Tales of the Dead 4 - Contest Entry Thread

Stoxin

The Orc and The Breton

When the Chief was told that a group of ogres were encroaching on Red Rook controlled land, his first action was to send two bandits to set up a grisly warning for the creatures. With Christophe’s luck, it was only natural that he would be paired with a brutish imbecile of an Orc for a task of such importance.

“No, no, no! The arrow needs to go through the gap in the arm bones, not beside it! No, the other side!”

Grunt.

He’d been provided with a skeleton of dubious origin and a quiver of arrows and told to set up the warning over at the old abandoned watchpost. Of course, it was obvious that he was expected to be the one to construct the scene, since his “partner” was an Orc and likely just there to cart the skeleton and shove arrows into a tree.

“Through the nose, not the eye, half-wit! It has to look like the archer was acting like he was aiming for the food when in reality, he was shooting to kill.”

Grunt.

Christophe was something of an self-proclaimed artist, a well-cultured individual tragically forced to resort to banditry by these trying times. When he had found a sack of old, moldy potatoes at the sight, he knew immediately how the warning would be portrayed. He could clearly see in his mind’s eye the scenario that he would instill in the thoughts of all who gazed upon the final result of his brilliance.

“The arm can’t simply dangle like that; it needs to be placed upon the ribs as though preparing to ward off an inevitable demise. Not the one that is already pinned, you stupid green-skin!”

Grunt.

Truthfully, he was an amazingly talented individual. Cut from the same cloth as the greatest craftsmen and designers, destined to be a renowned master of the creative arts. The tableau he would create would be so terrifying, the ogres would turn tail and flee from but a single glimpse. If only his half-brained assistant would do as he commanded, that is.

“Are you even hearing a word I say? Why would someone shoot him in stomach, of all places? And now you’ve shifted the entire thing with your bumbling! It’s obviously wrong now; it’s missing something and-.”

“Agreed.”

Christophe turned a furious glare on the lumbering Orc. How dare he interrupt his better mid-speech! The mood he was trying to create with the scene was completely ruined and now his assistant was back-talking? It was just his luck that-

Wait, why was he unsheathing his sword? The scene in his mind’s eye called for an archer, not a swordsman! This bumbling fool was going to turn a salvageable disaster into a catastrophic one with his stupid interference in-

“BY THE DIVINES!!!”

Urzog took a step back and observed the final work, the skeleton pinned by arrows and the dead Breton slumped against the tree. He grunted.

“Perfect.”

The Orc strode away.

robersontez_ESO

The Journal of Alessi Ingravil
I knew we shouldn't have done that, they are on to us we have to escape!!!
Was our lives worth it, did we just throw it away.
We don’t have much time, i hear footsteps behind us.
The thought of never seeing my beloved is killing me.
I knew I shouldn't of listened to that damned Argonian!
Aww… we need to get away. Being a thief is not the life for me
I was sly talked into this and know my life is on the line
We I get back, I’m gonna teach that lizard to never mess with me
… Now we are lost, great now what do we do?
My partner in crime is wailing like a baby, should’ve picked someone else.
We found a small camp, a little suspicious in the middle of nowhere, but it will have to do.
Hopefully, we will be safe tonight, but i do wonder, where did everyone go from this camp?
There’s a cave up ahead and I hope to explore it tomorrow, maybe there’s some loot to be had, and we can add it to all the sweetrolls and skooma we stole from those Nords while they were being attacked by those ogres and goblins.
But we must leave soon, we don’t want them finding use due to the aroma from these sweetrolls........

chromaticwyrm

WHY MEAD AND TARGET PRACTICE SHOULD NEVER MIX!

It was a sunny ogre free day in the wilds of Tamriel, just the kind of lazy afternoon worthy a good stein of mead. Of course being in the wilderness one should never be unarmed so Jeremy had his finely made bow of polished oak and Daniel his short sword. Both of them sat down at their cozy little campsite filling mug after mug with the fermented honey drink.

"Hey Daniel?" Jeremy asked a bit foggy from drink.

"Wot!?" replied Daniel who was thoroughly enjoying his buzz.

"I'm's bored, so bored, I has a idea!" the archer declared.

"Alroight, wot is it, eh?" Daniel asked.

"You stand over there by tha' dare tree wit' a potato on your head jus' loike that fella in the carnival las' year and I'll's shoot if off you're 'ead loike a roight good archer." Jeremy explained.

Normally this would seem like a horrible idea but with enough booze any idea sounds perfect. So Daniel with a big milk sop grin on his face stands up and after several drunken attempts get's a potato on his head. Jeremy's arrow swayed a bit as he took aim and in true drunken fashion the arrow didn't even come close to its mark. Instead it went right between the bones of Daniel's right lower leg!

Daniel broke out in laughter the gravity of what just happened completely lost "You s'wit! You missed!"

"Let me try again I'll get it now!" with another shaky shot a arrow sinks into Daniels stomach.

"You pile of scrib jelly. Tha' 'urts!" Daniel yelled out now trying to ring Jeremy's scrawny neck but two arrows have him thoroughly pinned to the tree.

"Wait! Lemme try 'gain!" Another shot by Jeremy lands right next to the first by now Daniel is bleeding badly at this point.

"Your momma was a orc! You're the worse shot ever!" By now Daniel is madder than a bull netch and pulls out his short sword.

"Wait..wait I got it now!" one last arrow is let loss from Jeremy's bow impaling Daniel in the side of his face. Growling Daniel hurls his short sword embedding it deep in his former friends gut.

"Swit..whadda so tha' for!?" as Jeremy staggers over to the tree to sit suddenly not feeling so well.

As they both slowly bleed to death Daniel looks over at his friend "Ah scrib..who is going to get these arrows outta me now?."

Days later a ogre wanders by the scene and blinking in shock he wonders why people call him stupid.

markandhoward2

As I ventured onward into the forest, the trees around me seemed to drink the night. I knew darkness was fast approaching, yet still I pressed on in search of food. Suddenly, in the distance, my Khajiit ears caught the distinct sound of footfall trampling over brush. This was not the sound of a deer, for it was too careless and loud, nor any other small game, as the source of the noise showed no signs of caution nor fear of predators. I froze, and listened intently for several minutes. The pattern of the footfall suggested the walker was standing upright. I continued to listen as the sound became more and more distant. Finally, my curiosity got the best of me, so quickly and quietly I began to pursue the source of the footfall. This proved difficult even for the agility of Khajiit. I followed as closely as I dared for fear that I would be discovered. Slowly I began to make up ground, and as I did, its figure became visible to me.
The hulking figure lumbered through the forest with its long thick arms swinging at its sides. Its thick neck and massive head angled downward ever so slightly. Suddenly it stopped, stuck its nose in the air and roared. As it did so, the light from the two moons Secunda and Masser reflected off its face. White fangs glistened in the night; this was an ogre. Just as suddenly as it stopped, the ogre broke into a run. I decided to follow to uncover the motives of this stray beast, who is not normally found in the forests of Elsweyr. Ahead, the sound of battle was breaking out as the roar of more ogres could be heard in the distance.
The trees parted on a clearing. Small hills faced to the east and two other ogres stood locked in a battle with a necromancer and his risen dead. Without thinking, I fired three shots into the body of the nearest skeleton, pinning it to a tree. My small dagger left my hand in a whirl and drove a second skeleton into the base of the same tree. The Necromancer turned towards me enraged, but this was his downfall. For in his distraction, the ogres he was holding at a distance through a ward suddenly broke through, and before he had time to react, he was ripped asunder by their might. The three great beasts, daft as they were, still had not noticed my arrival at the clearing as they paid me no mind, and instead, turned their attention towards the plunder of the necromancer’s camp. I stayed and watched through the night from the vantage point of a nearby tree. As the sun rose the ogres snarled to one another and lumbered off into the woods . I could not let these beast defile the forest with their presence, and so I reasoned, hungry as I was, to hunt them down and eliminate them, one by one.

EnigmaticSpirit

“It's like a stick, but with string tied on...”

It was no good. Bert had spent more minutes than he could count on his fat, stubby fingers trying to teach his younger brother to use it. How did those pink-skinned hunters make it look so easy? Place arrow by string, pull string back, arrow goes into target. Every time the arrows had fallen harmlessly to the ground beside him. It was a miracle the string was still on! He wouldn't have bothered but being big and obvious was how all his other brothers had died. What had seemed a brilliant idea was becoming a lost cause.

Bert needed another idea.

His brother always knew when Ma was cooking those delicious skeever stews with ground bone fragments floating on the surface. He could see the little rascals run from the other end of the valley. Shame he wasn't much good in a fight, but that was where the idea to teach him to use the stick-with-string-tied-on thing had come from.

That was it... a living target!

It took him hours but fortunately, when the hapless pair of pink adventurers had crossed his path, Bert had big hands like his Da's. The first one put up quite a bit of a struggle and hacked at him with those sharp looking metal things they used up close, and it had only taken one swing for something to break – his neck. The other one had hidden behind a tree and cowered, babbling desperately in the pink-skin language when Bert came looking for him. Or it could have been inane babble. Bert wasn't sure. All he cared was that in that blind panic it had been easy to retrieve them both and bring them back. He could have been praising Molag-bal.

His brother had looked at him like he was a lunatic when he had suggested it. Well, he hadn't so much suggested it as thrust the stick-with-string-tied-on into his slightly smaller stubby hands. He had thrown the dead one at the foot of the tree, pinned it to the ground with his pointy metal bit just in case it was still alive, then held the one that was still wriggling against the trunk. The pink-skin held perfectly still, sobbing enough that Bert was worried the smell down below might spoil the meat. For added entertainment, he took an apple and balanced it on the pink-skin's head.

“Shoot tha' off an' you can eat the dead one.”

Thunk. Well, that was an improvement. The leg was at least on target!

“Naw. Up a bit.”

Bert was more than a little surprised when the next arrow drove itself straight through the pink-skin's eye. Bert backed away in surprise to examine his brother's handiwork. Thunk thunk thunk. More arrows found homes in his stomach, only slightly off-centre, pinning the pink-skin to the tree.

“Fair 'nuff. You can 'ave it.”

Funnily enough, the two of them never went hungry again.

kamiyagi

Loke and Lock, a brother’s set, were traveling afar,
On troubled roads, through earie knolls, across this fearful land,
with nothing for companion, save the northern star,
when suddenly Loke perked up and thought of something grand!

“O’er here, my blood,” he said a’grin, pointing with his bow.
“I’ve found a place for us to camp and sleep beneath the sky.”
“Yes!” said Lock. “That does look swell.” But however could they know
that another set of brothers would very soon be by.

They set up camp, they cooked their meals, they drank into the night.
As Loke performed a drunken ballad, Lock would juggle spuds.
But then on Loke a spud did land and they got into a fight.
But they never heard the other brothers come out of the woods.

The fight ensued and food was thrown and Loke brought out his bow.
When Lock would throw potatoes, Loke would shoot them out the air.
And it wasn’t long at all before Lock took a fatal blow.
And all this time two big ogres lumbered towards the pair.

As Lock leaned against a tree, blood flowing down his side,
Loke moved closer, and in Lock’s face, mocked his brother’s pain.
Lock unsheathed his sword just then and stabbed his brother’s pride,
and the two ogres saw this bit and thought it was insane.

Loke stumbled back, for now a sword was in his bowels,
and released a few more arrows to end his brother’s life.
The ogre brothers watched the show and laughed with quivering jowls,
and wondered how in Tamriel could brothers come to strife.

Loke was pale from loss of blood and sat beneath the tree,
and only then did notice that two ogres had dropped in.
He closed his eyes and thanked The Eight that he would soon be free,
and hoped that his dear brother would forgive his mortal sin.

The show now done, the fun now gone, the ogres wandered in.
They thanked The Eight that for a while they had a bit of laughter,
and pondered at the bodies, wondering how this did begin.
And the ogre brothers in this tale lived happily ever after.

michelledelekta_ESO

The Bosmer pleaded with us to spare his life, “Silence.” My arrow pierced him just above his left jaw, pinning his head to the tree. He screamed as the life faded from him then hung limp.

Aranna leaned over and pulled her dagger out of the other now dead Wood Elf that sat up against the same tree.

She took a rag out and wiped the blood off, “Filthy thieves. Think they can steal from a couple of hunters...”

I took the dagger from her and threw it against the fresh corpse lying against the tree, “No need to keep that rusty thing, not with the gold we got from them.” I held up my leather-skinned pouch, fattened from the coin the thieves had. “We'll go out and buy you a brand new dagger, Ara.”

She became giddy, “Oh really, Raviel? I'd be absolutely delighted!”

I nodded, “And then maybe get a nice meal and some wine at the tavern.”

Aranna playfully punched me, “Rav, you need to stop spending our extra money on alcohol.”

I laughed and shrugged, “What else is a man to do in his spare time?”

I watched her pick up a potato off the ground and toss it into the air, pinning it to the tree with an arrow.

She yawned, “Well, what about our camp?”

“What about it? Leave it be. There's nothing worth salvaging.” I looked around, our archery target was torn apart, the barrels were broken and the cart in shambles. The only things of value left were our bedrolls.

I picked them up and motioned Aranna to follow. We'd go back to town and buy new supplies, get Ara a new dagger, and enjoy ourselves before leaving for the next hunt. Out in the woods, the guards wouldn't find the site for awhile. Not until some adventure came upon it by happenstance in their travels. Even then they'd chalk it up to two defenseless hunters raided by bandits. That is, if the creatures in the area didn't clean it up before then.

Jensen_Blayloc

So many years have gone by but it is a memory that will haunt me forever. The air was uncannily still that day, a musty smell hung over the valley, a smell like an old, damp house and just as stuffy. As we left the forest and came into the notch, we spied ahead a small copse of trees off the trail. As we drew nearer we could see a stand and several figures. Nearer still and the figures turned to corpses. It wasn't until we reached the small market tent near the trees that we could tell this was not a single event, but a scene that had played out several times. Each time a few more dead were left here, the older corpses turned to skeletons, then to dust. The newest victim had been there only a few days. It was impossible to tell how long the oldest ones had been there.

In any case, whoever or whatever killed them was not here, though none appeared to meet a timely or gentle demise. The latest slumped over the table his guts splayed next to a barrel of remarkably fresh apples. My companion and I were nervous, aware that the murderer may return, and we stayed away from the food even though it seemed placed here this same day. Various older decayed food items had been used in bizarre and terrifying ways, yet the bins and barrels were full.

We stood in this dreadful place; cold, damp, oppressive, even on a warm sunny day. It seemed like time had no meaning and I know not how long we stood there in macabre fascination. I did not see the crazed look in my friends eyes until it was too late. The wound in my left side is painful to this very day.

With each blow and parry the fight became more frenzied, in his madness, his ferocity seemed to grow and grow. I could not believe he could betray me in such a manner, and try to murder me. This trip was for his benefit, not my own. Yet it happened. I became more and more angered as his frenzy increased until such time as I simply lost track of myself.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. Borric was dead, my dagger through his heart. Impaled between the hilt and his chest was a pear. I don't remember touching such a thing, but there it was. Its match in my left hand. I let it drop to the ground. Slowly I withdrew from that horrible place. Bleeding from several wounds, covered in the sticky juice of some unknown fruit. As the trail ahead became in focus, and the horror behind began to blur, I thought I heard the sound of a dreadful snickering laugh.

That laugh still rings in my ears.

miztres

Hello, my name is Bebo Crasher and I’m an alcoholic.


It’s been two years since my last drink. I was in an adventuring trio of stout comrades with a sorceress Drow and roguish Breton. Though history and culture would say we should be enemies we had long ago realised the best in each other and recognised we were better team because of our differences. A fact that had once again proven true in our last adventure, subduing ancient fire atronachs to aid in the destruction of a nasty piece of the name Balreth.


We were so full of our own greatness. We spent no time finding the nearest Tavern (literally no time, it was a tarpaulin wrapped around a dead tree stump on the road we were travelling) and started spending our earnings from the demise of that necromancer’s devilment.


Long into the afternoon and evening we spent our time and money playing some throwing game with potatoes, filling the ears of our increasingly awed audience while emptying our tankards. When I had missed the target with my chosen potato once again, someone said our story was all bunk as the “meat mountain” couldn’t hit a target with a potato, what chance did I have with a crossbow. After some gentle comparisons between the flight aerodynamics of crossbow bolts and potatoes (or the smart mouths severed head, for instance) when he (or she, I couldn’t now say) bet us our remaining earnings that I couldn’t display a similar feat of marksmanship.


The whole tavern as one got behind this idea and leaned the now swaying Drow against the tree stump and stuck a potato on his head for me to shoot. I couldn’t tell you who was swaying more, the Drow or the ground under my feet as the crossbow was thrust into my hands. I know she stopped swaying after the first bolt entered her leg, and stopped screaming at the fourth. My Breton brother, my comrade at arms tried leaping out of his seat with a flurry of blades as he would normally do with grace and speed, but drunkenly stumbled and impaled himself with his own sword.


I looked around the scene as the tavern emptied of customers. Only that morning we had been on top of the world, brothers at arms against the world. I still go by that spot and wonder how it could go so wrong so quickly.


From that day to this not a drop of drink has past my lips though this story I will endeavour to pass on until the end of my days.

alexmeowshall

To gain passage home, the gods must look down at you favourably.

This one has seen too much today. Esmeralda has been gone from the shining dunes of Eleswyr for too long. My kittens must miss me - this cat must return. Run, run, run, she said to herself! But she didn’t think she would end up in these woods while fleeing the daedra. Sigh. Just a simple, petty Khajiit. Not a champion! She cannot do this on her own! This one found herself behind a boulder, watching two people - not cat people - drink mead by a campfire. Sitting behind hidden and pondering how to survive can really teach you a thing about yourself, you know. Perhaps you should try it some time. A bright light hit my eyes. The glare of firelight on precious metal.. belonging to one of them, hmm? Looks like this one might get home after all... heh heh. Should Khajiit wait for dawn to come and befriend them, only to sneak behind their backs? Or should Khajiit get on with it while they drink their mead? Heh, if it is done now, perhaps one can procure a baked potato too.. Ah! So much yelling! This one cannot stand it! But wait, it is not an argument.. A figure cloaked in darkness emerged from the shadows, and started speaking slowly to the pair of humans. Horror squeezed my soul when suddenly draugr seemed to rise from the ground around the monster! Arrows flew and swords swung as my whiskers quivered. No Khajiit desires to see the work of Molag Bal be carried out in front of them! There were no more sounds of anguish. Upon next sight, there was nothing but bones left where the mead-drinkers were. Oh Jone and Jode, thank you for preserving this one! No trace was left of the evil that came and went - but still, a Khajiit must be careful - no one wants to lose their tail. Sneaking into the camp, the plan was carried out with much caution. Baan Dar must have been watching over me - we left fine. As Esmeralda crept away, she saw ogres stumble into the clearing, attempting to do what she does best! Too late for them though, treasure is already disappeared - into my pocket! Home, at last! My kittens will be pleased. No more of this "Auridon", I am getting passage back to where I belong.

Oh, Bright Moons hang above us all!

Evaflys

“Ye missed.”

The Bosmer stared down her bow, swearing softly. She had aimed right at the apple tied to his head. Unfortunately for the Breton, the arrow struck far too low, pinning his shin to the tree.

“At least you missed the knee.”

Anton, the Covenant spy, kept taunting Adela. She wondered why that little vermin didn’t squeal or exhibit any pain. His jibes, however, were starting to irritate her. She scowled back. A steady stream of blood flowed from the arrows in each of his limbs. Adela doubted the spy would survive much longer, a small consolation.

Adela lifted her bow, notching another arrow and aimed higher. The apple wobbled slightly from Anton’s unsteady stance.

“Aim a little higher. No, higher. Higher. Higher!”

“Shut up!” Adela roared, “You want me to gut you like I did your friend there?”

Anton flopped his head over to the left to see his friend, Mordyn, with a knife sticking out of his chest.

“That only tickled.”

SWOOSH! An arrow hit Anton right in his stomach. He grunted from the impact, yet still managed to squeeze out a smirk.

“That was a bit too high.”

Adela wanted to grab the other knife on her belt and plunge it into Anton. She saw how weak Anton was, however and was determined to wait out his last moments.

She stood staring at Anton who coughed and coughed, not dying, yet clearly in a lot of pain. He smiled at her a few times before lowering his head to doze off, seemingly passing away. Adela leaned in closer to inspect the Covenant spy until he let out a snort, jerking his head back as he startled himself awake.

“Sorry, I can’t sleep when I’m uncomfortable.”

“Ugh! Just die already!” Adela moaned.

Anton felt lightheaded, slowly succumbing to the sharp pains from his wounds, “Sweetrolls are bigger. Should have practiced on one of those.”

In a blink of an eye, an arrow pierced Anton near his nose, causing him to convulse from the sudden attack. Adela snickered under her breath, but the pesky Breton remained vigilant, eyes wide open as a smile crept on his face.

Adela couldn't take it any longer. She leered at Anton, taking up her bow and her belongings before disappearing into the forests of Valenwood.

All was quiet. Anton looked over to Mordyn, and with his last breath said, “She still missed…”

Thaleondil

I used to tell them making noise during night is a bad idea. Who knows what beasts may be lurking in these woods. I just wanted to get back to the village, should have never left , this treasure isn’t worth the risk…
Now I stay hidden in this barrel like a rat, hopefully they will keep on playing with my intelligent partners and then leave. So lucky that elf, I don’t understand how he managed to evade them… maybe he will save me.. or maybe this is his work, that’s why he left with his pockets full, I should have never trusted him. Good thing I saw him going north. After I get away from these brutes I’ll have a talk with him.
Good now they finished with them and it seems they are coming …right.. towards….

It seems the paper is stained with blood…

Nutronic

First Seed, Morndas 9th

Hunting always takes so much out of me, yet still I have no place to call home. I grow tired of living off the land and have heard tale of a pair of traveling bakers. Once I have sold my earnings in town I shall endeavor to find them…

First Seed, Middas 11th

…I have found them, Jeau and Giles the Roux brothers. A curious pair, but their reputation as bakers of long lasting tasty breads has lead me to them. The younger brother Giles offered me a sample, it was indeed as good as rumors suggested. I have given half my earnings and purchased a whole knapsack. Maybe now I can focus only on the hunt instead of my belly…

First Seed, Turdas 12th

…I can’t believe how rotten the Roux brothers are. All the bread I bought from them has already begun growing mold. My own Stomach has betrayed me and scared off my prey. Even now as I write, I am hunched over in pain evacuating from-

First Seed, Fredas 13th

…I have tracked the Roux brothers to their new camp. I overheard them laughing and counting my gold. I have discovered these are not the famous bakers I sought, rather highwaymen who have made off with their goods. This is good, no one will miss two lowly thieves…

First Seed, Loredas 14th

…I have been run through, but I have my vengeances. I put four arrows in Giles before he knew what hit him. I only managed to put 2 into Jeau before he stabbed me and fled. I do not believe he will get far with all the ogres nearby. This may be the end for me, but it is a good death. I have a full belly, even if it is only full of metal…

LMar

Tristyn Nestal was milling around in his clean workshop, proud of his weekly cleanout. After all a wizard with a dusty or mouldy workshop would drive away paying customers or cause some locals to label him with that tired cliché of evil sorcerer. Tristyn would definitely not want that; it would hurt business and he was always fond of a little coin.. Tristyn was putting away alchemy vials, but careful not to break them a bottle started blinking, the little enchantment Tristyn put on it to detect people at his door working its charm.

Sure enough after a few moments he heard a knocking on the door. He shouted "We are open for business" a distressed looking Breton woman entered. "Ah Lisette, how are you today?" he intoned jovially, recognising one of his more profitable customers. Lisette replied back, rather less jovially."Morning Tristyn. I am not here for our usual tea-leaf readings. I think something has happened and I need you to do something for me".

Tristyn didn't like the sound of that. He tried to stay away from trouble and this sounded like trouble. Lisette continued. "I saw a dream about my two little boys. It wasn't clear but it involved arrows.. and potatoes... I think. Can you do anything to track them down?", she seemed hesitant. "Little boys, hah" Tristyn thought knowing full well that her little boys were men approaching their forties. They had signed up for a Fighters Guild expedition a few weeks back and left for the southern forests of Glenumbra. He wasn't quick to dismiss her customer as she usually paid well.

He started assembling a shallow divining dish, mumbling "Let's see what we can do". He filled the dish with purified water, added herbs and powders and finally two drops of goat blood. The final ingredient he dropped in haste so that the woman wouldn't notice. The surface of the concoction started turning black, and he motioned to Lisette to come closer. They started gazing in the liquid and a hazy circle bloomed out from the middle showing green forests. It then focused on a tree. Two skeletons were fixed to it with arrows and a sword stuck in the ribcage of one. Lisette gasped, shaking and whispered "What is that?". Tristyn noticed a strange creature behind the mess of barrels and a thrown archery target. The creature was snacking on raw potatoes and held a bow in his massive hands. He turned back to the skeletons, placed one of the potatoes on one of the skulls, laughed, moved some distance away and then proceeded to shoot more arrows clearly indicating that he was using the skeletons as an archery practice!

Lisette let out a shrill scream and fainted, on her way down knocking the divining dish and spilling the dark liquid all over Tristyn. The vision ended and Tristyn had a woman lying unconscious on his recently cleaned floor. "Oh dear Zenithar, what am I going to do now!" he exclaimed!

0chaosconsumeus0b14_ESO

When I was a hatchling our tribe was taken from the Black Marsh by House Dres slavers. My mother, father, and I were forced to work in a saltice plantation. One day a minor lord and lady of House Dres arrived to tour the plantation. They gathered up several of the older slaves from the slave quarters and took them outside. The rest of us were forced to accompany them and they told us that we were only worth keeping if we worked hard. The young lord then drew his blade and killed the first of the old slaves. He said if we could not work then House Dres could not afford to keep us. My mother rushed forward as the Dunmer moved on to the next slave and fell to his feet begging him not to kill the others. She said she would work harder, to make up for those who could not work. The lord and lady both laughed and he raised his sword. My father moved to stop him, but was stopped by the guards. The lord brought his sword down, but not for a killing blow. My mother died a slow death and my father was forced to watch before he too was killed. That night I fled and The Shadow, my birth sign, kept me safe. For many years have I fled from my past, but Sithis whispered to me. He told me to go back to the plantation.
I met a curious Khajitt in Skywatch one day. We talked for sometime and I told him my story. He handed me an earring and said his friend no longer needed it, but he was sure I could find a use for it. The earring created a glamor that made me appear as a Dunmer and I knew exactly how to use it. I took a job as a guard for a minor lord and lady of House Dres. I accompanied them one day on a outing. When they were deep in their cups I boasted of my skill with a bow and they told me to prove myself. After a few shots at a target I told them I could shoot a potato from the lords hand. I did pinning it to a tree. He placed one on his head and in his drunkenness told me to make the shot. The first of my arrows pinned his wrist, the second his leg, and the third through his cheek pinning his head. I then drew my blade and plunged it into the lady's gut, not a mortal wound, at least not for a while. I removed the earring and told the lord that he would watch his lady slowly die as my father did my mother. Sithis was pleased, but he whispered to me that my work was not yet complete. He told me how I could taunt a clan of ogres near by to attack the plantation. His will be done, Hail Sithis.

The_Maltha

Pages from a Journal found on a dead soldier of Daggerfall

Tirdas, 30th of Second Seed.

How I long to be home with my family, they must be celebrating fishing day.
I’ve always liked my moms cooking, but on fishing day her cooking could rival even the royal chefs in Daggerfall.
The reachmen has raided our supply wagons, so all we have left is potatoes and what game we can hunt ourselves. That means we mostly eat potatoes, none of us are hunters, and most of us have never wielded a bow. I hadn’t even wielded a spear before I joined the army.

Fredas, 3rd of Mid Year.

One of our archers actually shot down a deer today. I’d almost forgot how could a deer could taste after it had been roasted over a fire for a couple of hours. I do hope he gets lucky again tomorrow, I don’t want to eat any more potatoes.

Tirdas, 7th of Mid Year.

The reachmen attacked us late night yesterday. We managed to kill them all except two that went fleeing into the woods. The commander ordered five of us including me to hunt them down and kill them, I don’t think he likes them very much.
We found them in the early morning, they had made camp. I don’t think they even thought about us willing to hunt them through the woods. Or maybe the thought us incapable. I must admit it was pure luck that we even found them, we were about to head back when Olly saw their fire through the trees. They had actually gone to sleep if one can believe it. So we snuck up on them and tied their hands and feet together.
We tied them both to a tree, and searched their camp. All they had was a bag of potatoes. I hate potatoes. I never want to taste another one again.
I got the idea of placing one on top of their heads and use them for target practise. I mean none of us were good with a bow so we could use the training, and the commander had ordered us to kill them anyway.
Only Olly hit the potato, it was funny seeing the reachman who had had it on his head pass out of fear. We cut his ties and put a sword in his gut. The other one was already dead I think four arrows in your body will do that to a man.

Middas, 8th of Mid Year.

We are all going to meet up with the main army, I think they are commanded by a man named Durcorach the Black Drake, I wonder how he got that name. We are going to march against the reachmen that are besieging Wayrest. If I die I hope someone will find this and give it to you father. You should know how I’ve missed you all these last couple of months and I (Blood stains covers the rest of the page)

Cypherseeker

He'd been an adventurer once. Woken everyday to the sun shining brightly in his eyes, or the rhythmic sensation of raindrops on his skin. He'd traveled wherever money would take him, wanting for nothing more than a mug of mead in his hand, and a meal in his belly.

It had been a good life. Good enough.

Until he met her. His first and only love. His beautiful wife, and mother of his only child. His boy.

He'd greeted everyday with a smile when he woke beside her, and only ever left his little family's side when he had no alternative. Only when he finally found a way to give them a better life. A real home.

He'd never thought...

He'd never thought that the day he sent for them, he'd be leading them to their demise. That he'd eventually find the men he had hired to protect them dead. Bodies bare of any armor, and their bones picked clean of flesh. A few scraps of paper strewn across the ground was the one way to identify who they were with any certainty.

It hadn't taken long to dispatch a group of ogres that had been raiding the camp. It took even less time to find his son's blanket, tucked carefully away within his mother's bed roll.

He could only assume that they'd been attacked by bandits. Taken unaware in the night.

Maybe he should feel grateful that he didn't find their bodies. The guards had clearly been tortured. Their deaths turned into a game. He couldn't help but wonder what they had gone through. Had they willing stood against the tree with the promise of freedom settled on their heads? Had they hoped enough to ignore the pain, only to die with an arrow in the head, and a sword buried deep in the belly?

What kind of bandits could be so cruel? At the mercy of men like that, could they even still be alive?

Maybe.

He'd been an adventurer once, traveling wherever the money led him to a mug of mead. Now, he was chasing a memory. A hope.

He'd been a husband once. A father.

Heeleon

Target practice

Garath steadied his aim and exhaled. He had always been an excellent archer, but something about Nerileth's taunts had always managed to make him nervous. Maybe it was the way she smiled at him afterwards, or maybe it was the hint of admiration in her voice, hidden beneath the jests. The urge to impress her kept creeping over him, even when they had target practice for fun.
The bullseye had already been ditched and laid flat on the ground in front of their little camp. Nerileth yelled a final insult and threw the potato. Garath felt the feathers of the arrow brush against his fingers when he let go of the bowstring. The arrow penetrated the potato and nailed it to the tree. Nerileth cheered at him and he made great effort to suppress him smile.
”Let's raise the stakes!” she said and turned her back to the tree while placing another potato carefully on top of her head. Her lips parted in a grin and her gaze lingered, urging him on.
”Are you sure?” he said and considered the shot. It should be easy, he never missed the bullseye and even moving targets he could hit clean and effortless. Still, with Nerileth so close he started to doubt himself.
”Come on! Too scared?” she laughed and he raised the bow to take aim. It would be no problem. No distractions, no nothing, only the potato on Nerileth's pretty head. Garath's gaze shifted as a purple butterfly fluttered past him. ”How unusual.” he thought. The color had been much brighter than that of a normal butterfly, and somehow it had brought a funny feel to the whole situation. Now if he really wanted to impress Nerileth, wouldnt it be much better to hit something else than the silly potato?
Garath hit clean trough Nerileth's wrist, pinning her againt the trunk of the tree. She laughed and cheered at him.
”More! Do it again, my leg too!”
The second arrow passed trough her shin. Nerileth started to laugh uncontrollably. The third arrow passed directly trough her stomach.
”Now bullseye!” She yelled, smiling as ever.
Garath smiled back at her and aimed right between her eyes.
It was then, when he let go of the string and the arrow swooshed towards Nerileth, that he realised her smile was no laughter. Blood were oozing out the arrow wounds and Nerileth was screaming in pain, tears rolling down her cheeks. Garath realized what he had done when he heard her skull crack as the final arrow hit the mark.
”No...” he whisperd and kneeled before her corpse. Her green eyes had emptied, and her lifeless graze lingered on him. More purple butterflies fluttered past him, and Garath turned his head to look at the blade Nerileth had left next to the tree when they had made camp. Garath knew there was only one thing left to do...

Danuvis

---

michael_bimson

Os Capitis laughed to himself as he finished staging his elaborate trap. He took a step back to consider his undoubted genius. The two currently inanimate skeletons were positioned just so, one supported by daedric painted arrows hammered into the tree behind it and the other slumped but with blade at its side. Around them, Capitis had scattered items and possessions about the small camp, nothing too valuable, but with the enchantment he had cast on the lamp, he felt it would be enough to lure travellers close enough to get them curious about this strange tableau.

The hypothetical traveller would investigate the baked potatoes stuck to the skeletons and the trees, realise the ‘value’ of the arrows that looked daedric and, when trying to pull them free, the skeletons would strike, the standing skeleton grappling the victim, the second striking with its sword to bring another subject under Capitis’ control. If the King of Worms had chosen that moment to check in on his Apprentice he would undoubtedly be impressed. It was diabolical genius, that was what it was, to prey upon both curiosity and greed in one fiendish deception.

Capitis laughed at the thought of some fool caught in his snare until he caught the sickening smell of some nearby flowers which made him sneeze. He blew his nose on the hem of his robe and, suddenly self-conscious, let it fall. He hoped that the King of Worms had not been scrying on him just then.

No, Capitis knew that the King of Worms had faith in him, not like that fool Galerion. How could he, Os Capitis, Lord of Undeath "not have the temperament for spellcraft"? "Unable to see the inscription for the runes"? Rubbish, pathetic. It was jealousy, that’s what it was. Galerion was jealous of his focus, his will and was afraid of being eclipsed.

Mannimarco had said to Capitis “well done”, but he had been with the other Companions at the time and Capitis had known he could say no more, but his eyes, his eyes had communicated everything Capitis had known, that he was destined for great things, that necromancy would be the key to his destiny, that all those who had scorned him and mocked him would pay when Capitis took his rightful place at Mannimarco’s side.

The thought of his enemies twisting in the eternal flames of Coldharbour started another laughing fit which swiftly devolved into coughing. Capitis doubled over as he struggled to get his breath back. His wheezing sounded louder than normal, perhaps he should up the dose of his alchemical medicine? Then there was the unusual warmth on the back of his neck, that was a new symptom. His mind suddenly caught on to what the rest of his senses were telling him. Unwillingly he slowly turned to face the huge ogre that had apparently snuck up on him. It looked hungry. Now if only he could dominate its mind he could –

The ogre struck.

LawlGames

Nine Lives

Standing upon a small crevice in the outskirts of Skywatch, laid a Khajiit by the name of Jaro accompanied by his Bosmer fiancée Cylthia. It was the coming of dawn, and the glowing light of magnus had just begun its rise from beyond the horizon. Rose petals fluttered around the sky crowning a new era for the Aldmeri dominion. Cylthia Cuddled up beside Jaro as celebratory music filled the air.

Cylthia: “Jaro, now the dominion has a new queen. I think I’m ready…”

Jaro: “What is it, my love. Is everything alright.”

Cylthia: “That house in Kenarthi we always wanted. I think we should move in together.”

Jaro: (Jaro chuckles.) “I was meaning to surprise you. But my father said the house will be ready on the 7th of sun’s dusk just a month from today.”

Cylthia: “Jaro… We’re actually going to… live together. I… I love you.”

Cylthia kissed Jaro passionately. A cat approached Jaro, as if it were trying to get his attention. Jaro being preoccupied didn’t notice the cat- it started to meow appearing distressed. Jaro and Cylthia naturally stopped kissing, when Jaro felt the cat rub across his back. He turned to see the cat running off into the distance. Jaro knew something was wrong- abruptly the music and cheering stopped.

Jaro firmly placed his hand on the dagger beside his pocket, when suddenly Cylthia collapsed onto Jaro. Shocked, Jaro grabbed hold of Cythia and turned her body towards him to reveal a sleeping dart lodged in her neck. The people of Skywatch started to scream, and the sound of clanking metal echoed across the plain. Jaro quickly rested Cythia’s head on the ground and drew his dagger. When a darkened figured approached and knocked him unconscious with the pole end of his mace, Silence feel on Skywatch…

Jaro Awoke gasping for air, coughing. Jaro tried to move his hands in this disorientated state but his hands were bound together. Jaro looked around but his vision was blurred.

Nordic Male Voice: “Rise and shine lover boy. You don’t want to miss the show.”

Cylthia: “Jaro! Help… Get off me.”

Jaro recognized her voice and jumped up off the ground, still exhausted he stumbled. the Nord grabbed Jaro and cut his bounds. Jaro's vision began to refocus. He could see Cylthia, she was standing beside a tree with bread on her head, as some form of sick joke, opposite her was an archer.

Dark Elf Archer: “Not another move Aldmeri scum.”

Nordic male: “We want you to watch this.”

The Nordic male nods, the dark elf nods back and shoots Cynthia 4 times. Jaro looked away as tears rolled down his check.

Nordic Male: “Did you enjoy that… Cause your next."

Suddenly the cat leaped over the shrubbery nearby and pounced on the Nordic male, causing him to drop his sword. In the mayhem Jaro picked up the sword and rammed it through the nords stomach into The tree. He took his chance and ran…

(500 Words)

Drakthos

Lamar, a wealthy and young Breton with fiery red hair, loves having his birthday parties at exotic locations! Last year, he had it at the Throat of the World, where he made his friends run to the top in a race. Half of them died to either cold or trolls. The year before, he hosted a dance contest out in the Alik’r Desert. Unfortunately, half of them were dancing on quicksand. Don’t ask me how he still has friends.

This year was special. Lamar was turning 20. His parents suggested that the party be somewhere relatively less dangerous. So, Lamar picked a beautiful spot near Orsinium that was next to an ogre camp. Lamar was not good at many things, well, because he was rich. He didn’t need to be, but he loved one thing: Archery! This party would be the best one yet!

Lamar oversaw the preparations himself. “Put the targets near the tree!” he yelled to a Bosmer servant, “Don’t look at me like that! When they miss it’ll save you time gathering the arrows.”

He strolled over to the cooks. “How is the fresh bread coming?” He asked bored.

One replied hastily, “Sir, they will be perfect, sir.” Lamar shrugged and walked towards some arriving guests.

He smiled widely and exclaimed, “Welcome to my party! You are early, but I guarantee that it will be a safe and fun event!” among the guests was a Dunmer named Kinon. He is the brother of Lamar’s best friend, Kolach, who unfortunately was eaten by a troll last year.

With red eyes glistening in the early morning sun, Kinon returned the smile and shook Lamar’s hand saying, “I would not have missed this party for anything. I know it will be good.”

As the morning went on, more guests arrived in number. Lamar noted on some, like his ex-girlfriend, a Altimer named Soni and a strange Argonian called Hugs-Many-Fish. At Noon, Lamar gathered the guests and gave a simple opening speech, “Welcome to my birthday party! We have fresh bread, cheese, good wine, and tons of fun! This year’s competition is Archery! Now, if you see any ogres coming our way, give them some arrows! In all seriousness though, do be safe.”

People were drinking, eating, and having a blast. Lamar smiled with amusement as he took sips of wine from his silver mug. He called out to the guests, “Time to start the competition! You will all go when I yell FIRE!”

As the competitors were lining up, Kinon called Lamar over to the tree. “I wanted to give you something,” Kinon whispered quietly.

“Well that’s nice, but…” blood spirted out of Lamar’s mouth as the dagger plunged into his stomach. The mug fell to the ground as Lamar slumped against the tree.

“That’s for my brother.” Kinon yelled as he began to run away.

With his last strength, Lamar kicked over the target and screamed, “FIRE!”

Kinon gasped in pain as the arrows pierced through him.

thedoctor1fan

Tales of the dead Entry: Algool The Terrible Archer
During a investigation by some scholars who found the finally resting place of Ragsen Ingmenson and the bandit Gulgog gro bolob. The tale humoured the scholars so much they commissioned a bard to turn this tale into a song.......
The humorous tragedy of Algool the terrible archer.

On the first night of Frostfall.
In a small camp, there was a brawl.
2 Bandits, 2 Nords.
Who quibbled over some swords.
With Algool the terrible fool.

One of the two Nords.
Had a idea that would end in discord.
The bandit had struck a bet.
For the two prisoners they had just met.
Called Algool the terrible fool.

Algool picked up five arrows in hand.
As his idea began as he planned.
The bandit placed a apple atop Ransers head.
But soon the tragedy, his plan has lead.
For Algool the terrible fool.

The bandits realised how much of a fool
Was the terrible archer, the Nord Algool.
As all but one shot had hit .
As Ransers body began to split.
Cried Algool the terrible fool.

As the bandits laughed and teased.
Algool was not at all pleased.
From the tip of an bow.
Algool dealt one final blow.
As the bandit was all but to slow.

The bandit Gulgog fell in pain.
To his brother, his death was in vain.
So to stop Gulgog's agony.
And to finish this true tragedy.
His brothers blade ended the tale.

But what did happen to the nord Algool?
Who we know for being a fool.
He was found two days later.
Being a ugly trolls dinner!
An end, to Algool the dead fool.

By the bard Nidgond the deaf.

Narretas

“The second of Sun's Dawn, Valenwood.

I seem to have arrived at a peculiar situation. Somewhere south of Falinesti, three mer have set up camp. As I am writing this, one of the three is running north, presumably to Falinesti. A sharp soul might wonder how it would come to be, that a mer would run on such a surprisingly warm day. To answer that question, I would invite that soul to look some thirty meters to my left.

Two ogres seem to have stumbled upon this small encampment, much like myself. One mighty roar is all it took for the two remaining mer to break out in a sweat – today really is quite warm – and raise their hands. One of the two mer happened to be peeling an apple, and as he raised his arms, that same apple rose towards the sky. As most things do in Nirn, the apple was bound by gravity's law. With a stroke of luck, the apple landed on the mer's head, before bouncing off and rolling into the foliage. This seemed to amuse the ogres, as a few sluggish gestures - provided by the ogres - and some minutes - provided by Akatosh - later, both mer stood next to a tree, balancing two apples on their heads.

As most ogres, quick to anger and easy to bore, the two soon grew tired of their self induced folly. One of the two glanced about, searching for a new distraction. A sound, one that might very well be the same sound men and mer make when they come upon an idea (were it not for the ogre's vastly different voice box), arose from one of the two as he came upon a bow, laying next to a sword. Even though there was quite some distance between me and the farce at hand, I think I heard one of the two mer swallow. Quite dramatically so, to tell you the truth.

As the ogre clumsily landed a few arrows in the mer on the left, he grew as amused as he had been just a moment ago, to the other ogre's dismay. Come the fourth shot, the other ogre his anger had become rage; he took the bow, along with an arrow, and took aim at the other mer. Truth be told, he really did try to aim, but his hands were too big and his temper too grand. He fired soon after, and the arrow pierced the apple on top of the right mer's head. It took both ogres a few seconds to establish that indeed, the apple was not a part of the mer (He wasn't shouting like the other one had been). Seething with rage, he picked up the nearby sword, and threw it towards the mer, piercing him. The ogre's eyes grew content, as the mer's eyes closed. They soon left the scene, ending their sham.

-Haskill”

Sweetmissb

Treasure, booze and ogres, a simple tale.


"Lesley..Lesley wake up!" Dudley shook him vigorously. In a half drunken half sleepy moan Lesley starts to come to life. "Dud..its to early..I cant even.. focus.. my eyes yet."

Dudley darts his eyes about,jittery from the night before but also shaking with excitement at his new found luck. For he had pick pocketed a map off a drunken patron at the tavern. "Lesley we must get going so we can get to this treasure first. "Our luck has changed Lesley old boy. Our luck has changed.." Dudley mutters to himself as he grabs bread, shovels and a few other items they may need. He grabs a bottle of rum draws a long drink and passes it to Lesley as he crawls off his sleeping mat.

Lesley and Dudley, what can be said of these two idiots. Not much, disgraceful, deserters of the Red-guard. Scoundrels, thieves, drunks. They deserted Redguard and have lived for years in a crumbled shack in the northeastern dragonstar mountains, hammerfell. Only venturing out when it meant getting their next bottle.

It was nearing sundown as they neared the spot to which the map pointed them. Just a bit to the northeast in Skyrim, a long a mountain side on very very wide ledge. "Wait, Dudley, I hear something and I smell food." They stopped their mules and listened carefully, as Dudley pulled out the map and realized the activity was coming from that very spot.

They tied the mules and drunkenly crawled their way up to the ledge to peer into what was a noisy drunken feast full of huge Ogres. There were tents and pits of roasting pigs, barrels of ale and whiskey. There was some dancing if you could call it that, games including juggling, axe throwing into targets, some kind of log throwing event.

They did the most important thing they could, crawled behind the barrels of drink, and drank, whilst making a plan of what they could steal from these Ogres. Their map it seemed was to this festival not an actual treasure, but there was treasure, yes there was and they would have it all.

Dudley felt a hard kick to his thigh and heard a grunt. He opened his eyes to see he had been tied to a tree. He looked to his left and Lesley was tied right along side of him. "Lesley Lesley wake up.." An Ogre reached over and gave Lesley a hard nudge. "We drank ourselves to oblivion Les, now we are in trouble, wake up buddy"

The Ogres gathered around excitedly to see their catch waking up. After all killing is no fun when your catch is passed out. A burly ogre walked up and threw a big bucket of cold river water on them. They both were bright eyed and staring in horror at the cluster of giant filthy ogres surrounding them.

Lesley looked at Dudley tied up next to him, looked at the gathering of frightful ogres.."Wake up you said..come find treasure you said..our luck has changed you said..drink all their whiskey you said..now they are putting hot potatoes on our head..with bows and arrows in their hands..we are going to be dead" I said.

robinekberg89b16_ESO

”OK, let me try one more time” Taarius released another arrow that also missed its target, the moldy apple on the skeletons head. It was quite a situation he found himself in. The ogre had not been please when he'd found Taarius trying to steal his treasure, but with a silver tounge and some quick thinking Taarius had convinced the ogre that he was worth keeping alive for a few more minutes. Enough time to show him how a bow and arrow works.
”Bwhahaha, stopid hooman bad at toy weapons” the ogre laughed loudly every time Taarius missed his mark. ”Why use toy weapon when club much better” the ogre said, patting the club at his side.
”The bow is actually very powerful, when a powerful warrior uses it. If the archer is strong enough, it's like hitting someone with a club but from a safe distance. But I'm not strong enough” Taarius looked down on the ground with shame. ”But maybe... Maybe you would like to try it? Big muscles almost always indicates a natural talent at archery” the ogre eyed his outstretched bow suspicously, but eventually accepted it ”Yess.. a club from far away...”

Taarius began instructing the ogre on how he should hold the bow and the arrow and how he should aim at the skeletion
”And now your stance. The most important part of archery is to stand correctly so you can use your muscles optimally”
He explained as he pretended to adjusted the ogres feets.
”You should feel a bit of pain if you're standing correctly, that means your muscles are ready”
He grabbed a dagger from his cloak and stabbed it through the ogres foot
”Do you feel it? It might hurt a bit for a beginner” The ogre just grunted but he was clearly in a lot of pain. Taarius repeated the process, making sure both feets were pinned to the ground.
”You OK?” Taaruis aksed the ogre with concern in his voice. ”Yes, little pain. Like baby deer walking over foot.” Taarius could see the ogre starting to sweat from the pain, but he had no intention of giving the human the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt.
Taarius now climbed up on the ogres slightly bent leg and pretended to adust his arms for the shot.
Instead jumping down from the ogres leg he swung around to the back of the giant beast and plunged his last two daggers into the ogres eys. The beast roared as he tried to shake off the little human but that just made him fall backwards, screaming and flailing.
Taarius quickly collected the gold coins scattered on the ground across the ogres camp and was then on his merry way.
He had the fleeting thought of putting the ogre out of its missery. Then again, the ogre had called him ”stopid”, and liars never prosper.

Krombie

Entry 225 Fredas, 13 Second Seed

A peaceful spring day, with only the sounds of birds and Wildlife. Many would call this the “Perfect Day”, well it wasn’t.

Today the Dominion soldiers went on a camping trip, as usual they brought us, the slaves, who knows for what, because a far as I’m concerned none of us know how to chop a tree, bake a cake or even how to light a camp fire, but here we were sitting next to the tree, When we hear a voice

-Stand up you skeevers!- said the Dominion general .

As we are expected to do, we stood up.

-We are going to fight an ogre!, you will be target practice!- Shouted the general.

They shackled us to the tree and placed apples and potatoes in our heads, they started shooting, good thing they missed me and the apple, but my friend… dead. One arrow in the left cheek and a couple on the stomach, poor soul.
My other friend tried to escape as soon as he saw the Dominion soldiers shoot my friend, well he didn’t get too far before he got a dagger in the stomach.

Me hiding in a barrel listening to all this and thinking, “Where is that ogre, I hear nothing outside, weird.”
As I peek out the barrel…. I saw… Something... Something… Terrible. Everyone, Everyone, Dead. An ogre named Ragkir Feasting on them as if they were chicken.

Ragkir looked at me with a powerful gaze, I stood, unable to move for a brief second, my life flashing in front of me, then nothing…nothing.

Was I dead?... No it couldn’t be I still felt warm, warm all around me.
Red, I saw red, my friends head floating… then it hit me,
I… I.. was inside the ogre, still alive, breathing…

If you ever find this, it means that the ogre is dead and so am I.

may my soul rest in Sovngarde.

gruntman438

The Horker

Once there were two men, an Orc named Malgoth and a Breton Mage named Jean. Jean and Malgoth had a valiant horker named Hjolm. Hjolm was just like any other horker, fat, lazy, and shuffled around to get anywhere. A completely unremarkable subject, aside from the fact that since he was an infant, Malgoth and Jean had beaten and preformed experiments on him. When the band of three entered The Great Forest of Cyrodiil, they began to delve into dungeons, like any other group of adventurers. However a book caught Jean's eye in one cave the three had cleared out. The book was titled "The Horker Phenomenon". By simply flipping through the pages, Jean had surmised that ultimately, with the right mixture of barley ,nightshade, and cheese, horkers could become in essence, sentient. This had fascinated Jean for days and he simply stayed in his tent reading throughout the book and gathering the necessary ingredients for the concoction. Malgoth began to become infuriated at Jean at this time, and had begun asking questions towards Jean when Jean had left in the middle of the night.
"Human," said Malgoth in an annoyed voice, "I wish to know where you have been, for you have missed the nightly human sacrifice to Malacath."
"I have been reading a book, that is all." said Jean in a cool manner.
"Hmphh." said Malgoth "I somehow doubt this."
At this single moment Malgoth snatched the book from the mage and began reading over it.
"Ha, so this is what you have been reading, pathetic humans, tampering things you cannot comprehend."
"I simply wish to make Hjolm one of us."
"Hmpff fine, but it's your funeral."
At this moment Jean's potion had finished brewing. It smelled of rotten flesh. Jean gave the potion to Hjolm who readily gulped it down. Suddenly, Hjolm's flippers fell off and two arms replaced them.
"Aha!" exclaimed Hjolm. "I can see that you have discovered the Mad God's Potion!"
"What do you mean, the Mad God's Potion?" said Malgoth who drew his axe upon hearing Hjolm speak.
"You do not know who my lord is?!" Exclaimed Hjolm. "Ah well, I guess it does not matter, for I will be killing the two of you soon."
Both Jean and Malgoth laughed extensively when they had heard this. Hjolm, unphased by the laughter reached into his blubbery fat and pulled out a bow and a sword. He readily killed Malgoth with a few arrows and slowly approached Jean who obviously, was not laughing. Hjolm stabbed Jean in the gut and began to laugh. The Mad God, Sheogorath, suddenly appeared to Hjolm and began to laugh vigorously.
"Ah, it's so funny to see mortals tampering with the mad god's plans. Come along Hjolm, there is terrorizing to be done in this world."

AttackGhoul

The day started out like any other, scouting parties sent out to all corners of Auridon, keeping the peace and looking for nothing in particular. Little did this particular party know what awaited them just around the bend of time. The two of them, having just arrived at the first checkpoint, decided to set up a temporary camp for the night. They gathered wood for a fire and in no time had made supper. The stew looked delicious, chunks of meat floating in the broth, along with carrots and potatoes. They each ate their fill and determined who would take first watch, by way of a game of rock, paper, or scissors. The taller elf had lost the game and with a sigh of defeat took the first watch. He walked to just outside the camp, blending in as best as he could to the tree that made up the back of the tent. Suddenly out of nowhere, an arrow appeared suddenly and buried itself in the elf’s gut. He grabbed his stomach, determined to pull the arrow out, but before he could, two more whizzed out of the darkness one buried itself in his skull and the other in his gut, next to the other arrow. The scout had been pinned to the tree, brain matter running down the bark. The other scout woke with a start when he heard a thud. He got up and went to find the taller elf that was on watch. He walked around the tree and saw that his comrade had been killed by arrows, now knowing what the thud had been. Before he could even think to run, something hit him from behind and knocked him forward into the tree. He landed with a thud at the base and tried to turn around. As he did so, a knife came out of the darkness, but he was ready for it this time. He put up his arms in a cross pattern and blocked the thrust, but the attacker was too powerful. His arms gave out under the pressure and the knife sank into his chest to the hilt. As his life was fading he tried to identify who it was that had killed him and his friend. A figure stepped out of the shadows as the scouts vision faded to white. The scouting party was no more, but their bones would be left to turn to dust or to be swallowed by the tree.

sullimkii

If ever in doubt of faith, hark these words for they are me last.
We have sinned that day... we claimed to be in service of the nine
and proclaimed death in name of faith...
What a foolish notion akatosh has given his children to let them
speak of a death beeing "just".

His name was Sebastian... let his name be known to every shore of Tamriel.
And give thanks to Irene for doing what I couldn´t

Though I´ll have to delve the hells I won´t falter,
knowing that Mara won´t be far away.

Praise the ever loving mother....