One shot stories Options

[Kell-Reevor]

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

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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

[The Metal Mallet]

I just had this idea jumbling around in my head, just wanted to get something less serious out there for readers. I think I might do more than one of these whenever I feel like a small detour from my current fic, since I can be completely random with the way I have it setup. Well without further adieu...


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Memoirs of a Dremora

My purpose is simple; serve Mehrunes, serve his followers, and destroy. Seem rather simply do they not? Well, most of them are, but as for serving Mehrunes followers…. I have had… difficulties. Mortals are… odd to say the least. I have since grown to detest their existence quite thoroughly.

Let’s see… I was spending my time patrolling Mehrunes’ plane of Oblivion. Did I mention how glad I am to be the top of the line of Mehrunes’ servants? I can kick scamps around whenever I please and actually RIDE the clannfear! Anyways, I was patrolling Oblivion, likely feasting on a soul of some damned mortal, I don’t quite remember, when the Lord of Destruction himself came to me.

“Rhuragix,” Mehrunes boomed at me, “One of my mortal disciples will be calling a Dremora for service soon, and I have decided it shall be you. Serve them as you would serve me.” With that he stalked away, likely to go start a forest fire in the Valenwood or something.

Finally I had a chance to reap some serious havoc! Knowing what Mehrunes stands for, I figured his followers would definitely have some fun things for me to do. For example, setting a village to flame, or maybe boiling a river, causing much ecological damage. I chuckled gleefully as a purplish haze began to surround me. This is it! This is my time to shine!

Physically being ripped out of Oblivion is a very interesting feeling. By interesting I mean painful. I was as if every inch of my body was shredded apart and established in Tamriel in the most obscenely painful way possible. It would be an experience I would never appreciate, ever.

Gasping in pain (I think the summoner thought I was growling), I arrived in Tamriel. I looked across to see who summoned me, turned out it was a Dunmer. Good start, I had heard the Dunmer were a serious sort of people. He was wearing a deep green robe, dusty from travelling I assumed, and his red eyes glowed intently as he clapped his hands together eagerly.

“Servant! My name is Ralen. I have invoked a powerful summoning spell so that you’ll remain here as long as you aren’t banished. Of course there’s only two ways you can be banished; me releasing you, or getting yourself killed. The former won’t happen as long as you do as I say. Understand?” he asked, making his serious expression seem too serious.

I simply nodded, I had no need to say words to someone I could likely kill with a flick of my wrist. He was quite scrawny looking.

His red eyes lit up as I agreed to his demands. “Excellent! Now to decide what to do with you…” he said, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

I nearly gaped at him. He hadn’t a clue on what he wanted to do with me!? What was I dealing with here? I began to pace about, as Ralen was still pondering on what to do. The only movement coming from him was the scratching of his chin.

Suddenly he just exploded. “Will you stop with that damned pacing!!” he practically screamed as he stormed over to me and openly slapped me across the face.

The insolence of this fool! My hand brushed the hilt of my long sword, but then Mehrunes’ words echoed in my head, “Serve him as you would serve me.” So I merely narrowed my eyes and stood in place. Ralen held my gaze, with an almost motherly anger displayed in his eyes. He then snorted angrily and turned away from me.

“I got it! Servant! Come!” he called. It seemed like he was treating me like some sort of dog. “Your mission is to defeat the main enemy of my friends. That enemy being hunters. They have a guildhall in a town to the south of here, in Tel Vos. The poor Cliffracer are being massacred by these brutes! I want them to pay!” Ralen ranted, anger clearly evident on his face.

I again nodded and turned to begin my way south. An arm gripped my shoulder and spun me around. What did this fool want now?

“You must promise me something first. You must not hurt a Cliffracer, ever. Such beautiful creatures don’t deserve death! So promise me!” Ralen said with conviction.

I nodded and with that he released his grip on my shoulder. I was grateful that he believed he thought me as a mute. I did not want a conversation with this fool. Don’t hurt some bird? Surely this Dunmer would fit better serving Sheogorath, wouldn’t he?

As I began my travel south, a sudden ear-grating squawk sounded over my head. Looking up to the sky I saw one of the ugliest creatures I had ever seen. This is coming from someone who is in regular company of smelly scamps and has had the “privilege” of having a conversation with an Ogrim. It looked like some sort of deformed flying rat with a beak. Even at the height it was at, it smelt like a corpse. Now I usually don’t mind the smell of corpses, but then again, the corpses I smell are fresh. This smell was not, it was rancid. I never thought in my whole career of merciless destruction that I would be gagging on a smell.

Attempting to ignore the creature, I continued on the journey. All of a sudden another squawk was heard and another one of these creatures suddenly appeared over my head. The damn noise they were making was getting on my nerves. Normally, I would just roast them with a simple fireball, problem solved, but I had a “mission” to do and the unstable Ralen would probably be upset if I didn’t get this done quickly. So I attempted the very difficult task of drowning out the sound these things were making.

My attempts proved useless as by the time the town of Tel Vos appeared on top of the hills I had a whole flock of the annoying rat-birds following me. I was nearly twitching in anger. Those hunters were definitely going to know what pain feels like, just because I had to put up with these… abominations!

As the guildhall came into view, my inhibition to kill rose to a near crescendo. I pulled out my long sword and suddenly and “Ting” noise came to my ears. I turn around and come face to face with one of these birds. It was attacking me! To make matters more annoying, the whole flock decided to descend upon me and attack me as well.

I was in a sea of gross-smelling, ear-grating noise, complimented by my “dings” and “tings” of my armour being stricken. I had enough, in one swoop of my sword, disembodied birds collapse all around me. I would have never thought the smell of death would disgust me, but the stench emitted from these birds was indescribable. I started to head to the town once again, but a burst of energy drew my attention.

Over a hill to my right, Ralen came storming, huffing and puffing in anger. No… these… things can’t be Cliffracers! The way he talked about them, it sounded as if they were some majestic, golden bird of the noble skies. Not these bottom feeding scum!

“You made a promise, and not even before you complete my assigned task, you break it!” he fumed. I was now certain this mer was insane.

“I release you from this plane!” he yelled at me, waving his arms frantically.

That indescribable pain erupted from every pore of my body and once again I found myself back in Oblivion. I shuddered, that was terrible. We could really use Cliffracers for our forces…