The Goblin Lady Options

[Renee]

Hey. So in this thread I will writing up stories pertaining to TES IV: Oblivion. Because I keep thinking of more an more ideas that occur within this game. All of these stories will be rather short, two or three months apiece, I think, rather than years and years. And the very first one shall begin in the post below.

So far there are three story ideas I've come up with: a former scholar, a monk, and a guard. All of this isn't just to write stories, it's to (as usual) enhance my gaming. Make it more interesting.



This post has been edited by Renee: Jul 14 2019, 02:53 AM

[Renee]

Chapter VIII: The Imperial City

The blonde-haired elf awoke and rose early, early for her, that was. She yawned. She stretched her legs, and rolled her back.

Over the years, she'd become accustomed to life in Cyrodiil. 'Cyrodiilized,' she jokingly called it. For her, being Cyrodiilized meant several unexpected changes. She'd become more tolerant of the province's cosmopolitan surroundings, for instance. She'd become more social, even made a few friends. She'd broadened her knowledge of magic immensely. But one of the greatest ways she'd changed over the years? She rarely got up before mid-morning, anymore. Mornings were for sleeping in, especially mornings in such quaint and peaceful surroundings.

She put on some clothes: common tans and browns. Bustled outside her small cottage. Grabbed a toadstool from the ground (a summer bolette, her very favorite) and so began her first meal of the day. Bitter, yet slightly buttery. Others might gag, while she only savored.

Many of her ilk had seen fame and fortune. Had retired. Gotten wealthy. Or gotten themselves killed. Though she had survived and seen great riches herself, she was never so content as to settle in her cottage, reading Barenziah books, engaging in endless, insipid conversation. No, this elf was one who preferred to roam. Ever seeking that great next challenge in life. And nowadays, her past Third Era lifestyle was often sought by those who needed her skills, and service.

She grabbed another toadstool from the ground, then unrolled the sheaf of paper she'd been handed the day before.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

"Hello there!"

"What's going on with you?"

Two voices: one Breton, one Redguard. One male, the second female. To Jayne Goodfall, who'd arrived into The Feed Bag not so long ago, she barely registered these two voices, as she sipped her second taste of Cyrodiilic beer.

"I saw a mudcrab while walking by the water," the Breton said ominously. "Ugly creature!"

"Awful creatures," the Redguard agreed. "But you want to know my opinion?"

"What?"

"Their meat is rather tasty!" the Redguard lady scream-whispered.

"You don't say!"

At this, the Redguard got herself into some sort of coughing fit, while Jayne sat moping at her table.

It had been so long ago, that last joyous night she'd had in this very establishment. It seemed as if all the work she and her research faction had pored over the years might just change the world, in many positive ways. They had toiled so hard. Yet it had all come to naught, because she'd spent that one final night here, in The Feed Bag, instead of with her charges. All their libations and revelry seemed so foolish now, but how could they know what would happen?

So... why did I come here then?

"Because there is still work to be done," she whispered aloud. "And ye must pick yerself up, transform from the ashes. For the good of those many fallible creatures."

And also, coming here was (in its own way) an odd sort of healing. For she was often one who chose to face her fears and demons head-on.

That was how it all started, of course. Her desire to understand Tamriel's many faunas: imps and hounds and other such creatures from the lands had always been good-natured, but often led to her overcoming some sort of fear. Overall, her attitude was of preservation and understanding, not destruction and eradication. For some reason though, it was the goblin tribes of Cyrodiil which captured her attention the most, and goblins could be some of the most fearsome of all.

Everyone saw them as monsters! And perhaps it was because she too originally saw them this way, yet was never too jaded to not be surprised. Never too close-minded to not wonder if long-established norms within her chosen field of study could not be challenged, then overturned. And for awhile, it looked as though the citizens of Cyrodiil might someday all agree with her. Members of the Elder Council had been convinced, after all.

Her thoughts wandered. She ordered a second beer; starting to feel its effects. Which was fine, and fair. Her mind was working, that feeling of abjection was beginning to abate. This was how it all started, long ago.

"What do you want, ashborn?"

"Something on your mind, fur-licker?"

Two voices: one Khajiit, one Dunmer. Both of them males.. Jayne took a sip from her second beer, which was half-gone by now.

"I saw a couple goblins by the lakefront the other day," said the Dunmer, catching Jayne's attention. "I steered clear away from them!"

"Goblins, BLECCH!" the Khajiit burst.

"Awful, disgusting creatures!" It was Delos Fandas, owner of The Feed Bag, who was speaking.

"Filthy creatures! This one hopes to never see another!"

"...string 'em up when we see them!" Delos raised his mug. "Despicable green-skinned menaces, unfit to dwell heartily within our--!"

"How dare you make slight words against them, how DARE YOU!" Jayne exploded, knocking miscellaneous things from her table. "They are sensitive and amicable beings! Sensitive and amicable! ... Much less intrusive than the rogues and roustabouts who have forever hunted them in their very homes!" She was yelling, unable to withhold. "How would it be if one of THEM raided into yer home, eh? Yet they'd never consider the thought." Jayne glared all around. "And ye shall see ... ALL OF YE shall see! ... All of ye here, and now, shall see what 'tis the future! ... Awful, filthy, disgusting creatures are ya all! ... ALL of ye here!"

She smashed her beer against the counter. She was not in control, and knew it. Faces were aghast and glowering, it was time to go. As she rushed out The Feed Bag, she tried to slam its door. But it was made of heavy oak, like many city doors, and she could only thud it heavily shut with that usual, dull clunk.

She was angry, but she also felt good. It was good to be angry! Being angry was certainly better than being forlorn, that was for sure. As Jayne Goodfall stalked off into the night, eventually her ire cooled. She began to wonder if anybody here in the city might just remember who she was. Would she be able to locate any of her previous mates? Most importantly, what had become of her research organization? Was any of it even still intact?

"Tomorrow. I always have tomorrow," she muttered.

This post has been edited by Renee: Sep 22 2019, 03:48 AM