Lobelathel:

"Oh dear Sorion, you talented minstrel you.

Do you know how many men have tried to woo me Sorion? How many do you think have suceeded?

It makes me laugh how you High Elf men think I, a Wood Elf would swoon solely by your Altmer Heritage.

The past few Altmer men to cross my way looked at me in disgust when they saw my garden of vegetables Sorion. I had to seduce them into my cellar to reveal to them my favorite hobby. Curving the ears of High Elves. Curving their ears brought me much joy as a Bosmer. What a pompous race to look down on all others and I...Do you value your ears Sorion?

To enjoy my hobby, I had to dispose of the lovely volunteers. Sure I did not enjoy their taste like my garden did, but bless their souls for making my pumpkins taste so delicious. They're the secret ingredient after all.

It can be pretty quiet and lonely sometimes when you are busy defying the green pact you know; I like to have fun as you can tell.

Oh handsome Sorion, how well of a fit you will be. The audience I have for you had been getting pretty bored 'till you showed up.

Alas the joy you will bring to me and my vict...volunteers is exciting Sorion. You will now be the minstrel of my guests. Your amazing talents in life pale in comparison to your new talents in death now....Only you can make them lively once more.

Are you ready for your never ending show show Sorion? I don't think being our bard will be too hard."

GATHERED MOSS INTERVIEW: The Numb Skulls by Rocky Mounds

The following interview took place at The Linen Shroud Tavern just before it was burned to the ground during the Numb Skulls act. The prevailing rumor surrounding the incident suggested that Bally (shown on the floor next to Mortifer's left foot) was kicked into a stage candle by a dunken zombie.

Rocky: Hi guys, would you mind introducing yourselves to our readers?

Mortifier: Hi Rocky, I'm Mortifer, this halfwit I'm holding is Dummy, my prop for the ventriloquist act.

Dummy: Liar, you're my prop, I'm the one keeping this sham of a show going.

Mortifier: Pay no attention to Dummy, he doesn't know when to shut up. Anyway, that fine specimen sitting next to me is Dead Head.

Dead Head: Whooo hoo hoo.

Mortifer: That's about all you can expect from Dead. In life, he was a jester for Sherogorath's court until he cracked a joke about his highness’s wardrobe. Since then all Dead can do is laugh. We usually plant him in the audience to help folks loosen up a bit.

Rocky: What brings you to town?

Mortifer: We’re on tour to try to bring a little levity to the undead armies. You know, try to bring a little fun into their dead time.

Dead: Har har har

Dummy: What my prop is trying to say is that as former members of the undead army we consider it our duty to raise their morale.

Mortifer: You never know when to shut up do you?

Dead: Heh heh heeee

Rocky: I notice you’re missing your left arm, what happened?

Mortifer: Yeah, Slaughterfish bit it off, right at the funny bone.

Dummy: Groan, not that again.

Dead: Haw Haw Hawww

Bally: That’s right, just ignore me.

Mortifer: Oh yeah, how could I forget, you’re always underfoot.

Dead: Snort

Mortifer: Bally here is our soccer ball, we bring him out when the crowd gets crazy.

Rocky: That’s all for now. Once again, The Numb Skulls, appearing at The Linen Shroud Tavern, through Thursday.

Dead: Yuk yuk yuk.

The Killer Joke

A comedy show my friends and I went to
They always loved that kind of stuff
No matter what we went through
Laughing was never enough

The place we went was outside of town
The old butcher's who made the finest roast
Out came a man dressed as a clown
“My name is Bob; I'm your host!”

As we walked in, only two seats
My friends went and sat
I stood hearing only hearing my heart beats
Something was wrong, I knew that

Bob said he had the best joke
One joke; nothing more
So funny you would choke
You would laugh as you hit the floor

As he said the joke, I covered my ears
Something inside told me to
What I saw next has haunted me for years
A scene no person should go through

My friends began to laugh
Harder than ever before
That's when I saw Bob's staff
As one of my friends hit the floor

Three faces, surrounded the top
Wabbajack I think it's called
The eyes of my friends had eventually popped
Blood sprayed the wall

As the demon bowed, he said his name
“Sheogorath, if it's all the same!”
I ran as I continued to hear my friends laugh
Never forgetting that three headed staff

Lorkhaj, the trickster god, is not one of the divines. However, that doesn't mean he can't have his fun. Seeing the prominence of the skooma trade in Elsweyr, he had to seize the opportunity to play a trick on the divines, especially with all the "sugar tooths" to blame. Tamriel, being the vast and mysterious land it is, has many occurrences that fall under the watchful eyes of all the races and pacts; but the eyes of the divines are always watching. Deep in the desert of Corinthe a group of Khajiits use abandoned cabins as a center for their skooma trade. They had dealings with many individuals and groups from Argonians to the ‘holier that thou’ Imperials. These Khajiits had a skooma shipment with an Imperial Captain for his superiors happening later that night.
The Imperials were notified by a shady individual in a homespun robe, that has seen better days, to meet for the skooma shipment in an abandoned cabin on the border of Riverhold and Nibenay Valley. The Captain set out with eight of his best soldiers in the midst of night as a blood moon lit the road before them. The Captain and his men left in common clothes for fear of attracting unwanted attention with their swords tucked tightly away. As they approached their destination an unsettling feeling started to pass through the men. They could feel an overbearing presence lingering over them, and yet none could figure out what it was. As they arrived at the cabin a note rested pinned to the door by a single nail:

“The shipment waits for you just inside, leave your payment against the back right corner. If you speak of this deal or of whom you have received it from, our kits will play with your organs”

A shudder passed through the Imperials as they finished reading the note and in unison they all drew their swords. They all eased towards the door and opened the cabin to see what awaited them and to their surprise it was just their shipment of skooma. The Cyrodiliics made their way into the cabin one by one. The final one to enter was the Captain who pushed his way to the front to check out the order. In one foul movement the door shuts behind them and all they can hear is a resounding voice that surrounds them: “Brothers and sisters, Lorkhaj here offers you nine of your own Imperials, one rotting soul for each of you”. Just like that the voice faded and the Imperials were sealed in that cabin to drink themselves into madness as they watched each other die, stacking the skulls of each passing friend on a shelf until the madness was too much. The Captain was the last and he died trying to speak into the skull of his brethren in hopes that the divines would answer. Lorkhaj had the last laugh as he watched his final sacrifice fade into Oblivion.

The Basement Of Skulls

As we paced around, the basement, we could hear banging from outside the barricaded doors. My brother Varlun, turned to me with fear in his eyes. “What are we going to do? How did they found out that we murdered those people?”
“Don’t be scared,” I assured him, “The barricades are strong and we are not going to die by their hands.” I walked to the shelf where we kept our trophies and lifted two skulls. “Are you calm?” I asked.
“not really.”
“Sit down then and sing a song.”
“Why?”
“It will take your mind off of things.” Varlun glanced at me, smiled, sat down and started singing. He always had such a beautiful voice. he would often use it to entrance his victims before I stabbed them in the neck. “Marlow, when I die, will you watch over my body?”
“Yes,” I replied, pouring poison into the head of a skull. I gave him the skull of a child that held no poison inside it. “Is this to remind me of the crimes we committed?” he asked. “Yes. I don’t want you to forget that what we did was right and those travellers were vermin.” slowly I drew my knife and plunged it into his neck. He jolted up, trying to scream but instead gargling the blood inside his throat. I sniffed back my tears while trying to hold him still. After a few seconds he stopped moving and became limp. “I won't let them kill you,” I whispered, letting him go and allowing him to slump over. He dropped the skull and I watched as it bounced across the floor. I pulled the knife from his neck and sneered as I threw it down one of the gaps in the floorboards. picking up the poison filled skull I sat down next to him. I gulped down the poison. “This better kill me,” I thought to myself. I lifted my knee and placed my skull wielding hand on it. I made sure the skull was head height so I could easily stare at its dusty face. Soon my vision faded and I blacked out. for some reason I had awoken but I was in a different form. “A ghost,” I thought to myself. “But why?” I heard the men break down the door and barge in. They surrounded me and my brother. “Why are they naked?” I heard one of them ask.
“I have no idea.”
“forget about that. Cut off the older mans hand, we need evidence of their deaths.” With that a hooded man cut off Valun's right hand. “He’s not the oldest you idiot, the other man.” He nodded, dropped it and cut off my arm.
“Are you stupid, only the hand.” They cut off my hand and dropped the arm. Satisfied with their findings they left. To this day I watch over our decrepit skeletons, hoping that someone will rid me of my ghostly curse.

“Oh look Kiri! A secret dungeon - How exciting!”

Kirani Quillshade groaned internally and hefted her dozen packs a little higher on her presumably warped back, lurching like a Graht-oak through the cramped hut. As she walked towards her lifelong hero, now standing above the dark, leering maw of a trapdoor the lithe Bosmer’s copper skin paled a shade. Somehow this adventuring had seemed so much more romantic in Valentine’s stories.

“Master Valentine, I ah, I’m not to sure about this… There’s a vegetable patch outside - this must be home to some barbarian…” she whispered, silver eyes lingering adoringly on the athletic altmer looming above her.
“NONSENSE!” bellowed Galran Valentine, swinging around to face his erstwhile apprentice with a grin almost as comical as the one he wore on the back cover of his books.
“Just because they actually eat a civilised diet is no reason to degrade them, besides - I’ll defend you my girl! Now into the belly of the beast!”

With that the renowned author-adventurer leapt down the trapdoor as Kirani groaned with relief, setting the bags down and resetting her vertebrae. She timidly climbed down the ladder, a click sounding under her feet, to find Valentine peering into the dungeon as two magelights hovered around his head like anxious cherubs.

“Sir, did you hear tha-“

“Loook at all this! ” Valentine shouted, marching through the mildewed cave, oblivious to Kiri’s concerns. The magelights made the moss-covered stone seem to move around them as the imperious Altmer and diminutive Bosmer walked onto a boarded passage where two chairs stood idle. Kirani immediately collapsed into one, writing out the last of Valentine's dictations on her notepad.

“What are you doing Kiri? Adventure never rests!” boomed Valentine jovially, examining a row of skulls that were quite happily arranged upon a dresser.

“I’m afraid Bosmer do however sir.” Spoke Kiri.

“Pft. Fine. Five minutes then. You are my number one fan I suppose. Wait.. Did I agree to pay you?”

“I don’t believe so...” Kiri mumbled, her eyelids sinking as she slumped in her chair exhausted.

“Great! Oh, Look at these skulls - Perhaps they’d like to hear some of the novel!”

Ignoring Kiri’s lack of comment and the wisps of green mist tugging at his ankles Valentine grabbed a particularly well-preserved skull from the shelf and settled into the second chair with it.
“So here is a little snippet for you – a teaser of the “Green Menace, latest in the thrilling works of Galran Valentine!” he crowed, before stopping with a start as the skull did the most amazing thing - Speak.

“That’s a lovely story – Such a shame it’ll never be published.” it said as Valentine’s jaw dropped open, his gasp drawing in the poisoned gas that swirled around him. Kiri slumped even further in her chair, her last thoughts - ‘So much for adventure...’ Before like the two magelights above them the lives of Kiri and Valentine were extinguished without a sound.

This is my story for tales of the dead 3.

The dark winds of death swept over this foul land with an archer precision killing many a men in a room so foul. Deaths twist and turns shown as avenue’s of pain, torture and despair are so inexplicably harsh. The devils sharp tongue silences all who attempt to shout and scream in pain and despair. Bones rattle even after death from the horror of the place they abide. The worlds cruel joke of the afterlifes true nature changes once a blade pierces a heart, a shallow hole in the heart that devoirs all hopes and beliefs in one whisper of a wind from deaths fair hand with which he conceals the very blade used to send you to your despair. Darkness swoops overhead as shadows envelop in nights sweet mistress saves the walkers of the night. As friends sat around a campfire as gloom took over the thoughts of the tired minstrels as lutes chords struck as the night rings out in silence. As eyes quickly shut and blinked open as they took in the small changes to the scene around them the quite howl of wolves echo in the background, sounding too far away for anyone to care as a merry dance and song sprung to life around the minstrels. Bosmer, Altmer, Nords and Orcs all danced so merrily around the fire unaware what would happen in years to come. My name lost in years of wandering, singing and dancing but I would not forget this day. As I see movement in the shades of the glint of light on steel I knew my time had come. As I tipped my head up and looked towards the sky awaiting my imminent death. The tip quickly pierced my chest as I felt the light leave my body in the gaping hole in my sternum, my head dropped back down as my assailant creeped into the dark as screams of horror filled the night once again

Thanks for reading,
LikeableKrab

I don't really expect to win this but I figured I'd leave my story here anyway.


Jorin and Jerin, the twin bandit leaders, crept through the forest, their subordinates trailing behind them.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, brother?” asked Jerin.

“Of course! You know how religious types like to leave sacrifices. This shrine’s got a huge pile of treasure, and an even bigger stash of booze!”

“I dunno, Jor. Cultists can be awfully sensitive about their shrines….”

“That’s what these are for,” Jorin replied, patting his sheathed sword. “Now quiet down, we’re almost there.”

Everyone in the group began to step quietly as they neared the clearing with the shrine. After a moment’s hesitation, Jorin pushed aside a branch and peaked into the clearing.

“Coast’s clear. Let’s get the treasure and get out.”

The bandits followed Jorin as silently as possible. They were halfway to the shrine when the loud snap of a branch from the rear made them all freeze.

Nothing happened. The group sighed in relief. At the shrine, they all stood in awe at the treasure before them.

“Well, let’s not waste time gawking. Grab as much as you can and start moving!” Jerin snapped.

Everyone seemed to go for the crates of booze first. Even with their numbers, the bandits were only able to carry a few sacks of treasure along with all the alcohol.

“No use complaining. We’ll come back for the rest later,” Jorin said.

The bandits were far from dissatisfied, however. They walked cheerily across the clearing, none of them noticing the robed Bosmer peeking from behind a tree, struggling not to laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~

“We’ll sell most of the booze, I take it?” asked Jerin, back at the camp.

“I suppose so…. But we should still keep a crate or two for ourselves, right?” replied Jorin wistfully. Jerin pondered his brother for a moment.

He sighed.

“We’ll get enough gold once we go back to the shrine. Who’s to say we can’t drink it all ourselves?”

Jorin brightened up instantly.

“Better tell the rest, then,” he said, standing. “Oi, everyone! Open up the new liquor! Let’s put some life into this party!”

A roar of approval greeted Jorin as the bandits passed around the mysterious bottles of liquid.

“To the cultists! May they always be rich and stupid!” Jorin shouted, raising his bottle to a gale of laughter. The entire company drank as one.

Out of nowhere, one of the bandits stood, grabbed his sword, and sliced off the head of his closest compatriot. It landed at Jorin’s feet. Shocked, Jorin picked up the head and sat back down next to his brother. Still holding the head, Jorin gaped as the skin began to melt. Jerin stared at Jorin in horror as the same thing began to happen to his entire body.

Chaos reigned. Another bandit got beheaded by an axe. By the time his head landed near Jerin, it was already a skull.

Something in Jerin’s mind snapped. There was nothing he could do. Faced with this inevitability, Jerin picked up Jorin’s bottle with eerily calm hands. Sitting back down next to his brother, who was now merely a skeleton holding a skull, Jerin poured the liquid on himself and threw the bottle away. He settled in his chair and awaited his fate.

Entry 1
Today my band and I raided a small caravan that was passing our camp. We laughed in their faces as we slaughtered the family. The old woman with them was strange. She told us as we were about to kill her “Laughter is the best medicine” and waved her hand. Must have been senile. We found this journal among the caravan and since I am the most educated out of the group they gave it to me to note our adventures.

Entry 2
Today was full of fun and laughter. We just could not stop laughing the whole day. It seemed like everything was funny, even when Orian just stared off into the fire he just kept pointing at the fire and laughing, making us laugh.

Entry 3
This laughter is beginning to hurt our insides. We are physically having trouble stopping. Everything just seems so funny. Horindus keeps picking up skulls from his conjured skeletons and used their mouths to tell jokes. His jokes are the best....so funny....

Entry 4
We cannot stop..... trouble writing...ha... cannot stop....ha...Orian died from laughter.....hahaha...

Entry 5
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

Wow, there are some amazing submissions here! I wish you all good luck and I hope you had as fun a time creating your tales as I did. With that said, here's my tale:


The Medium


You hand the skull to the Altmer woman as you sit down in the chair beside her.

“Ah, finally a Nordic bard for my collection! Took you quite a while to obtain it.” she says, while studying the skull.

“Well getting the skull of a Nord bard is… more specific than the jobs I normally receive.” You respond, looking at the woman as she stares into the skull you found in a troll’s dungeon. After some time, her brow begins to furrow, and she turns once more in your direction.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what is your name?” she asked.

“Roggvar Bronze-Helm” you respond slowly.

“Ah, a good name. Especially at this moment.” She responds curtly and you feel the hair begin to stand on the back of your neck.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m getting a Nord skull one way or another.” You try to stand but feel the prick of a henchman’s sword through you’re clothing. “Please, sit. No need to leave quite yet.” You feel the man’s hand grab your shoulder and shove you back into your chair. The chair creaks as you fidget, now very aware of the man behind you. “Would you agree, Roggvar was it? That I specifically hired you to obtain a Nord skull?”

“Yes ma’am, you did.”

“Why did you bring me the skull of Mr. Woodton, then? He assures me that he is neither Nord nor bard, but rather a Breton Farmer. And don’t tell me you didn’t know, it was your job to know.”

“I well… I…”

“…Didn’t think I would know the difference?” She scoffed a little and stands up. “Trying to trick me out of my gold is not very polite.” She says as she grabs your jaw in her hand and tilts your head back and forth, peering behind your ears and under your chin. “I assume you visit taverns frequently?”

“I suppose so…”

“Good, then I will also assume that you also partake in the revelry and dancing.” You say nothing. “I will interpret your silence as confirmation, then.” She releases your jaw and sits back down before sighing deeply. “You’re no bard, but I suppose you’ll have to do…” The man behind you steps closer and the woman picks up the skull once again. “Now, Mr. Woodton, I am terribly sorry about this whole mess, but I will have my men deliver your remains to your family, if you just tell me where you lived.” After a brief pause she began again, “Ah, yes, I know precisely where you mean. The trees and streams there are simply gorgeous!” With that she rises and approaches another of her henchmen. She hands the skull to him and whispers something in his ear. The man turns and disappears into the darkness. Then you feel the blade in your back. You gasp in pain and try to think. But right before everything goes black, the woman sits again and mutters “What a mess.”

Tales of the Dead Contest

Last Laugh

Sorion sat in the chair by the fire. He wore a mask of subtle anxiety, amplified by the unnerving silence surrounding him.
He had come to Grahtwood looking for opportunities to play his music. As a renowned Altmer bard, it felt only natural to expand his talents to the quiet Khajiit and base Bosmer of the newly-formed Aldmeri Dominion. Sorion was the kind of Elf who sought perfection; like his High Elf brothers and sisters, he never had enough.

His wife was worried his troupe of admirers had gone to his head, but the reality was that Sorion paid them no mind. All of his focus was set on one goal: to create the grandest symphony of all time, a song to be sung throughout the ages. He had dreams of hearing soldiers singing as they charged into battle, that he, once a lowly Altmer Bard, would become the warrior minstrel of the Aldmeri Dominion.

The door to the kitchen opened. Lobelathel, the kind wood elf who had accepted sorion into her home entered the room. Sorion’s demeanor changed once she set foot in the chamber; he felt as if a weight had been lifted from him.
“Sorry I kept you waiting,” she said, smoothly, “but I couldn’t offer the greatest Altmer bard my home without offering him something to drink.” She smiled warmly.

Sorion laughed awkwardly. “Nonsense,” he said, a hint of eagerness slipping through his voice. “I am glad to be here, even without the wine.” He took a sip from the glass Lobelathel had just handed to him. It was delicious.
“Have you read it yet?” Sorion had not only come to the wood elf seeking temporary shelter; he also sought advice, a second opinion on his work. After he had asked around, the locals directed him to Lobelathel, the former Bosmer Bard from Haven. She knew her way around music almost as well as Sorion did.

Lobelathel shook her head absently. “Not yet. I will soon, though. I wanted you to get comfortable first.”
Sorion nodded and smiled, but inside he felt a bit upset; he was impatient and wanted to publish his song quickly. He also felt confused; did Lobelathel think he was staying the night? He had only planned to pass by quickly for her advice.

“I’m sure it’s great, though. Anything written by a minstrel as great as yourself must be awe-inspiring to hear.”

Sorion grinned at the praise. Even though he was used to it by now, he still adored it. Still, he stood up, about to announce his departutre.
“I’m afraid I must leave you, Lobelathel. As much as I would like to stay and chat, I am a busy Elf. I trust you will send word of your opinion on my piece once I reach Elden Root, yes?”

The Wood Elf’s eyes burned with anger. “No!” she yelled, startling Sorion. “You can’t leave! You only just got here!”
“I’m sorry, my lady, if I was unclear. I simply wanted your advice, not your hospitality.”

Lobelathel stood up. Although she barely reached Sorion’s chin standing her tallest, the bard felt intimidated. “I will not let you leave. You cannot leave. You WILL not leave.” At this, Sorion fell back into his chair. He had lost the feeling in his legs, and drowsiness took over. He realized the filthy Bosmer must have spiked the wine with some sort of sedative.
Lobelathel sat once again, and smiled. “I’m sorry, Sorion. I never fancied myself an admirer of yours. Rather, I always thought you were quite talentless. You’re never going to leave, High Elf. I’m going to keep you here until we’re both a pile of rotting bones.” She stood up brusquely and went towards the door, Sorion’s eyes following her helplessly.

Suddenly, she turned. “By the way, Sorion, I was lying before. I did take a look at your piece. From the moment I picked it up until I laid it down I was convulsed with laughter.” She smiled. “Someday I intend to read it.”

The point of Uncle Forin’s sword jutted through Dalithiel’s chest from behind, streaked with blood. Dalithiel’s travel pack slid through her limp fingers and thumped to the floor.

“Ewww, she’s bleeding!” cried the childishly delighted voice of her cousin Mirgorin. But he wasn’t Mirgorin anymore…was he?

The skeleton who had once been Aunt Erilneth grinned at her. At least, Dalithiel thought she was grinning. She didn’t have much experience with skeletons. Especially not ones who had been living, breathing, beloved relatives.

Erilneth’s three skeletal sons sat in chairs nearby, thrilled at seeing their cousin, and tickled at her speechless shock. Loud guffaws belted from creaking jawbones. The boys had always loved surprises in life. Apparently, they loved darker surprises in undeath.

“Now you see why we had to trick you into coming home, dear,” Erilneth’s skeleton said. “You never would’ve responded to my magicka summons if you’d known we were like this now, would you? Those sick murderers there--” her bony arm indicated the skulls lining a workbench and littering the floor “--killed us all during that famine last year. They ate every last scrap of meat on our bones! A great stroke of luck for us, too. I’d laid a curse on this house as I died. ‘No death within these walls is final against my will.’ Very dramatic.” She chuckled. ”While those pigs slept off their gluttony, we awoke and discovered how much better we felt without all that nasty flesh weighing us down! My curse was actually a blessing. Still, we had to punish the intruders. Unlike us, they’ll never wake again.”

Dalithiel faded more with each breath, but she managed a whisper. “Why…did you…stab…me…?”

“You’re our favorite,” pointed out the oldest son, Dalivir, like it should’ve been obvious. He was named after her.

Forin jerked out his sword. Dalithiel gasped, collapsing. Bleeding out, she barely heard Forin’s words. “We couldn’t bear not seeing you again. You’re the only family we have left. Now, you’ll never have to leave us.”

“Papa! Mamaaaaaaaaaa!” wailed the skull of Rilthor, the youngest, held in Mirgorin’s one good hand. “Make Dali and Mirgo stop hiding my bones! I wanna hug Dalithiel when she wakes up!” His brothers snickered.

“Boys, don’t pester!” The exasperated tone was so like Erilneth that tears tracked down Dalithiel’s cheeks. Why bother fighting to breathe, with all her family gone?

Moments later, her heart stopped.

“Y’ffre bless her,” Erilneth sighed. “She’ll feel so much happier when she wakes.”

Nodding, Forin pointed at their sons. “Mirgorin! Give your brother his bones back, now. Dalivir, get Dalithiel’s bones clean. I just swept in here. I’ll not have her waking up a zombie, dropping disgusting flesh all over my clean floors. I want everything ready when Dalithiel awakes.”

Erilneth’s skull was definitely grinning. “I can’t believe it!” she laughed. “At last, our family will be complete. Forever! It’s so simple—who would’ve thought that all we had to do was die?”

Everything is black. I force movement, though it is strenuous. I can see, but my eyes are blurred and refuse to focus. I get on my feet, and I am enveloped by dust. I stand still to make sure I don’t create any more.

“Jo’Dara cannot believe his eyes. It has finally worked!” The accent is awful, but I’ve heard it before. This must be a khajiit. The dust settles, and I can see my own limbs. I have lost a considerable amount of weight – you could almost say I’ve the look of a skeleton! No, really though, I am a skeleton. I must have died against that rabid orc-man. Such a shame, though I was sure he was fatally wounded, inevitably done for. The dust recedes, and I can now see the source of the outlandish voice. It’s as I thought, a khajiit, but stranger. His fur is matted and scraggly, eyes wide and wild, much like an obsessive mage left secluded for much too long, but it mostly just makes him look like a rabid feline. That can’t be though, not if he awakened me, so he must be the former. I want to ask, but my mouth cannot speak. He didn’t just awaken me – he silenced me! He has power over me! No matter, he will slip up, and his power will fade.

The crazed cat speaks strange words, and there’s movement across from where I stand. A monstrous body stands before me, but as the dust recedes again I see that he’s merely another skeleton. He must be the orc! I did gut that barbarian! This Jo’Dara creature makes some strange noises, which I can only assume are sounds of delight. He speaks to us.

“You will help Jo’Dara. Jo’Dara’s moon sugar candies have been stolen by a thieving caravan! You will take them back and more, yes?” He says this as a question, but I know that it’s really a demand. My body is compelled to do this, with or without what’s left of my mind.

It’s not difficult to get the moon sugar candies. Jo’Dara leads us to a hidden area nearby the caravan. There are only a few there, and they tire out fast and have pains that I no longer can feel. It also helps that these caravan-thieves are thoroughly intoxicated. We easily tear them down as I foresaw and gathered an unfathomable amount of moon sugar candies. We deliver the candies to the cat-mage, and he leads us to a secluded hut outside of town.

It’s here where he eats the candies, many of them, and his grip on the orc and myself dissipates. I watch the khajiit as he eats the candies. His demeanor changes, and he begins singing and dancing, then rubbing himself in pleasure along the walls and floor. A sound escapes me – a laugh! The orc makes a snort! We sit together, the cat’s failed experiments scattered around us, laughing at the kitten playing with his yarn.

Paralyzing fog starts to fill the room, a cold draft falls over two adventurers. "What do you think this could be?" One said to the other, an alert, silent stare came from the other. The adventurers, already feeling the effects, sit down and notice shapes appearing on the floor.

Looking around they both feel confused, if not immediately out of place. They both knew they walked into a dark room which lead from the sewers. Feeling slightly at ease, they notice childrens toys.Bright colors, Toy balls and wooden puzzles. The silent adventurer did not fall for the ruse and he was certain his companion was already regressing into childhood. He leans over to plan his next move.His companion, already fascinated by the ball, seems to have received a glossy stare at the object he's been ever so fond of.

A familiar voice cheerfully exclaims!

Welcome two to, Ha! Tu-tu. Mongers, maniacs and dinner for you too!
I'm slightly funny and deviously mad, I'm afraid your ending will be quite, well..

Horrific...

This can be dodged and avoided however, although and on the contrary my puzzles can never be solved.
You really have no time to decide the answer at all.

(laughs ring out)

(silence)

Okay, okay OKAY! it said, I'll give you the answer since you're obviously no fun.

Sheogorath screams out the words "IT'S A GUAR, IT'S A GUAR, GET IT?"

Realizing he had pumped far too many poisons into the room, soon said in a confident voice.

"I know better for next time, or last time, or later? or earlier, either way, I'll get to make puppets. Now, where did I leave my cheese? I have dinner guests and I'm dreadfully late"