Oblivious, I'm trying comedy. Again! Options

[Colonel Mustard]

Right, I've been inspired by Brian Clevinger's utterly, er, inspirational webcomic, 8-bit Theatre, and I've decided to try my hand at doing comedy in the Elder Scrolls setting (again). Only this time I intend to stick with it.

Like I stuck with it last time...

Oblivious

Chapter 1

The currents that make up the infernal, twisted realm of Oblivion flow stronger and faster than ever before. Deep within its darkest depths, fiends and monsters gather under the banner of their twisted patron, ready to spill forth in a tide of madness and evil that will surely destroy the entire realm. Only a band of heroes, heroes who shall face a thousand trials and emerge triumphant, can stand against this evil.

Four warriors of doughty and virtuous resolve needed, please apply at the gates of Anvil Castle before three o'clock 14th Hearthfire. Reward promised.

“Well,” Hlarras said as he read the notice. “That looks promising.”

O'Nigel nodded.

“It does, doesn't it?” he said. “I wander what they'll provide in the way of reward.”

“I don't know,” Hlarras said. “Usually it's something good. The save the kingdom from unspecified evil gig generally pays well.”

“Perhaps,” O'Nigel mused. “But we'd still need two more people before we can apply.”

“True,” Hlarrar said. The dark elf frowned. “But where are we going to find two adventurers who are willing become meatshields, sorry, companions, with us in our quest application.”

“The guilds?” O'Nigel asked. “They always seem to have a large supply of cheap and disposable manpower.”

“Now, now, O'Nigel,” Hlarras said admonishingly. “The guilds have provided Cyrodiil with some valuable and much needed heroes in times past.”

There was a silence, before the two of them burst out laughing.

Once they had recovered from their fit of hilarity, Hlarras nodded.

“Let's see what we can pick up,” he said.

#

As Dunmer and orc approached Anvil's fighter's guild building, they saw a band of four men go past. They were grizzled and scarred, coated in muscle and looking ready to fight anything.

“You reckon they're out for the Oblivion job?” Hlarras asked.

“I'm not sure,” O'Nigel said, adjusting his monocle to get a better look at the men. “Then again they look ready to complete any quest, however perilous.”

“Pah,” Hlarras said. “They're just power levellers and dungeon divers, let me tell you. I bet you they just play World of Warcraft all the time.”

“Probably all have headsets just so they can chat with their 'buddies,'” O'Nigel said. “Probably haven't got girlfriends.”

“I bet you they only paid for their ultra-powerful weapons and high weapons,” Hlarras said, seeming to lose heart slightly.

“And can breeze their way through a dungeon full of mooks,” O'Nigel said quietly. “I want to be like them.”

“I know,” Hlarras replied in a small voice.

“Let's see if we can find somebody at the fighter's guild, shall we?” O'Nigel asked. “We need to apply fast if they are.”

“Well why not just ask at the mage's guild?” Hlarras asked. “Bound to be somebody there who can help us get that job?”

“What's that about a job?” somebody asked behind them. Hlarras and O'Nigel turned to see an imperial, rearing the grubby green robes of a low ranking mage, hurry up behind them. “I need a job.”

“Really,” Hlarras said. “We're applying for a dangerous quest, you see. What can you bring to the group?”

“I can bring a knowledge of all magical schools to this group,” the man said. “I was with the guild, you see, before they chucked me out.”

“Why was that?” O'Nigel said.

“Apparently tampering with the laws of space and time in order to increase my skills in destruction magic is unethical,” the imperial replied.

“Okay,” Hlarras said. “Just a minute.”

He hurried a few paces away with O'Nigel.

“Manipulating the laws of space and time?” he asked. “Did I hear that right?”

“That's what I heard,” O'Nigel said. “That could come in useful.”

“Tell me about it,” Hlarras said. “Should he come?”

“I don't see why not then,” O'Nigel said.

“Excellent,” Hlarras said, clapping hands together and turning around. “Welcome aboard mr...”

“Antius,” the man replied. “Antius Nuntius.”

“Hlarras Laran,” Hlarras said.

“Agrad Leck O'Nigel,” O'Nigel said. “But call me O'Nigel.”

“Nice to meet you,” Antius said. “So what exactly is it that you're doing?”

“There's some quest to save Cyrodiil that we can apply for at the castle,” Hlarras explained. “But we need four people to join up.”

“Ah, the good old save the kingdom deal,” Antius said. “So who else is with you?”

“Nobody yet,” Hlarras said.

“Usually in classical fiction the fourth member of the quest is a more pacifistic healer character,” O'Nigel said. “Usually a second mage of some sort.”

“Sometimes it can be a cleric or priest,” Antius suggested. “Maybe we could try the chapel here, seeing as we already have a mage.”

“Who we don't know is any good,” Hlarras muttered.

“What was that?” Antius asked.

“Nothing,” Hlarras replied innocuously. “So are we going to find somebody else?”

They continued their walk through Anvil's busy streets, towards the chapel.

“Hold on, aren't they all pacifists or something here?” Hlarras asked.

“It is a chapel of Dibella,” O'Nigel said. “They do have the best healers there.”

“Oh, hippies,” Hlarras said disapprovingly. “Still, they do have good healers, it's true.”

“Hold on,” Antius asked. “If they're all pacifists, why would they join a quest that would inevitably involve killing things?”

“That's a good point you have there,” Hlarras said. “And so I choose to ignore it.”

“Is he always like this?” Antius asked O'Nigel.

“Pretty much,” the orc replied. “I find it's best just to let him be.”

“Ah, right,” Antius said.

“So are we going to stand here, or are we going to find a priest?” Hlarras asked.

“Technically it's a cleric we want,” O'Nigel said. “As clerics are a combat-orientated kind of priest that often accompanies soldiers into wars to provide moral and spiritual support.”

“Although chaplains also fulfil that role sometimes,” Antius said.

“That's true,” O'Nigel said. “Of course, it could be argued that missionaries...”

“That's lovely,” Hlarras said curtly. “Especially seeing as nobody cares and this is getting us nowhere.”

“He's got you there,” Antius said.

“You were taking part in that conversation,” Hlarras growled.

He stalked away, O'Nigel and Antius following him quickly.

“You think we're going to find a cleric?” O'Nigel asked Antius.

“I don't know,” Antius asked. “Of course, it could be a chap-”

He was cut short by Hlarras screaming; “SHUT UP!!”

[Colonel Mustard]

And some more!

Chapter 4

The four prisoners followed the Emperor and his bodyguards through the old cave, a corridor of old stone that led down into a chamber built of white stone, that seemed to glimmer with inner light. It took Hlarras a moment to recognise the architecture, that of sweeping and gracefully pointed archways, as that once built by the Ayleid.

“How old is this?” he asked.

“Old as White Gold Tower,” one of the redguards answered.

“Fascinating,” O'Nigel said. “We're walking through a piece of Imperial history. Imagine that.”

“Oh, please don't get all amateur historian again,” Hlarras groaned.

“Well it's important that we preserve our history,” O'Nigel said. “No knowing where it will go if we don't.”

“The past,” Reckard said.

“Well, that's all very well and good,” O'Nigel said, as the group rounded a corner and headed down some ancient marble steps. “But it's important that we preserve history to-”

He was cut off by a yell of; “For Lord Dagon!”

Three armoured figures, red robes showing beneath the archaic looking metal, leapt down from some kind of overhang. One of them swung at O'Nigel, and the orc gave a roar of rage, grabbing the shaft of the would-be assassin's mace before swinging a punch powerful enough to shatter stone into the man's face. The man screamed and let go of the weapon, and O'Nigel used the mace to smash him in the chest, buckling the metal beneath it. The orc berserker, still bellowing with anger, landed another blow against the man, before grabbing the unfortunate person's head in one hand and shoulders in the other. His huge muscles strained as he tore the man's head free.

By then, the Emperor's bodyguards had dealt with the other two, their superior fighting skills making short work of the men.

“As I was saying,” O'Nigel said, wiping some blood off of his prison tunic. “It's important to preserve the past in order to learn from the mistakes made by our ancestors and ensure that they don't happen again.”

“What the hell did you do to him?” Antius asked.

“I tore his head off,” O'Nigel said.

“With your bare hands,” Reckard said slowly.

“You should see what he can do with a claymore,” Hlarras said. “It's not pretty, believe me.”

“Anybody hurt?” one of the redguards asked.

“We lost captain Renault,” the other one said.

The Emperor shook his head.

“She was a brave warrior,” he murmured gravely.

One of the redguards headed to a door at the far end of the room and unlocked it.

“Stay here, prisoners,” he ordered.

The other bodyguard and the Emperor hurried through the door. There was the sound of a key turning in the latch as it was closed.

Hlarras shook his head and poked one of the corpses with his foot.

“Amateurs,” he muttered. “So now what?”

“I don't know,” Rekard said. “Did they lock that cell door?”

“I don't think we could just walk out of the front door,” Antius said. “I don't think the wardens would like that.”

“How about here?” O'Nigel asked. He kicked at some loose brick in a wall. They fell away to reveal some kind of cave beyond. A couple of rats in the centre saw them and squeaked in alarm, scattering away to some place to hide.

“Well that was insanely lucky,” Hlarras remarked as he carefully stepped into the cave. “You lot get that sword off Renault. I don't think she'll need it.”

He advanced into the cave as Rekard dropped in behind him.

“Hello,” he muttered as he was a skeleton. There was a bow, made of rusted iron, clutched within the old fist, and Hlarras gently prised it out, along with a quiver with a few arrows it. Hlarras nocked an arrow to the string, which had held remarkably well for something so old, and fired off a shot. The bow was stiff and arthritic compared to his old one, but it would be better than being unarmed.

O'Nigel, followed by Antius, dropped in beside them, surveying the cave. Reckard had gone and found some armour, which he had put on over his prison clothes.

“Don't we get anything?” Antius asked.

“You can blast people with magic and O'Nigel can tear people's heads off with his bare hands,” Hlarras replied. “You don't need weapons.”

“Oh fine,” Antius said.

The four headed through an old wooden door in the cave, stopping to pick up a club from the corpse of a dead goblin.

“You reckon there are more of them down here?” Antius asked.

“Of course there are,” Hlarras said. “They're like vermin-all swarm together in one place. It turns to absolute anarchy after a while.”

“Actually, there is a theory that suggests that goblins have a society far more developed and complex than we really think,” O'Nigel said. “And it is in reality a utopian society which we should aspire to be like.”

“Wasn't that put forward by a man who thought Masser and Secunder were mad of cheese, though?” Hlarras asked.

“That's true,” O'Nigel said. “Though it would explain why they have so many holes on them. I mean, what else would cause them? Giant rocks flying around in space?”

Hlarras thought about that.

“You know, that makes a worrying amount of sense,” he said eventually.

“Look, shall we get going?” Reckard, who had strapped the club to his belt, asked. “If Goblins got in somehow there's bound to be a way out.”

“He's right,” O'Nigel said as he pushed open the door. “No point standing around.”

The next room was empty, a unlit cavern that was illuminated when Antius held his hand high and summoned a small fireball. A rat gave a squeak of alarm as it saw them, and then charged towards them, before Antius sent the fireball smashing into the unfortunate creature. It gave a squeal as it died, its scorched fur crackling with flame.

“I'm not carrying that,” Antius said.

“Don't need to,” Reckard replied. He picked up an old torch, lightning it with a small, magically generated spark. “This should do the trick.”

“It's oddly convenient that somebody has left these things lying around, isn't it?” Hlarras asked. “I mean, these tunnel probably haven't been used in years.”

“You'd be amazed how these things happen,” Antius said. “According to one of my professors back at the Arcane University, he found half a brahmin skull down the back of one of his chairs.”

“What the hell is a brahmin?” Hlarras asked.

“Exactly,” Antius said. “What he thinks happens is that there are tiny holes in the space and time, and that sometimes things that nobody would notice were gone fall through them to appear in the most unlikely of places.”

“Interesting theory, that,” Hlarras said. “Would explain a lot.”

“It would, wouldn't it?” O'Nigel said. “But it still doesn't explain how he knew what a brahmin was.”

“He thinks some of the brain's old self awareness fell through with it,” Antius said. “He had some very odd theories on space and time, he did. Probably why he found me so interesting.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Rekard asked as he pushed open a door into the next cavern. There was a shriek and yelp of fright, before there was a painful sounding crunch. “Don't worry,” Rekard called. “Just a goblin. Anyway, what does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Antius said cryptically. “Now come on, let's get out of here.”