll give you the just of it.

It was a late afternoon when tamriels greatest cheese baker known as "the cheese weaver" had just finished his most exquisite creation. it's refined aroma could be wiffed from the opposite side of the small village the weaver lived in. no one can recall the villages name as it was destroyed only several years after this story takes place.

Lanark had wiffed this fine smell for himself as he was passing through the small hamlet in the eastern region of cyrodil. he snuck in late afternoon rather than the dead of night. his first mistake, He then stole the still warm cheese and a bottle of wine off the shelf. He began making his way out the back. After finding a suitable spot, he rested against the rock his bones still rest on this very day. But Lanark didn't pay attention to the fact the warm cheese was dropping crumbs on his way. No one knows exactly what happened but it's sayed the mighty cheese weaver followed the trail of crumbs and pinned Lanarks skull to the rock he rest upon with a spear. Now, the wine bottle has stayed rested at his side as well as the legendary cheese that has never molded. His bones now sit as a reminder to all thieves that your training and skills always come before the loot.

Many have forgotten of this tale and of the last few decade's thieves have fallen to thier demise because they did not heed thier training or practice, the same way Lanark had died. I do not wish for my name too be known, so you will not find an author to this entry. but if you are a thief yourself who has found this note beside this no doubt unkown corpse to you, take it to your clan leader and may it be known again of Lanark Blue's teachings of which many have forgotten.

Alanar

Alard sat down with his back to the cliff and sighed. Three days now he'd been wandering the wilderness west of Crosswyth, and he still hadn't found a single treasure chest. At this rate, it might take weeks for him to find enough gold to finish out his armor set, much less get a decent weapon. At least he'd found some provisions at an abandoned camp that morning. The wine was a bit flat and the cheese was just okay, but the heavy purse he'd found buried under the floor of a tent was heavenly.

He wondered what Arcady would think if he saw him now. Arcady was convinced that light armor was the only reasonable way to go. Ha! He wouldn't have lasted a day out here without the extra stealth and stamina his medium armor gave him. So what if Bretons have an affinity for light armor and magicka? He wasn't going to let anyone else define who he should be.

Not for the first time, Alard wished armor was less expensive. His savings had been enough for him to purchase a jack and and arm cops in Aldcroft, then a treasure chest near Cambray Pass had let him buy a helmet in Camlorn. Good thing he got out of Camlorn when he did. That leatherworker wasn't going to be making armor for a while, unless he made it out of werewolf hide.

Now if he could just find a few more treasure chests, he'd be ready to start exploring the caves and dungeons that held the real treasures. He'd heard tales of the riches coming out of Spindleclutch, sounded like a good place to start. How scary could a few spiders be anyway?

Well, none of that would be happening tonight, time to get some rest. Alard leaned his head back against the cliff, closed his eyes, and fell fast asleep.

...

Lanis grunted as he tugged at the spear buried in the cliff wall and finally let it go. He'd never liked that spear anyway. Reaching down, he cut the purse from the dead man's side. What kind of fool robs a bandit camp without even being armed? And that armor! Even with a weapon, he wouldn't have stood a chance in gear so flimsy. He bet the fool wished now that he'd worn heavy.

Sandmanninja

Forever My Love
By Joel Callahan


Glenumbra
Morgana - Wife (Breton)
Galielin - Husband (Breton)


Galielin plodded through the wilds of High Rock, north of Camlorn. The hot sun beat down upon him with what felt like the heat of a thousand bonfires. He was tracking some bandits that had a bounty on their heads. He stopped a moment, drained his wineskin dry, and spotted a shaded spot near a rock outcropping across the ridge and near a stream. 'Bless the Eight. Fresh water and respite from this accursed heat.' He made his way over to the bubbling stream, dipped his wineskin into the running water, and allowed himself a moment to linger. The water was so cool against his harsh, dry hands. He splashed water in his face, drained his wineskin and refilled it for the journey ahead.

He reached the shade, unpacked his pack, and unwrapped the last piece of cheese his dear Morgana prepared for him. He took a square of cloth out of his pack, poured cold spring water over it from his wineskin, removed his helmet, and gently pressed it to his face.

That was when the Bandits struck - silently and swiftly. The tall, lanky one threw the spear as easily as a child would throw a doll. The spear cleanly penetrated Galielin's head and embedded itself onto the rock behind him. The short, bald bandit slinked up to their most recent victim and began removing anything of value...

Morgana awoke from her sleep with a sudden yell. She went to the basin and splashed water onto her face, but that only brought back the horrible vision she had just dreamt. She had bad dreams before, especially when Gal was gone on his hunting trips, but nothing like this. And the most disturbing thing, when she absentmindedly twisted her Ring of Mara, it felt cold and lifeless. It was a circular piece of metal that bound two lives into one and through that magic, it was always warm to the touch. But not now. It felt cold and lifeless as she was afraid her dear Galielin was.

She changed into her travelling clothes, packed a small bag with some basic food stuffs and clothes, and walked over to her family chest. She kneeled down, carefully worked the tumblers and unlocked her past life. She swore that life off when she met Gal, but she remembered all of the old tricks of the Trade. She found her vials of powered herbs that when mixed with a few drams of water would kill a man in seconds. She stored these in her travelling kit and continued to carefully look through the contents of her former life. There, at the bottom, wrapped in oily rags, two beautiful hand-crafted daggers, with a small channel running from the handle to the tip of the blades. She called them her Fangs and they bit hard.

"I will find you Gal, then I will find those that took you from me."

gjarvis25

3rd of Last Seed
I begin this record of contract in a manner to ensure full credit (and all subsequent and deservéd monetary compensation) is indicated to myself, Sillius Maximus, on behalf of Count Dinead and the services I have agreed to render him. I was approached by Dunead some days ago and questioned about my knowledge regarding some of the newer siege weapons being developed in the Imperial City and their possible uses in defending small villages and chateaus, as Dinhead’s estates have been recently hassled by bands of organized marauders. Being a non-partisan and entrepreneurial Imperial, I offered my help, only after verifying the integrity and sizeability of the Count’s accounts of course. I begin tomorrow.

4th of Last Seed
Having worked with Ballistae before (or at least seen graphics of them in the Imperial Library) I have already designed and modelled a simple yet compact tension machine designed to launch spears supplied by the local militia. I hope to have a working prototype assembled in a day or two.

3rd of Heartfire
My employer had begun to grow concerned over my lack of progress after the first fortnight had passed, but surely his doubts have been assuaged now that he sees the final results. None-the-less, Count Dundeed insists the weapon be tested before payment is made.

4th of Heartfire
Disaster. Not only did the left support beam fracture during the test fire, but in the process I received a rather sizeable splinter in my thumb. The pain was immense, and after I regained consciousness, I staggered to the local healer for assistance. The fool insisted the wooden shard could not be extracted as it was not large enough to be visible. I cursed his ineptitude and struggled on. Even temporarily crippled I have made considerable headway and the launcher will soon be once again ready for testing.

2nd of Frostfall
I had previously requested Count Dunderhead provide me with a laborer (under his own pay) as the repeated firing and charging required for testing the weapon is beyond even my own considerable strength and endurance. I was horrified however when a hideous Argonian with the most ghastly facial scarring turned up at my door claiming to be under orders to aid me. I can only hope his alarming exterior belies an inner aptitude for obedience.

10th of Frostfall
My worthless half-blind Argonian assistant, Eye-Gore, is possibly the worst help that may have been provided to me. How the wretched creature lost his eye cannot be fathomed, but the effects of his ocular impairment are abundantly clear; just this morning I had him fire the device while I was calibrating the tension ropes and he sent a spear sailing past the target, over the wall, and Julianos knows where into the surrounding forest. I have been searching my tools for something to aid me in dislodging the shaft from whatever it may have struck, but it appears someone has made off with my entire collection of tongs...

TinyMHG

Started: Uncle Sheogorath's Story Time.
Hint: Follow Sheogorath.

Sheogorath: Are you listening, little mortal?
Good, I'd hate to have to kill you before we even start.
Walk this way. Wait, scratch that, don't walk that way, because it makes me to chafe.

Well, well, what do we have here? A grim tableau of death. It makes me wonder who this deplorably unfortunate wretch was and why he meet such a grisly fate? Ooh, ooh! That gives me an idea, well, more than one actually, but one truly Grand idea. A contest, a clash of wits, a war of intellect and dialect, so to speak, you and me, little mortal are going to have a contest. We each come up with a tale, Ooh, how I love a good story, to explain this charming mess we see before us. Humm, Haskill here will be the impartial judge, jury, and executioner of this contest.

Haskill: A pleasure as always my lord.

Sheogorath: A long time ago, really a short time for a Daedric Prince such as myself but I digress, a long time ago Abner Gardner, a very wealthy cheese merchant from Wayrest was on his way to hammer out a contract with Dervenin Noblesmith, Timmy the talking pumpkin's booking agent. This would have made Timmy the star of the Wayrest stage. When a great hoard of bloodthirsty barbarians screaming for, well, for what else Blood and... CHEESE... killed Abner's bodyguard and kidnapped Abner for a king's ransom in chesse. The end. OK, your turn. Remember I bore easily, and I still haven't beaten Haskill's record for skipping rope with a mortals entrails yet, so do try to give it your best effort, my fragile puny mortal plaything.

Hint: Use your imagination to beat Sheogorath at his own game.

Good Luck.

tesla22robin

“The helmet demands it! Now is the time!”

Jarl backed away from the gnarled old Breton, who was leering at him with one crazed eye. Jarl was a large man, large enough to lift a wagon. But, he had never been good with words. He had always done as his diminutive master had demanded of him, without seeing the need to ask questions. This seemed suspicious, however.

“Umm…. What’s it sayin’, again?” He asked, quizzically.

“The gods of the immortal Daedric Shako ask for their due! We must appease them!”

There had been some strange plots before, but this one was the most unusual. What was the reason for all of these unnatural errands? First, there was the poultry gathering, and the subsequent entrail reading. Then, a large quantity of salt, flour, and oil was required to dispose of the remains, and the result was rather tasty. But this – No, this could not end well. Jarl was standing, outfitted in a jerkin that they had pilfered from some Daedric ruins. There was a large, crossbow-like device loaded with a spear, and for some reason, nobody was wearing any pants. It had been said, “Pants will spoil the authenticity of the ritual.”

Jarl thought back on his master’s other hare-brained schemes.
There was the time his diminutive friend had used him to break into the Mage’s Guild. Jarl had spent the next three weeks transformed into a Guar, slowly changing back into his current self.

Then there was that strange helmet, which the smaller man had been carrying around for weeks. Jarl became increasingly uneasy whenever he looked at it.
‘Brinngg The Cheeeessseeeeeeeee’ a faint noise wisped over to him from the direction of the leather hat that his master cradled in his arms. Great, now he was hearing things.

“The sacrifice is at hand!” In a single motion, his master wheeled the device around, aiming it straight at Jarl’s head. “Speak the incantation, Jarl! The Undying demand that their sacrificial rite be completed before the turning of the moon!”

Jarl’s eyes wandered from the tip of the spear, to the wine and cheese, and back to his master. Then, his gaze fell on the ominous helmet. It seemed to be emitting a dark aura, and he could hear a faint chattering. Suddenly, an eye stalk sprouted out of the thing! It began to shudder, and then it slithered around to look at him with its gnarly stalk.

Jarl’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Cheeeesssseeeeee!” It cried out, as it sprang at him!


...

Jarl awoke, after what must have been several hours. He had a terrible headache, and his surroundings looked very dim. He sought around for something familiar, and his hand contacted the shaft of the spear. He groped the length of it, until he felt something soft, like leather or skin. Confused, he took a step back, but he slipped on the plate of cheese. As he went tumbling backwards, he heard a mischievous laugh. Then, everything went black.

mina_dragulia

I knew I had acted swiftly, I’d gotten them out in time. As for myself, it is a worthy sacrifice to die for the ones you love. I needn’t travel far for discovery is my goal if I am to keep them safe. My life for theirs.

I heard the sounds of death before they descended upon me. As I lifted my eyes from the untouched repast, a smile escaped my lips.

“You will never find them!” I sneered, “It is done as was willed by the Nine and they are safe now.”

The soldiers formed a circle around the king’s brother, raised their spears at me and the Altmer I once called a friend stepped out, raised his head and regarded me with a look of utmost disgust and murderous rage.

“They are dead Andulil,” he spat out, “delivered to Boethiah by your hand! Is that their salvation?!”

I searched his face for signs of deceit and found none. The Queen, my son… My heart splintered, its pieces cutting me from the inside out. I failed them. As I stumbled up and toward him, the soldiers tightened around Eramir, the king’s brother, and aimed their spears for a killing blow.

“What is this madness you speak?!” Voice breaking, I cannot contain the pain in my soul. “No! It was you Eramir, and the King… Because the child she birthed is mine you’d plotted murder on them. I saved them, I got them out". Notes of desperation clear in my voice.

Eramir’s face softened,

“Your son… I would never have harmed the ones you love, much less your own blood.” After a brief pause his face regained the harsh look of contempt and he spoke again, “Had you acted shrewdly, things might be different. You have been deceived and they are dead. You must be tried by the King.”

A soldier I did not recognize stepped to the front as Eramir shrank into the darkness of the circling guards.

“Andulil, you are charged with the plotting and murder of Kinlady Itarilde and her newborn son, the King will carry out the sentence as he sees fit."

I could hardly hear the words being said, white noise filling my mind. My love, my son… dead. I could not live a moment longer. Peace filled my mind as I charged at the guards, the heavy whistling of spears was the last thing I heard. I did not feel the pain or cry out as one made contact with my skull. I opened my eyes to the sky and gave my soul to the light.

TOG_Zyric

Ulik loved what he did. Some people might find it distasteful, but he was good at it and it paid well. The Dunmer empire needed men like him to acquire Argonian workers even if some of them did not want to think about it. He was a slaver, and he truly enjoyed it. He liked to hear the screams of terror as he and his men descended onto a village. To see the tears flow as they drug off half the village. It brought great joy to his heart to see their suffering. During this last raid, like most of them, there were always a few brave or stupid ones that they had to kill, but that was the cost of doing business. It had taken almost a week of sloshing through the marsh with the latest batch of slaves to get back to Stormhold, and he was ready to relax. Maybe he would go up and visit the cute little thing that waited tables at his favorite pub, but first a little to eat and a nice bottle of ale.

Unknown to Ulik, one of the Argonians had a son that was out hunting when he raided the village. This particular Argonian could not be consoled by who was left, so he spent the last week tracking Ulik through the swamp. He was too late to prevent the others from being sold in Stormhold, but he was not too late to find Ulik alone, camping for the night with a little extra gold in his pocket and a bottle of ale.

Ulik was half way through his bottle of ale when he heard the spear flying through the air, but that was the last thing he heard. For that was how the slaver died. Alone, killed by a nameless “primitive” he had enjoyed tormenting. No one except the one who did it, knows who killed him. There were many who wanted the chance, but the Argonian felt that that monster did not deserve to be remembered so he never told anyone.

Kilo33

Velrith stopped short as an ancient scene of violence met his gaze. There propped against the boulder were skeletal remains seated in permanent repose where they had died. Aside from the old bones, a rotted cuirass armored the corpse and a helm of ancient design lay near at hand. Oddly, there was also an ancient block of cheese and a wine bottle nearby, as if the unfortunate traveler had merely fallen asleep in the midst of taking a midday repast. The cause of death was apparent enough to Velrith as he fingered the shaft of a wicked looking spear protruding from the skull of the departed. The spear did not budge. Velrith leaned closer and saw that the black metal head of the weapon had passed cleanly through the skull and embedded itself into the soft limestone behind.
As Velrith surveyed the scene, a blue nimbus of spirit energy lit the long darkened sockets of the skull and the ghostly apparition of a young man slowly formed over the body. Velrith stepped back and raised his staff, the words of a spell taking shape upon his lips when the apparition raised a warning hand and spoke.
“Be at peace traveler,” the ghostly voice intoned. “I bear you no ill will and merely wish to converse a moment so that you may know my sad tale.”
Velrith lowered his staff, the words dying in his mouth as he nodded mutely to the spectre.
The ghost seemed to glance sadly down at the skeletal remains at its feet before raising his gaze once more to Velrith. “I am, or was, Aleon. A mercenary of sorts who had fallen upon hard times. Hunger can drive a man to do things he is not proud of, and in this case,” The ghost gestured toward the corpse; “it drove me to theft. There was a village, not far from here, where a cheese-monger named Longspear conducted his business. A large, once powerfully built man long gone to pasture he appeared to me. A man not able to run fast should a starving lad such as my-self snatch a bite of cheese and a draught of wine.” The apparition seemed to sigh in regret as he shrugged. “Pity that looks are often deceiving. The snatch went off as I expected, the shout to stop, the attempt to keep me from escaping to the street outside the shop. All went as I planned and I stopped here a moment, to rest and enjoy the fruits of my crime. Scarcely had I taken my helm off and wiped the sweat from my brow when I heard the sound as if some great bull was charging up the path. I only had time to look that way before my world went dark.”
The ghost seemed to manage a weak smile as he began to fade from Velrith’s view. “At least he left me the cheese and wine, must have figured that I paid enough…”