One shot stories Options

[Kell-Reevor]

Just a short piece I put together out of boredom. Hope you like it.

*************

It is dark. Two figures traverse a well trodden path out of Suran. The first is a swordsman. The second... his would-be killer.

The swordsman knows of his follower's presence. He listens attentively as the assassin follows. He is clearly untrained, and this may be his first mark. There is no rattle of quarrels or arrows. It is likely the swordsman need not fear a ranged attack.

The swordsman has made an enemy in the Nobles of Suran, and was aware that eventually they would seek his life. But he is not afraid. As a swordsman, death has followed him as a companion he has developed a deep respect for.

His trained ears pick up a sound... a soft and smooth "whif" as a dagger is pulled from a belt.

Spotting a shrine by the road, he approaches. He has no love of the Dunmer, nor has he a love for their Temple, but he is a spiritual man and pays his repects nonetheless as his killer moves in.

He moves his thumb for the guard of his sword. Years of oiling grant it silence as he nudges it from his sheath.

In a flash, he grips the weapon. Rips it from its home. Then thrusts it back, cutting into the assassin's belly. Turning, he frees the weapon with a horizontal slice, then brings the weapon up for a finishing downward cut.

The ordeal is over in a mere span of two seconds. The swordsman flips his sword to remove any blood, then returns it to it's home. He kneels in respect to the life he had just ended. If the nobleman had hired a killer even a tad more competant, the outcome would have been drastically different. If his foe had been equipped with a bow, or maybe armor, or perhaps knowledge of magick, HE would have been the one to die tonight.

He closes the dead man's eyes, mutters a short prayer... then is on his way.

This post has been edited by Kell-Reevor: Mar 2 2006, 02:01 PM

[Agent Griff]

I hope no one minds if I resurrect an old thread (but a good one nonetheless) which has been forgotten long enough. There are too many good stories here to overlook and, besides, what better way to get your artistic juices flowing once a certain setting gets dull and you need to try new things? By posting a short story of course! I'll start by posting a story and I hope many of the other writers join in. I hope you enjoy this story.

~~~
It was a cold and damp night in the city of Dragonstar. Rain was falling down with more fury than the arrows of the Redguards. The Nords were all hard-pressed to find shelter in the ruins near the wall to East Dragonstar. The shadows cast by the small company of Nords gave the image of a much larger host moving along the ruins, trying to find shelter. As they moved from building to building in the cover of darkness, the Nords and the odd assortment of mercenaries and blades-for-hire accompanying them tried to find somewhere where they could stop to rest, away from the cold and the rain. As their scout, a Woodelf who went by the name of Aenvir, scurried inside the ruined remains of an old tavern he waved to his comrades, signaling the building was safe. As the rain-drops battered the old cobblestone of the streets the rest of the company hurried inside the ruins. Besides the remains of the common-rooms, Aenvir had also found some stairs leading down to a door.

"Finally, shelter!" one of the Breton mercenaries accompanying the Nords said as he held his blade tight. His cloak was ragged and torn, not to mention very wet and filthy of mud. "Perhaps we can find something to eat as well."

As the Breton descended the stairs, one of the Nords from the company followed, leading the way for the rest. He was a tall man, powerfully built. A tattered tunic covered the mail shirt he wore on his breast and the shield strapped to his forearm was dull with rust. He held his sword tight in his hand, prepared for battle. You never knew what to expect from these Redguards after all. His face was solemn, and his eyes were keen to sight the enemy, wherever he could be hiding.

"How you could think of a matter as trivial as food in a time like this, Breton, is beyond me." He said in a calm, if somewhat annoyed, voice. Seeing his Breton comrade complain about food broke his concentration.

"What is it to you, Ulfgar? All you Nords know is how to wrestle and how to kill. At least the latter you can manage properly." the Breton said in a despising tone. Nobody really liked him, and he was hard to get to know properly. He also didn't seem to have much self-restraint when it came to insulting people and starting fights. That said, it did not make him less of an amazing warrior. The Nord looked back at him with disgust.

"Far better than you Bretons ever could. Shut up and do what you're paid to do." Ulfgar said in an annoyed voice. He almost shouted at the Breton in his anger, yet he managed to calm himself at the last moment. It would be foolish to give away the whole company for something as trivial as this.

"Then you wouldn't be needing me now would you? That said, you wouldn't be needing that Wood Elf fellow would you? Now, get back to what you're good at, and leave me get back at what I know even better." the Breton said with a mocking smile. He had a very odd skill of making people get angry very fast.

With that said, there weren't any more discussions. Silence took over once again. As Aenvir pried open the door the others all followed him inside. They were an odd group. Twelve Nords formed the backbone of the group together with Aenvir the scout and the Breton warrior as support. Their company had been part of a raid on the Redguard side of Dragonstar. The raid went well, yet as they were returning their company was ambushed and cut off by Redguards. After suffering heavy casualties, they were now forced to hide in the ruins by day, and try to maneuver about by night.

Thus far all had been well, and they had avoided detection. A little more advancing, and they would be close to the wall protecting the Skyrim-owned side of Dragonstar, the Eastern side. Dragonstar had been separated into two separate parts ever since the war of the Bend'r-mahk. Neither side was powerful enough to act and conquer the city fully, yet neither side was weak enough to back down. This lead to a stalemate where guerilla warfare took the fore.

As the group entered the basement of the tavern they appeared to have ended up in a wine-cellar of sorts. The room was dark, yet warm oddly enough. After a few moments of jostling about a torch was soon brought forward and lighted. The room was indeed a wine-cellar, racks filled with bottles lining the walls. The company rejoiced because they could finally rest in a more suitable environment. Ulfgar of course maintained his calm. He knew that they could be attacked at any moment so he kept his sword close.

The rest of the company didn't take heed of him and his caution however, and started unpacking their bed-rolls to prepare for a night's rest. Some of them even opened a few of the wine bottles. After gulps and a glare from Ulfgar they soon put the wine bottles back where they belonged. The Breton, of course, didn't listen to Ulfgar and took some food from his pack as well. After a short meal which he was hesitant to share with the others, the Breton went to sleep, holding his blade near. His armour shone in the light of the torch, which was carelessly thrown in the middle of the chamber.

As everyone slowly fell asleep, only Ulfgar remained vigilant, ever watching the entrance to their make-shift hideout. There was an unpleasant smell of dank clothes combined with mud and dirt from the floor which, coupled with the smell of wine, made the whole chamber have a tavern-like feel. In other days, Ulfgar would have enjoyed spending some time in a tavern, yet now the only thing he desired was peace. He had had enough of war. Ever since the day he had been summarily drafted from his village, along with about 100 other young men like him, he thought of war as something courageous, epic and heroic. Over the past few months he had seen the true face of war, which often involved skulking in the mud and watching for the enemy. Not to mention the rotten food and diseased water, poisoned by the Redguards long before.

A few hours later, after almost falling asleep several times, Ulfgar went to Aenvir. The Wood Elf wore a leather vest over a plain shirt and mail greaves over his pants. In his feet he wore a pair of worn traveling shoes, light and good for running. He let his long hair flow freely, only wearing a small band around his head to keep his hair from getting in his eyes when fighting. Helmets brought discomfort to the Elf, and he despised wearing them. Near his hand was his bow, made of fine yew. His quiver was strapped to his back, and was made of tanned leather. Strapped to his side as well was his dirk, a curved dagger good for quickly slitting the throat of any nearby opponent. At first, the Elf had carried wooden arrows given to him by his Nordic comrades, yet as his arrows began to dwindle he eventually started crafting his own arrows from the bones of fallen foes. Aenvir was a highly religious Elf, and he honoured the Green Pact of Jeffre in all his affairs, even in war.

"Wake up Elf!" Ulfgar said as he shook Aenvir gently, trying to wake him up. "Wake up!"

"What?" the Elf asked in a rather annoyed way after a few minutes of repeated shaking. He held his dagger tight.

"Go out and watch for the enemy. We shouldn't lower our guard, lest we want to wake up with a score of angry Redguards breathing down our necks." Ulfgar said in a calm way, almost whispering so that none could hear, despite the roaring rain and thunder outside.

"Oh, alright then." Aenvir said as he started getting up and rubbing his eyes. "Is it day yet?"

"No, all the better for you to sneak about without anyone seeing you. That sullen tower near might be a good place to start." Ulfgar said. With a short nod the Elf was off, running for the door. His stamina amazed Ulfgar, as he himself never was in the mood for so much running, even when he was well rested.

Some time after the departure of Aenvir, the rest of the group started waking up. Some of the Nords, quite customary to their nature, woke up then fell asleep again, only to be woken up by Ulfgar himself. The last one to wake up was, of course, the Breton. With a loud yawn he was up and about, fitting on his armour.

The first piece of armour to fit on was the breastplate, made of steel. After tying the fine strings which connected the two sides of the breastplate, the Breton fitted on his pauldrons. One of the pauldrons, was rather large and circular, with engraved markings of a heraldic dragon coiling around a sword. The other, somewhat smaller when compared to its larger counterpart, was of worn iron and bore no remarkable markings except the various dents made by weapons. The Breton then strapped on his greaves, made of steel, then carefully fitted on his boots so that they wouldn't be a hindrance in combat. All the months of wandering about on the gravel and broken stones spewed about the ruined remains on the edge of Western Dragonstar had severely damaged his boots. Last came the Breton's sword, a fine longsword of good craft, as was traditional with the Breton warriors of High Rock. After he was finished, he could notice Ulfgar looking at him. With a sly smile, he started talking.

"I suppose you are admiring my armour. It was quite a challenge to gather all of the pieces. The left pauldron, as you can see, was taken from the gasping body of a Knight of Daggerfall. He seemed quite surprised to see my blade thrust in-between the joints of his armour. The breastplate as well, was taken from the cold body of a Knight, though of what Order I can't remember. He fought quite well though, but his neck wasn't as resistant to my sword as his breastplate was. You were saying?" the Breton said in quite an arrogant matter. Ulfgar had gotten used to him though. Ever since the former leader of their company died, Ulfgar had taken his place and everyone listened to him. Everyone except the Breton of course. He wasn't one to take Ulfgar's place as a leader, but that didn't stop him from challenging Ulfgar.

"If I wanted to squint at your armour, Breton, and see what dents and marks it had, I would be hacking it off your dead body. Now listen. The Wood Elf left some time ago to scout out the surroundings and keep watch. The only problem is, he hasn't returned. Make yourself useful and find him. Start looking in the ruined tower nearby." Ulfgar said in a bored tone, accentuating the fact that he wasn't one to cope with the Breton's oddities.

"I guess you want me to go skulking through the rubble to find the Elf. What uses you Nords find for us mercenaries is beyond me to comprehend. I should be out fighting and killing Redguards, not being a baby-sitter for some tree-hugger. But it is understandable, I suppose, to remove warriors of much greater skill than yourself, when you want all the glory." the Breton replied, in the same arrogant way. For a mercenary, he had trouble with following orders.

"You are paid to serve the interests of General Duvais, not to question my motives. As a representative of the General, you answer to me. Now, go out there and find that Elf, Breton!" Ulfgar said, raising his tone to show the Breton he meant business.

"Very well then, if that is what I must do to earn my pay. Don't except me to save you if the Redguards attack." the Breton said as he left the chamber they were all resting in. Odd looks and stares followed him as he left.

"After his contract expires you should really put an axe through his skull Ulfgar, it might lessen his attitude." one of the Nords of the company said, chuckling at the Breton's arrogance.

"He will meet his fate one day, rest assured. One day he will loose the favour of the gods and be struck down just like all the poor souls he has killed. If it is by my hand, then so be it. If not, good riddance all the same." Ulfgar said as he finally lied down to get some proper rest of his own.

Dawn had come to Dragonstar, and the rain had finally stopped. The sky was grey and dark, as the Breton set out to find Aenvir the scout. Since Ulfgar had advised him to search in the fallen tower nearby, that was the first place he visited. The climb up the steps leading to the top of the tower was arduous, since some of the steps were decrepit, and easy to shatter. The Breton's fate however, couldn't involve dying because of stepping on a weak stone. The Wood Elf's on the other hand could. As he reached the top of the tower, the Breton could see all of Dragonstar arrayed in front of him and it was truly a sight to bear. As he looked out, the Breton was standing on the circular top of the tower. Near him, on the edge of the tower's roof, was Aenvir, lying down.

"The wretch has probably fallen asleep. Better wake him up." the Breton said out loud as he approached Aenvir.

After two kicks, the Breton was rather surprised by the fact that Aenvir didn't wake up. Leaning down, the Breton turned Aenvir around, discovering why the Elf was so silent. A deep gash ran along his neck. He had died of bleeding some time ago and, by the blood on his clothes and the stone, the killer was near. As he examined the corpse further, the Breton heard a pebble being crushed by a heavy boot. Someone who was wearing armour was apparently trying to sneak up on him. Slowly rising from Aenvir's corpse, the Breton though about what to do. After a short moment of silence, the Breton turned around, quickly drawing his blade as he did so. His move paid off. An unsuspecting Redguard fell to the ground, blood gashing from his neck and gurgling sounds coming from his mouth. He was obviously drowning on his own blood. With a quick thrust of his blade, the Breton killed the Redguard, sparing him of any further suffering.

"Still sharp, eh Roland?" a voice came from down the stairs. Someone was coming up. The Breton however seemed un-alarmed.

"What took you so long to find me? I suppose you slayed the Elf." the Breton said in a calm, if somewhat angered voice.

"Who else? And regarding all the tracking we had to do to find you and your merry band, don't worry about it. Just tell us where your friends are and you'll get your promised gold." a Redguard revealed himself as the source of the voice. He had a calm and laid back demeanour about him.

"I was starting to get tired of all this running. These Nords sure are cowards. It will be good to finally kill them, after all this time of sneaking about. Oh, and I suppose I should be sorry about your man here. The dastard surprised me, and I think you know how much I hate surprises." the Breton replied, smiling in an evil way.

"You should be sorry, but then again a mercenary won't make any money by being polite. Now, lead on if you'll be so kind." the Redguard said as he stepped aside.

"On one condition. The leader of the Nords is mine, understood?" the Breton said, with deadly seriousness. He was reffering to Ulfgar.

"Of course Roland. Anything for you. Lead on." the Redguard said with a smile. He knew how to handle the Breton so that he wouldn't dissobey his orders. Unlike Ulfgar, he knew how to handle mercenaries like Roland.

After descending from the tower, the Breton and the Redguard met up with the rest of the Redguards. All in all, a party of about 80 men had been following them ever since the main Nordic contingent which lead the raid had been ambushed and split up. All of the other remnants of the main group had been found and destroyed, only this party remained. It wouldn't last long however. The Breton led the Redguard war-party with quick steps. He held his sword firmly, ready for the slaughter to come. An ungodly smile was on his face. As they reached the ruins of the tavern in which the company of Nords had camped out, the Breton stepped aside, leaving the Redguards to form the brunt of the attack. Afterwards, he could descend into the wine-cellar and finish off whatever remained.

"As I said, leave the leader to me." the Breton said in a confident way. With a quick nod, a group of about 30 Redguards, all well outfitted and armed, descended into the wine-cellar.

As the Breton stood outside, he could hear a loud shout then the sound of weapons clashing and men cursing and shouting battle-cries. The clamour of the fight was deafening in the still air and it made the whole city seem alive with battle. After a few moments of anxiously waiting on the edge, the Breton himself descended. As he entered the chamber he could see that many of the wine-racks had been upturned and blood had combined with spilled wine to form a slippery liquid. The Nords and the Redguards were locked in deadly combat. A few were wrestling each other on the floor, trying to strangle or to stab their opponents to death, while the rest were fighting for their lives ferociously. The Breton could see Ulfgar grappling with a taller Redguard. After elbowing the man, Ulfgar quickly hit him in the stomach with the pommel of his sword. He then summarily thrust his blade into the Redguard's neck, pulling it out by pushing the dying Redguard away with his leg. Ulfgar then turned his eyes to the Breton.

"You miserable traitor!" Ulfgar roared with rage in his eyes.

After exchanging a few blows with another Redguard then beheading him, Ulfgar charged the Breton, holding his shield forward. The Breton braced himself for impact, seeing he had nowhere to go to evade the incoming Nord. With his utmost force, Ulfgar bashed the Breton, making him stagger back a few steps. The Breton quickly regained his bearings however, parrying two blows Ulfgar quickly threw, trying to finish his opponent. After parrying Ulfgar's second blow, the Breton quickly swung his own sword towards Ulfgar's lightly armoured left arm. Ulfgar however parried the blow with his shield. That was exactly what the Breton had intended however. Even before he landed his strike on Ulfgar's shield, the Breton quickly wheeled around, striking Ulfgar's right arm. With a shout of pain and anger, Ulfgar pushed his opponent with his shield, sending him into a nearby wall. He then quickly checked his wound. It was a pretty deep cut, and blood was flowing freely.

"Can you feel it, Nord? It's death!" the Breton said in a malevolent voice as he approached Ulfgar once more.

"Yours, Breton!" Ulfgar roared as he attacked the Breton once again.

Ulfgar began his attack with a quick vertical chop, succesfully blocked by the Breton however. The Breton then quickly attacked, only to strike Ulfgar's shield. The Breton's next attack came just as fast as his last one, and almost caught Ulfgar unprepared, yet by sheer reflex he managed to parry the incoming blade with his own blade. For a few moments, their blades were locked and the two began a pushing contest. While the Breton pushed his own blade with two hands, Ulfgar could barely manage to hold him back with his own hand he used to hold his blade. Ulfgar however remembered his shield, which he used to bash the Breton. Sending him backwards a few steps, Ulfgar quickly charged to keep his advantage. He charged the Breton head-on, hitting him with his body and pushing him into a wall. Ulfgar however could feel his strength failing and he could sense pain coming from his stomach. As he looked down, he could see that the Breton had held his blade pointed forward, and that he had impaled himself on the Breton's sword. The Breton smiled as he twisted the blade to increase Ulfgar's pain.

"It's seems the best has, once again, triumphed." the Breton whispered in Ulfgar's ear as he slowly twisted the blade to further increase Ulfgar's pain. The Breton then broke out into a low chuckle of victory. Ulfgar, meanwhile looked at him with a stony face.

"Think again." Ulfgar muttered with a deathly voice as he drove his blade in-between the plates connecting the two sides of the Breton's cuirass. He then slowly twisted the blade to make the Breton's pain more excruciating.

"Someone's actually defeated me. What is this world coming to? I guess it's time...to retire." The Breton said as he chuckled. He then fell down together with Ulfgar.

And thus they stood, until the battle of the last Nordic company ended. And the Redguard which had guided the Breton chuckled as he saw him clutched in a deadly struggle with his last opponent, a Nord who wouldn't go down that easily. After plundering the bodies of weapons and armour, the party of Redguards left, leaving the dead where they lay. And there Roland Dubois' body lied, locked in an eternal struggle with the corpse of his supposed comrade, Ulfgar son of Ulric.

~~~
I hope you liked this story and I also hope the moderators won't kill me for reviving a dead thread.

This post has been edited by Agent Griff: Oct 24 2007, 09:27 AM