Dragonbored Options

[Colonel Mustard]

Warning: The following story is based on extremely twisted true events that were treated with a disgraceful amount of creative licence. No animals were harmed in the writing of this story, except for the ten thousand monkeys I locked in a room filled with ten thousand typewriters in an attempt to not have to write this, but then forgot to feed. Seriously, don’t try that. As hilarious as a room filled with ten thousand starved monkeys might sound, the results are not pretty.

On a related note, I’m now on the run from the law for that little stunt, so please keep schtum, enjoy the story and let me know what you think.

Also, be warned that the narration style of this story is somewhat out there. Just so you know.

Dragonbored

Chapter 1-The Pick of Destiny

As popular opinion goes, it seems that destiny really rather dropped the ball when it came to Jorlif Steelbeater.

He was born under a sign of no real importance, he had no parents of secretly noble birth and their parentage was as certain as they came. He had no particular feelings of wanderlust, lacked a birthmark and the closest thing he possessed to a magic sword passed down from father to son was an old shovel his father gave to him after he’d had the blacksmith make him a new one. There was no cause he particularly wished to uphold beyond the prosperity of the family farm, nothing he wanted to avenge, and the only thing his family was notable for was being completely unremarkable in every way imaginable.

Quite possibly his only vaguely distinguishing feature was his height of six feet and four inches, born through a combination of hard work as a blacksmith’s apprentice and wholesome food cooked by his beloved mother, and his beliefs that hard work and honesty paid off. In that regard, he was truly a rare thing indeed.

Things began for our unlikely hero in a rather disappointing manner, as destiny was going through a rough patch at the time and so wasn’t quite giving things its full attention. Usually, such things start with the razing of a village and an oath of vengeance or a call to heroism from the king or a mysterious circle of mages (it’s always circles, isn’t it? What’s wrong with a shape with corners every now and then? I mean, what if there are only three mages, or four of them? Then it’s a triangle of mages, or a square of them; you need a good five or six people if you want to actually make a decent circle shape, and good mages are hard to come by). If destiny hasn’t really planned anything, four strangers meeting in a tavern and agreeing to hit up the local dungeon that is inexplicably filled with dangerous monsters despite being only a short distance from bustling towns with heavily populated trade routes always worked. In this case, however, destiny went with the classic ‘malicious miscarriage of justice’ package, though in this case it wasn’t so much malicious as it was just largely apathetic.

It began in Jorlif’s village of Hole. Hole had no primary exports aside from mud, muck and the occasional, rare rock (the discovery of said rock was usually enough to jump the fortunate soul who discovered it up a social class and allowed them to move to the marginally nicer and less disease-ridden neighbouring village of Dump). Its population were all poor, had little food and had no greater ambition beyond finding themselves a rock to sell on and thus find themselves a place in Dump. It was, in short, the sort of place where you’d be lucky to find half a dozen teeth per family, and was not so much a one-horse town as it was a one-strip-of-half-rotten-leather-that-used-to-be-a-horse town. As I said, destiny had been having a bit of a bad time.

Jorlif was walking through what was ostensibly the main street of the town, though really it just happened to be one of the roads between Skyrim and Bruma that Hole had grown around like a particularly underwhelming patch of mould. He had been asked by his mother to fetch something for her, and before you ask, it was nothing to do with destiny and was, in fact, a few loaves of bread which are entirely irrelevant to the rest of the story so there was really no point in pestering me, was there?

Exactly how Jorlif had managed to grow up to be built like a house in a town renowned only for its particularly repulsive skin diseases is a simple matter; unlike anyone else in Hole, his family actually owned arable land. As a result they were, relatively speaking at least, something in the same league as nobility, though by the standards of Hole anybody who didn’t live in a one room hut made of mud and half-rotten wood was somewhere along the same lines the Emperor.

His prize clutched under one arm that seemed to be constructed almost entirely of steak, Jorlif was walking past the parallel ruts in the mud that served as the main street (the crude cobbles that had once paved it had all been stolen by an enterprising resident of Hole. He had managed to make a jump with his newly acquired wealth all the way past Dump to Eightforsaken Hellhole, but had nearly collapsed the rock market by flooding it with his newly acquired geology). As he tried to stay on the slightly less thick and pungent patches of dung, a figure barrelled into him, coming close to knocking him to the ground. There was a distant cry of “Stop! Thief!” and, acting on an unthinkingly stupid noble impulse that in all rights should have got him killed, the bloody idiot, Jorlif grabbed the slight figure by the scruff of the neck.

The earned him a vicious kick in the stomach for his trouble, but years of doing blacksmithy…stuff had gifted Jorlif abs that you could break rocks on, because it’s alright for some, isn’t it?, and as a result it managed to both cause him to double over but at the same time still keep his hold on the would-be thief.

There was a brief struggle, resulting in Jorlif getting a knock in his chiselled, square jaw and his aggressor yelping in pain as he took an elbow to the ribs. Their tussle lasted very little time, however, as a group of Imperial Legionaries who had been hoping that being assigned to a Dump like Hole wouldn’t involve much trouble appeared with their swords drawn, mainly to discourage any more trouble that might have wanted to start.

“What’s all this then?” their sergeant asked as the four soldiers appeared over Jorlif and his assailant (or possibly assailee, I’m not quite certain, in legal terms, as to who was assailing whom at the start or where said assailing actually began. Or whether or not it became wassailing at some point), who was interested primarily in sorting this whole situation out so he could go back to the cup of tea he had been enjoying. As cups of tea went, it had been quite a good one, a little milky, two teaspoons of sugar and had just been reaching that wonderful temperature where it was hot but now drinkable, and he really wanted to get back to it before it passed out of such a phase. Or possibly just passed out, though seeing as it is a mere liquid and not a conscious being that seems rather unlikely.

In answer to the sergeant’s question (it was “What’s all this then?” by the way; I realise I got slightly sidetracked in the last paragraph) a portly shopkeeper jogged up behind them, puffing somewhat because of the Shopkeepers’ Union requirements to be slightly overweight and short of breath, and said; “Thievery, sergeant. That man there is a thief.”

“Which one,” the sergeant asked, due in no small part to the fact that he was pointing at Jorlif as well as his assailant/assailee/wassailer.

“Him!” Jorlif’s assailant/assailee/wassailer said from the dirt, pointing at Jorlif. “He’s the one you want; he stole these things and then attacked me when I tried to stop him.”

“No I’m not!” Jorlif said. “That’s exactly the opposite of what happened; you did that to me!”

“Shut up,” his assailant/assailee/wassailer hissed in reply. “I’m trying to lie, here.”

The sergeant considered his problem and how he might solve it in a manner that might return him to his cup of tea in the shortest possible manner, and came to a conclusion.

“They’re in cahoots,” he said. “Lock them both up.”

And that was how Jorlif and his assailant/assailee/wassailer ended up on a cart on the way to Helgen awaiting execution (for clarity’s sake, both they and the cart were awaiting execution; Jorliff and his assailant/assailee/wassailer were to be beheaded for thievery and the cart was going to be chopped into firewood for treason against the Empire (don’t ask, it’s a long story)).

Wait, I didn’t mention that bit, did I? In retrospect, I realise that the In Media Res opening I was trying for doesn’t actual work unless I open the story in an In Media Res manner, but that’s not the point and I can’t be bothered to go back and write it in. Look, the title is clearly a pun on the term ‘Dragonborn’ and if you didn’t realise this then you’re either an idiot or you haven’t played Skyrim, and if the latter is the case then it raises the question of exactly what on earth you’re doing here, though that question may be answered if you happen to be the former. And besides, you’re not the one using your spare time to write this story for you people completely for free, are you? No. Didn’t think so.

And so things began with Jorlif and his assailant/assailee/wassailer (alright, his name was Lorentus Lorin; he’s a major character and referring to him any more as “Jorlif’s Assailant/assailee/wassailer” is just silly and is upsetting the spell checker, and that thing is as needy as hell even at the best of times) in a cart on their way to Helgen, awaiting execution. Unsurprisingly, going to Helgen for the sole purpose of being executed was not something that left one feeling particularly enamoured towards the place, and as a result Lorentus had been grizzling about the place the entire trip in the back of the cart.

“And apparently the mead’s no good either,” he said, gnawing on the ropes that bound his wrists together. “And the wenches at the tavern are ugly.”

“That’s my hometown you’re talking about,” the Nord sitting opposite him said. “I grew up there.”

“Well it’s an awful hometown then,” Lorentus replied, before returning his attention to the ropes.

“What’s your problem?” the Nord asked. “And why are you eating the ropes?”

“I’m going to be executed,” Lorentus said. “And what else is there to do?”

“You could face your death like a man,” the Nord said.

“Sod that, I’ve never faced anything and I’m not starting with death,” Lorentus replied. “I’m going to gnaw instead, thank you.”

He continued his determined chewing, muttering; “This would be so much easier if I was a Khajiit.”

The Nord shrugged, and glance over at Jorlif.

“What brings you here, then?” he asked.

“I tried to stop him from thieving,” Jorlif said, nodding at Lorentus. “And then they arrested us both.”

“Don’t give me that,” Lorentus said. “If you hadn’t tried to stop me then I could have got away and you could have gone on being poor and ugly or whatever it is you do in that dump.”

“Actually, my village is Hole,” Jorlif said. “Dump is about a mile up the road from there.”

“I don’t care,” Lorentus said as the cart bounced on a pothole in the road. “I just don’t care.”

“Huh,” the Nord grunted. “Typical Imperial ‘justice’. My name’s Ralof, by the way. Of the Stormcloaks.”

“Oh, I know you lot,” Jorlif said. “You’re the rebels, aren’t you?”

“Aye,” Ralof said. “You see him there?”

He nodded to the man sitting next to him with a gag across his mouth, wearing finely made clothes and a cloak of dark fur.

“Oh, your friend with the bondage fetish?” Lorentus asked.

“What?” Ralof the Stormcloak exclaimed, and the gagged individual managed an outraged; ‘Mmph!’

“He’s tied and gagged, isn’t he?” Lorentus said. “I mean, that’s what some people are into; I won’t judge. Takes all sorts, doesn’t it?”

“He’s tied and gagged,” Ralof said. “Because he has great power. He is Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, rightful High King of Skyrim and like you, my friend from the Village of Hole, he has fallen victim to the cruelties of Imperial ‘justice.’”

“Oh great, we had to share a cart with a member of Occupy Skyrim, didn’t we?” Lorentus muttered. “As if being taken for execution wasn’t bad enough already.”

He continued to gnaw with the determination of a hamster awaiting the death sentence imprisoned in a cell made of wood. Considering that he was awaiting a death sentence, the simile is quite an accurate one except for the fact that Lorentus was not, as a matter of fact, a hamster, nor was he kept in a cell made of wood; he was being carried in a cart. It’s important to clarify such things, I always feel.

Ralof ignored Lorentus’ bid for freedom and instead looked over at the last occupant of the cart.

“What got you here, then?” he asked.

“I was a thief,” the man said. “I stole a horse and made for the border, then the next thing I know I got caught in the ambush that grabbed you and your Jarl.”

“There we go, he’s messing things up for people now,” Lorentus said. “First he has a weird bondage fetish and now he’s getting some other random person killed. Some Jarl Ulfric is.”

“You take that back,” Ralof growled.

“Or what? We’re going to get executed anyway,” Lorentus replied. “Or are you going to glare me to death before we get there?”

The cart bounced on a pothole and he cursed as he bit his tongue.

“Wasn’t going anywhere anyway,” he muttered, as the cart began to make its way around a bend, down a craggy mountain road that typified Skyrim because whenever somebody wanted to build sensible roads that went through tunnels people always complained about losing the natural beauty of the place.

“Here we are,” Ralof said, glancing over his shoulder. “Helgen.”

Jorlif looked at it in pure amazement for a moment, at the watchtower that sat on one side of the main gate.

“Is that building made of stone?” he asked, utterly flabbergasted.

“Of course it is,” Ralof replied. “Huh, when I was younger I thought those walls kept us safe.”

“They’re rubbish walls,” Lorentus said, though it was clear his heart wasn’t in it.

“So much stone,” Jorlif murmured as the carts rattled towards the gate.

“Oh, this isn’t good,” the other thief said. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Face your death like a man,” Ralof said.

“You keep suggesting that!” Lorentus snapped. “That doesn’t solve our problem at all. That just means we have exactly the same problem but with a bit of a more positive attitude.”

“And that can make all the difference,” Jorlif said.

“Shut up, it’s all your fault I’m here,” Lorentus growled. “If I ever get the chance I’m going to murder you into millions of tiny pieces.”

The gates swung open as they approached, the citizens of Helgen who were outside and beginning to gather around another tower. There was a headsman’s block on the ground, a headsman in a headsman’s hood and holding a headsman’s axe with his headsman’s hand, watching the carts approach with his headsman’s eyes, processing the images with his headsman’s brain, which had them relayed to it by his headsman’s optic nerves.

They pulled to a halt, and Jorlif heard a child ask; “What’s going on there, daddy?”

“They’re executing criminals, son,” came the reply.

“Cool. Can I watch?”

Lorentus glanced at the others.

“Right, what do we do?” he asked. “I say we try jump the guards, use them slashing their swords and stuff at us to break the ropes, steal their weapons, kill them and then leg it.”

“That’s a stupid plan,” Jorlif said.

“And do you have a better one?” Lorentus asked.

“Yes,” Jorlif said. “Just sticking our heads on the block, because we’ll get the same end result only nobody will laugh at us!”

“Like I said, we face our death like true men and die with dignity,” Ralof declared.

“What’s with all this dying with dignity rubbish?” Lorentus said. “I don’t want to die with dignity, I want to die with lots of money, surrounded by beautiful women.”

“And I don’t think he’s ever lived with dignity in the first place,” Jorlif added.

“Aren’t you smart, all of a sudden?” Lorentus asked.

“Alright!” one of the guards called, pulling down a step on the cart and gesturing at the road below him. “Get out, come on.”

The prisoners rose as they began to disembark, hopping off one by one.

“Step towards the block when we call your name!” one of the soldiers, a redguard woman with the heavier armour of a captain called with a harsh tone.

“Empire loves their damn lists,” Ralof muttered resentfully.

“Well how else are they supposed to remember who to kill?” Jorlif asked. “I mean, by the looks of things, they’ve got a lot of people to cut the heads off in this cart. I mean, if I’ve got a lot stuff to do, I have to write it all down.”

“I…yes, I suppose,” Ralof conceded.

“You’re literate?” Lorentus asked. “Really?”

“Sod off.”

“Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm,” another Imperial soldier called, reading off his list.

“It’s been an honour, Jarl Ulfric,” Ralof said.

“I’ll never forget you, strange bondage man,” Lorentus added. “But that’s mainly because I won’t have the chance to. Otherwise my memory for names isn’t that good.”

“Ralof of Riverwood,” the soldier read out. The Nord simply nodded and took his place by the line that was forming by the headman’s block. “Lokir of Rorikstead.”

The horse thief, who had been looking decidedly nervous for reasons that would be obvious for anyone who possessed an intellectual capacity greater than that of a banana, came to the conclusion that enough was enough. Glancing left and right, he broke into a run with a cry of; “No, you won’t get me!”

He managed to burst past the captain, making his way down the road at a dead sprint while she shouted; “Archers!”

He managed to make it halfway to the gates before an arrow hit him. Disappointingly, it took him in the neck, not the knee.

“Aw, I like it when they cut their heads off,” a child’s voice complained from the crowd behind them.

“Well that was a stupid plan,” Lorentus remarked.

“That was basically your plan,” Jorlif replied.

Lorentus looked over his shoulder at the Nord.

“You know,” he said. “You’re probably the last person I want to spend my final minutes on Nirn with.”

“Yeah, well I liked Ralof more,” Jorlif replied. “And I wish I hadn’t tried to stop you.”

“Think we can both agree on that,” Lorentus remarked.

“Line up by the block!” a guard ordered, and the two complied.

The first prisoner was lead up to the headsman’s block and laid down upon it. The headsman raised his axe, and Lorentus grinned.

“Least we get some entertainment,” he said.

“What is wrong with you?” Jorlif asked.

The execution was a good, clean slice that got a cheer from the crowd. The headsman waved at them in acknowledgement as the body was carried away, and a balding old man shouted out; “I call his hair!”, which got a laugh.

“They’re all having a good time,” Lorentus pointed out. “Besides, it’s a good day out for the family; bring the kids, terrorise them into behaving by saying that’s what’ll happen if they don’t do what you tell them. Great parenting, that.”

“Yeah,” Jorlif said, momentarily lost in nostalgia as he recalled the first execution he had attended. “But still, that wasn’t for our execution.”

“You!” the captain called out. “The Nord in the rags. Step up to the block.”

“Hah!” Lorentus hissed after him. “You get to get killed first. I win!”

“How do you win?”

“Because I get to see you die first.”

Jorlif was pushed onto the block, laid flat as the headsman raised his axe. In the distance, there was an echo of some kind, a deep shriek or roar that rang faint out across the town.

“What was that?” an Imperial legionnaire asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” the captain said. “Continue with the execution.”

“But it might be important!” the legionnaire protested. “I say that we use that as a reason to pointlessly delay the execution for a few moments in order to see if something dramatic happens.”

“No,” the captain replied. “We’re carrying on with the execution! Now let’s go!”

“Oh, more of that?” the soldier asked.

“More of what?” the captain said.

“All this negative reinforcement. It’s not good leadership, you know. You could have just said that we didn’t have time for it or something. There was no need to just steamroller over me like that, that’s bad leadership. You need to communicate with the people under you command. Build a bond with your troops based on trust.”

“This conversation is pointless. Continue the-”

“See! There you go again! And you can’t take constructive criticism either. You just take offence at it and ignore it.”

“Trooper, General Tullius is right there.”

“Oh, I see how it is! When I raise a valid point that you don’t want to listen to, you just ignore it. That’s a blatant appeal to authority, if I ever saw one. Honestly, the state of middle management in the Empire these days is-”

Whatever his opinion on middle management happened to be was left unheard, for at that moment a dragon appeared and everything went to hell.

[McBadgere]

If I wasn't on the PS3 currently I'd have far more to say.

But that was damned beautiful! I hardly stopped laughing the whole way through!

Sooooo clever...Damn you!

Absolutely well done that man.

Nice one!

*Stands to make noise of an ovation all on his own*

p.s. Wish I was on me comp. Sorry. ...

[haute ecole rider]

Umm, no I haven't played Skyrim. However I recognized the setting as soon as I read this: Dragonbored. Guess I don't need to play the game to guess at the story line.

That said, I am really enjoying the whole thing. The rambling, train-of-thought narrative is quite funny, especially when that fourth wall is broken. Laughed at the rock remark (as someone who literally grew up on top of a rock pile, I can say with confidence that rocks are overrated), the tea reference, the assailant/assailee/wassailer label, spluttered at the gimp discussion (I really must tell the story of the veterinarian and the gimp one of these days), execution as family entertainment and boogeyman all in one, and the leadership lesson (BTW, did you happen to take the same leadership class I did a few months ago?).

I will try to keep up with this story just to take in more of the satire that positively drips from every word.

[hazmick]

Oh I'm going to enjoy this story There's not enough Skyrim fan fiction in the world these days

[Colonel Mustard]

McBadgere: *Bows to the applause, tipping top hat*

And I understand if you're on the PS3. I'll wait for when you're on your PC fo when you wish to gush in full.

HER: You haven't played Skyrim? Shun the unbeliever. Shuuuuun...

Seriously though, you may get lost. A fair amount of the humour is reliant on knowing Skyrim, I'm afraid. We'll see how it goes. And Jorlif would strongly disagree with you on the rock point. Rocks are amazing. And to think they had a whole building made of them...

Didn't take that leadership course of yours, though. The Legionary might ahve, though. They should've put him in charge there; that would have changed things.

hazmik: Cheers! And you're right, we need more Skyrim pieces around. Then again, I think we're in the Oblivion Cycle of fanfiction at the moment, and the TES community, by and large, won't really hit the Skyrim phase for another few years if the Oblviions one is anything to go by, so y'know. Give it time.

[King Coin]

The rambling narration is funny, though a tad over done in places. I skipped a couple of paragraphs that looked to have been over-rambled. Otherwise, very enjoyable. I love the crazy characters.

[Zalphon]

I am definitely enjoying this. Your parodying of Occupy <Blank> was quite funny

[mALX]

He managed to make it halfway to the gates before an arrow hit him. Disappointingly, it took him in the neck, not the knee.

ROFL !!

I knew this had to be funny from the title, but until he got into the cart it was a pretty serious beginning.

Aside from the asides, (ha!) this promises to be a "Helena-ish" look at Skyrim! I loved the "crime" that got him in the cart, can't beat that for taking the mystery out of what you did to get beheaded, lol. Great Write! Glad to see you posting again !!

[McBadgere]

The rambling narration is funny, though a tad over done in places. I skipped a couple of paragraphs that looked to have been over-rambled

I totally disagree and believe that there can be no such thing as over-rambled!!...

Oh, my God this is funny... ...

There really is just too much in it to single out...

Oh, alright...Hearing the voice of Ralof saying those lines...The going-off-on-a-tangent-y-ness of some of it just cracked me up...And I never felt like it distracted from the piece as I'm pretty sure that the going-off-on-a-tangent-y-ness was meant to be there to add to the whole, therefore, it worked...

The bit that made me pause to stop frothing at the mouth from laughing so hard was the idea that the cart was also going to be executed too!!!...(for reasons to complicated to go into)... ...

Nah, I'll just wind up getting all creepy-fangirl about it...Save it Robert...Save it.. ...

Gushy enough? ...Sooo brilliant mate...

More importantly...So clever...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds some more*...

[liliandra nadiar]

This is awesome. *still giggling over the cart sentenced for treason*

[Colonel Mustard]

KC: To be honest, a large chunk of the humour is in the rambling narration, though it's more slow-burning stuff, really, instead of direct punchline-fuelled humour. I can appreciate that it isn't everyone's cup of tea, however (as evidenced by the fact that McBadgere claims to have quite enjoyed it). I'll see what I can do to get a good middle ground going, and now that they're introduced much of the comedy is going to be character driven, worry not!

mALX: Y'know, when I started writing this, I promised myself I wouldn't do any 'arrow to the knee' jokes. This just goes to show how incredibly pathetic my willpower is...

In any case, cheers! The beginning part was more meant to be a dryer humour and less overtly funny, though I wasn't really going for serious, but hey, I'll see how it goes for later chapters. Perhaps I can educate you uncouth Yanks of the forum on the subtle nuances of British humour, wot wot!

Also, really got to ask, what do you mean by 'Helena-ish'? I've never heard that term used before and thus have no idea what you mean.

Zalphon: Thanks! Hope you enjoy the rest!

McB: Blimey, you actually have done a second post. Wasn't honestly expecting you to...

In any case, thank you! Glad you enjoy it and I appreciate the reveiw.

Liliandra: Cheers! That Cart seems to be a popular one, doesn't it? Probably going to end up having it's own spinoff at this rate...

[Grits]

This is great fun, Mustard! I particularly enjoyed the bickering in the cart. I’ll be watching for more.

[ghastley]

While I don't have Skyrim, and therefore would not normally comment on FF about it, I just have to put in my vote for a Cart spinoff. It's clearly the rising star of this story, and deserves the limelight.

[Colonel Mustard]

*Begins to ponder about how in hell's name he can write a story about an entirely inanimate object*

[Fiach]

"“Oh, I see how it is! When I raise a valid point that you don’t want to listen to, you just ignore it. That’s a blatant appeal to authority, if I ever saw one. Honestly, the state of middle management in the Empire these days is-”"

This reminds me a lot of something that Monty Python would think up xD
Great story, Colonel, can't wait to read more

[Colonel Mustard]

""Oh, I see how it is! When I raise a valid point that you don't want to listen to, you just ignore it. That's a blatant appeal to authority, if I ever saw one. Honestly, the state of middle management in the Empire these days is-""

This reminds me a lot of something that Monty Python would think up xD
Great story, Colonel, can't wait to read more

I'll admit, the Pythons were a great source of inspiration for this story, amongst many other comedy greats (Blackadder, Pratchett, Red vs Blue before it got all serious and dramatic...), so I can see whey you spotted that. Thanks!

[mALX]

mALX:
Also, really got to ask, what do you mean by 'Helena-ish'? I've never heard that term used before and thus have no idea what you mean.

Helena =

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4498


And Fiach said it right, once he got into the cart there was def a Monty Python feel to it (probably the name I was searching for and came up with Helena, lol).

[Colonel Mustard]

mALX:
Also, really got to ask, what do you mean by 'Helena-ish'? I've never heard that term used before and thus have no idea what you mean.

Helena =

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4498


And Fiach said it right, once he got into the cart there was def a Monty Python feel to it (probably the name I was searching for and came up with Helena, lol).

Ah, right. Never read that before, so hadn't the faintest on what you were talking about.

[mALX]

mALX:
Also, really got to ask, what do you mean by 'Helena-ish'? I've never heard that term used before and thus have no idea what you mean.

Helena =

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4498


And Fiach said it right, once he got into the cart there was def a Monty Python feel to it (probably the name I was searching for and came up with Helena, lol).

Ah, right. Never read that before, so hadn't the faintest on what you were talking about.

It was much more a Python feel than Helena, I plead the middle of the night and couldn't think, lol.

[Colonel Mustard]

Chapter 2-Spelunking, Spiders and Dragon Baiting “Great eight above, what do we do? What do we do?”

“For a start, it would help if you stopped panicking,” Ralof said to Lorentus as he hopped up and down on the spot, wringing his hair.

“WHAT DO WE DO?! I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!!”

“We’re getting out of here.”

“THERE IS A DRAGON OUT THERE! A DRAGON! A BIG, FIRE BREATHING DRAGON THAT’S EATING EVERYONE AND SOMEHOW FLYING ABOUT IN COMPLETE DEFIANCE OF THE LAWS OF PHYSICS!! IT CAN BREAK PHYSICS! HOW DO WE STOP SOMETHING THAT CAN BREAK PHYSICS!! WHY DO YOU WANT TO GO BACK OUT THERE?!”

“We can get out of here through the rest of the castle!” Ralof snapped. “There’s a whole load of caves underneath it, we can escape through those.”

Lorentus paused.

“So we don’t have to go back out there?” he asked.

“No.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say so?”

Ralof merely shook his head.

“Never mind,” he said, casting around the large, circular room that they had fled into. There was a dead Stormcloak lying slumped against a wall, and the Nord nodded at the body. “Might as well take Gunjar’s things, seeing as he won’t need them any more.”

“I would,” Lorentus said. “But I’ve still got these ropes on.” He waved his hands to prove his point. “Right now all I can really do is miniature jazz hands at people.”

“Right, of course,” Ralof said. “I suppose freeing the person who has already proven himself to be a sociopath with borderline psychotic tendencies is a good idea, isn’t it?”

“Oy, less snarking, more cutting these ropes off,” Lorentus said, waving his hands. “Or I’ll…I’ll jazz hands you.”

He waved them again, and added; “Grr.”

There was a pause as Ralof stared at him, expression unreadable.

“What?” Lorentus asked.

“I’m just considering leaving you tied up,” the Nord said. “It looks like it’ll be entertaining.”

“What? You can’t bring me along to a fight with my hands tied just because it would be funny.”

“I can’t help but feel that you’d do that to me if we were in each other’s shoes,” Ralof pointed out.

“Well yes, but that’s different. I’m not the one tied up in that scenario!”

“And you see no moral dissonance in that?”

“Moral what-now?”

“Gods give me strength.”

There was the sound of footsteps and distant conversation, and Ralof glanced at Lorentus.

“Get into cover,” he hissed. “We can ambush them.”

“Ambush them? How am I supposed to-”

“Shut up!”

Lorentus ducked into the shadows on one side of the doorway, Ralof on the other, the Nord drawing his axe. There was the sound of a chain being pulled and the grill that served as the doorway clanked upwards. A pair of Nords hurried through, one of them wearing the armour of a Legionary, the other in a set of hastily donned leather armour.

“Jazz hands!” Lorentus yelled as he leapt from the shadows. “Fear the jazz hands!”

The two gave a yell of shock and leapt back, weapons drawn. Ralof cursed as he stood up.

“What kind of ambush is that?” he asked.

“An ambush with jazz hands,” Lorentus said, waving them at the two Nords.

“Hold on a minute,” one of them said. “Ralof? Is that you?”

“Jorlif,” Ralof said. “By the Nine, you’re alive!”

He glanced at the Legionary.

“What’s he doing here?” he asked.

“Well, there was a dragon flying about outside and I didn’t really have time to be choosy about who I got to cover in the keep with,” Jorlif said. “And Hadvar here was holding a door open for me, so I legged it in.”

“Wait, you all know each other?” Hadvar asked.

“Yeah,” Lorentus said. “We were all execution budgies together.”

“What?”

“Execution buddies, even. Shut up.”

He waved his hands at them again, and raised an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you going to recoil in horror?” he asked. “You did just a minute ago.”

“We were ambushed by somebody from the shadows yelling ‘jazz hands’ at us when we were expecting a fight,” Hadvar said. “Of course you made us jump.”

“Oh,” Lorentus said. “So I haven’t manage weaponise waving at people, then?”

“That is…no,” Ralof said. “Of course you damn well haven’t.”

“Gods damn it.”

“Sorry,” Jorlif said. “But as interesting as this conversation is, shouldn’t we leave before the massive dragon outside burns the place down and kills us all?”

“Beefcake has a point,” Lorentus added. “Also, can somebody cut me loose.”

“No,” Ralof said.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re clearly a complete lunatic!”

“Oh come on, you’ve been fine with Hadvar being here, and you’re a damn Stormcloak,” Lorentus said. “You two should be at each other’s throats.”

Quiet fell across the group as Hadvar and Ralof looked at one another.

“You’re a Stormcloak?” Hadvar asked.

“And you look like a Legionary,” Ralof said.

“Well this is awkward,” Lorentus remarked.

“Shut up,” the other three chorused.

“Anyway,” Jorlif said. “We need to get out of here. We can focus on who’s one whose side later. I mean, honestly, we’ve spent about ten minutes standing around in this antechamber thing just talking. With a dragon outside. You’d almost think we had no sense of urgency in this sort of situation at all.”

“He’s got a point,” Ralof conceded with a nod.

“Agreed,” Hadvar said. “Let’s go.”

“Can I be cut loose?” Lorentus asked.

“No,” Jorlif replied. “No you can’t.”

They hurried down into the depths of Castle Helgen, a not-so byzantine sprawl of passages that all seemed to lead downwards underground, in a manner that would seem quite bizarre to those unfamiliar with the history of the castle. It was, in fact, quite bizarre, as the upper levels of Castle Helgen that were above ground were simply an empty dummy building that was supposed to draw the attention of enemies away from the underground passages by placing a large and incredibly noticeable building on top of them. If you are, quite understandably, wondering why on earth that would be done, then it should be noted out that its architect, Johannsson the Bloody Stupid, earned his name for a very good reason; he was a man who, when it came to architecture pushed the envelope so far and so violently that it embedded itself in the wall of the sorting office.

The combat that they had found themselves engaged in was a confusing and ultimately baffling affair, legionaries seeing Ralof as a foe and Stormcloaks wanting to murder Hadvar, and both of them trying to kill Jorlif and Lorentus for whatever reason it was. Considering that both of them touted themselves as keepers of law and order, it was rather strange that they would attack a pair of complete nobodies, but in the general confusion of things it might have been understandable. It certainly didn’t help that Lorentus had got bored while they were making their way through a cellar and had taken to yelling “jazz hands!” at everybody they came across. After all, if some maniac threatened me with jazz hands, then I’d certainly act to defend myself were I armed with a sword. They would quite clearly be completely loopy.

The small group that Jorlif seemed to have found himself in charge of (though, considering their composition was a Stormcloak, an Imperial Legionary and Lorentus, a more accurate term might be ‘herding’) finished the fight they had been taking part in, a vicious brawl in a large room bisected by a small stream that ran through its centre. Jorlif panted as he rested on the pommel of his newly liberated claymore, tip resting on the floor as he wiped the sweat that had gathered on the ground.

“Everybody alright?” he asked.

“Fine,” Hadvar said.

“Alright,” Ralof added.

“I’m good too, for a person with his hands tied in the middle of a fight,” Lorentus added, with a dead Stormcloak at his feet. “Really appreciated you all keeping an eye on me there. Was doing just fine.”

“Well so much for that plan for getting rid of him,” Hadvar remarked to Ralof.

“Lorentus, how did you kill that Stormcloak?” Jorlif asked.

“Jazz hands.”

“Jazz hands?” Jorlif asked.

“Yeah. I used jazz hands on him. Killed him.”

“I…I won’t ask,” Jorlif said. “I’m not sure my sanity would hold up if you actually explained that to me.”

“His didn’t hold up, certainly,” Lorentus said, prodding the Stormcloak with his foot. “Think that’s why he died.”

There was silence.

“What?”

“I just don’t want to think about that, that’s all,” Jorlif said, shaking his head. He gestured towards a passageway that led out of the cave. “Come on, we should get going. I think I’ve had enough of caves and dungeons already.”

Ralof frowned.

“There a problem, Stormcloak?” Hadvar asked.

“I don’t know,” Ralof said. “I just have the strangest feeling that there should be someone nodding knowingly at that comment.”

“Don’t be silly,” Lorentus said as they made their way to the corridor. “Why on earth should somebody nod knowingly? I mean, that would imply some kind of ironic foreshadowing.”

“He has a point,” Jorlif said as he pulled a lever that sent a drawbridge blocking their way down to the ground the room beyond was a platform of paved stone that opened onto a natural cave. “I mean, what on earth would that foreshadow?”

“Just forget it,” Ralof said as they descended into the cave itself, splashing across the stream that ran along it.

They made their way through several passages of the natural network of caves that ran underneath of Helgen Keep and stopped only when they encountered a particularly large cavern. It was decorated by a great number of spiderwebs, and also inhabited by a great number of spiders, as is the usual case when lots of spiderwebs are present. To make things worse, they were not the usual small things one finds in the tub; these things were the size of a large dog, with fangs large enough to make short work of just about any armour and more eyes than anything should have. In short, they were pretty much your average spider if you happened to live in Australia.

Jorlif, Hadvar and Ralof burst into action and, in a flurry of violence that was really rather shocking, dealt with the spiders in short order (this is a comedy piece. Detailed and serious fight scenes aren’t really that funny). In just a few short minutes, the oversized arachnids were dispatched, and the combat came to a lull as the three Nords watched the final spider chase Lorentus around the cave.

“Help!” the Imperial wailed as it pursued him. “Jazz hands don’t work on it and it has too many eyes!”

“Should we do something?” Hadvar asked.

“Not for a few more minutes,” Ralof said as Lorentus continued to try and flee, running around the cave and whimpering in the way only a man being chased by a giant spider could whimper. “This is entertaining.”

The spider hissed as it pursued Lorentus, which roughly translated as; ‘Please wait, I only wish to embrace you as a friend.’ Lorentus, unable to understand, yelled back at it; “Bugger off, you bloody thing!”

‘Why are you running away? I mean you no harm.’

“Why aren’t you idiots killing this thing?”

‘Please stop fleeing. I only wish to be loved.’

“Aaargh!”

After a few more moments of fleeing, Lorentus tripped on a web and toppled to the floor. He yelled as the spider clambered over him with a hiss of ‘Yay! Hugs!’, trying to kick it away. The spider’s attempt to embrace him was cut short as Jorlif’s claymore sliced into its head, sending yellow ichor dripping over Lorentus before the blade flicked the spider away.

“That,” Lorentus said as he got to his feet, looking over the noisome substance that had splattered down his shirt. “Is probably the second most disgusting substance I’ve ever had on my clothes.”

“The second most?” Jorlif said.

“Don’t ask. Honestly, don’t.”

“Not sure I want to.”

Jorlif hauled Lorentus to his feet, the Imperial nodding his thanks, and readied his claymore as he headed towards the next section of the tunnel. It twisted a few times, but soon enough they found themselves in another large cavern. Jorlif went in first, crossing the stream that ran across it, and then jumped behind a stalagmite with a hissed curse of; “Gods almighty!”

“What is it?” Ralof asked.

“A bear,” Jorlif replied. “Just over there, it’s a bear.”

“There’s a bear?” Hadvar said. “Over there, a bear?”

“A bear? Right there, a bear?” Ralof added.

“There’s a bear, right there,” Jorlif confirmed.

“Alright, I get it that there’s a bear right there,” Lorentus said. “Let’s just shut up and sneak around the damn thing before it mauls and eats us.”

“Agreed,” the others chorused.

They crouched low, skirting the edge of the cave. Halfway across, Lorentus suddenly piped up; “You know, if I had a bow, I reckon I could snipe that thing from here.”

“Lorentus,” Jorlif said. “It’s a bear. You don’t shoot bears, because if you do, the bear kills you. And besides that, nobody wants to give you a weapon, or untie your hands.”

“Oh come on, you’re going to have to do it eventually,” Lorentus complained. “I can’t around with my hands tied up forever.”

“Not now,” Hadvar said. “There’s a bear right there.”

“I. Bloody. Know,” Lorentus hissed back as they continued on their way.

The small party continued on their way, Ralof occasionally prodding Lorentus in the back to make sure he moved, getting out of the bear’s reach and finally reaching a cave entrance that was lined with snow for a reason none of them could explain.

“You realise,” Lorentus said as they stepped out into the otherwise temperate outdoors. “That that cave back there was basically one massive back door to the castle, right? I mean, the entire thing we went through basically seemed to be one massive corridor that lead right up to Helgen. Did nobody ever think to just block this cave down?”

“There was that drawbridge that could only be opened from the inside,” Hadvar pointed out.

“Right, because that problem couldn’t be solved by a bit of burning oil and a few planks, yeah,” Lorentus replied. “Of course, seeing as the entire place has been dragoned now, I guess that that’s all a bit academic, but still.”

“Yeah, speaking of dragons,” Ralof said, looking skywards. “We might want to get into cover.”

Overhead, with a beat of massive wings, the dark forbidding shape of Helgen’s destroyer swept, high up in the sky. Ralof, Jorlif and Hadvar ducked into cover, and Jorlif glanced back at Lorentus.

“What are you doing?!” he asked.

“Oh, it’s miles away,” Lorentus replied. “Why are you bothering to hide? It’s not as if it can see us.”

“It’s a dragon! Do you want to attract its attention?” Jorlif pointed out.

“I’m saying that attracting its attention isn’t possible,” Lorentus replied as the massive flying lizard approached a mountain topped with a structure of hollow archways and was about to disappear behind the hill. “Look. OY! OY YOU, YOU FAT-ARSED LUMP OF SCALES! LOOK OVER HERE! I’M RIGHT HERE! BET YOU CAN’T HEAR ME!”

There was a roar, and the dragon turned in midair back towards them.

“Okay, it can,” Lorentus noted, sprinting for cover behind a rock.

“You are such a bloody idiot,” Jorlif remarked from next to him as they tried to shrink down from it.

“I was just conducting an experiment,” Lorentus replied. “To see if dragons could hear people shouting at it over a long distance. That’s just science.”

“Science doesn’t involve yelling at dragons,” Jorlif said as the dragon swept overhead.

“Well then what does it involve?” Lorentus shot back. The dragon completed its circle and began to head back the way it came.

“Test tubes and lab coats and stuff,” Jorlif said. “Not yelling at dragons.”

“Yeah, it also involves double checking your experiments to get rid of erroneous results,” Lorentus replied. He stood up and took a deep breath, but got no further before Jorlif clamped a hand around his mouth.

“Don’t worry,” he said, glancing at Ralof who had drawn his axe. “I’ve got it. Besides, I’m not sure an axe would do much good against a dragon.”

“That axe wasn’t for the dragon,” Ralof replied with a glance at Lorentus.

After a few more moments spent making sure that the threat was now departed, the small group followed the path down to Riverwood, journey interrupted only by a pack of wolves who were quickly dealt with through the medium of swords, an axe and Lorentus’ debatably useful employment of jazz hands. Not long afterwards they made their way through the small gate that segregated Riverwood from the rest of the world.

“This is a bit of dump, isn’t it?” Lorentus said as he looked at the village, arranged as it was along the side of the main road with a single street branching off from that.

“Are you going to say that about everywhere we come across?” Jorlif asked.

“I won’t if I like them.” Lorentus replied.

“And what would make you like them?”

“Probably…I don’t know, maybe if they were made of diamond? Had streams of booze in the street and a population of lonely, sexually frustrated supermodels?”

“You’re a man of low standards, aren’t you?”

“Whatever,” Lorentus said, turning to Hadvar and Ralof. “So we got away from the dragon; what’s the plan now?”

“First of all, I should probably check back with General Tullius in Solitude,” Hadvar said. “As for you two, I need you to go to Whiterun and warn Jarl Balgruf about the dragon threat; Riverwood will need some extra guards if there are dragons abroad.”

“I should probably do the same with Jarl Ulfric,” Ralof said. “Perhaps check on my folks, while I’m here.”

“You have family here?” Hadvar asked.

“Yeah, they work the mill,” Ralof said, nodding to the mill by the river.

“Oh,” Hadvar said. “Mine run the blacksmith’s, just next door.”

There was a long silence.

“This wonderfully awkward, isn’t it?” Lorentus piped up.

“Shut up Lorentus,” Jorlif said. “Right, I don’t mind reporting to this Jarl about the dragons, seeing as somebody has to, but why do I also have to drag Lorentus around with me as well?”

“Well, let me put it this way,” Ralof said. “Do you want him running around the place without any supervision?”

Jorlif looked at Lorentus, who was now engaged with giving a chicken the evil eye.

“You make a compelling argument,” he said. “Alright, you have a deal; you go talk to your bosses, we’ll get some guards over here in Riverwood. Lorentus!”

“Yeah?” the Imperial asked, breaking off his staring match with the chicken.

“You’re coming with me,” Jorlif said. “Hold out your hands, will you? I need to cut those ropes off.”

“Sure,” Lorentus said, doing as asked. “About bloody time, too. You got a dagger for that.”

Jorlif’s claymore sang as it was drawn from the scabbard he had taken for it and sliced through the ropes. They fluttered on the ground, and Lorentus stared at his now unbound wrists in quiet disbelief.

“I have some pretty important veins in those, you know,” he said after a moment. “Having a claymore lodged in one of them wouldn’t be very good for me.”

“Oh stop complaining,” Jorlif said. “You’re fine.”

“Hmph,” Lorentus said. “Well if we’re going to be going to Whiterun I’m going to need some things, first. Bow and armour and whatnot. Not exactly safe to be running around the place without any weapons, after all.”

“I guess not,” Jorlif said. “Well, I’ve got a whole load of stolen weapons and armour and stuff; we’ll find a trader and get you something useful.”

“You mean like a daedric bow or something?” Lorentus asked.

“Something useful, not something I’ll have to sell my own kidneys to afford,” Jorlif replied. He saw the look Lorentus was giving him, and added; “No, you’re not going to sell my kidneys.”

“Dammit,” Lorentus muttered. “You’re no fun.”

Jorlif simply shook his head. He had a feeling that it was going to be a long trip to Whiterun.