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> The stories so far, Edited and ready to roll.
Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 05:55 PM
Post #21


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Jokes & Riddles

Written by Nevral Ter (Oni_Tora_)


A Compilation of Jokes and Racial Phrases
by Nevral Ter


I have traveled a lot in my life, and I have encountered many different types of people. With these meetings, I have heard racial comments, many of which were made at me. I have written down some of the less rude of these. I in no way intend to offend anyone.

What do you call a sober Nord?

Hung-over
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You‘re in more trouble than a Kahjiit in a Dunmer fur company!”
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What do you call an Orc in a tree?

Stuck
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Why did the Orc have to walk?

He broke his horse
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What do you call a Bosmer with nice belongings?

A thief
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Why wasn’t the Orc hungry?

He had just visited a farm
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Why didn’t the Dunmer have any slaves?

He was one
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Why did the Nord leave the bar?

He was being escorted out.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“You’re working harder than an Argonian on a plantation!”
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 05:57 PM
Post #22


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Miscellaneous Text

Written by Vorian (Perseus)


72 Lessons of Leadership
Written by Vorian (Allegedly a disciple of Sotha Sil)


A dumb friend is worse than a cunning foe.

A realm, built on power, cannot call upon the love and loyalty that people give to to a regime of ideas and beauty. Enhance your realm with beauty and culture.

A secret is worth most when kept secret. If it remains secret, it needs no evidence to be proved.

A stone is heavy. Sand even more so. But the wrath of a fool is much heavier.

A surplus of knowledge never leads to simple decisions.

All is ruled by four things: the teachings of the wise, the justice of the great, the prayers of the just and the courage of the brave.

Always expecting danger means always being prepared. Only those that are prepared may expect to survive.

An enemy you admire easily strikes fear into your heart.

Any law turned absolute is absolutely invalid.

As with many dishes, revenge is at its best when taken slowly after much preparation.

Bravery is the choice between being a coward for a minute or dead hero forever.

Conquerors despise the conquered because they allowed themselves to be defeated.

Diplomats are chosen for their ability to lie.

Enemies strengthen you. Allies weaken you.

Even the poorest can be rich of loyalty. Loyalty paid through bribery and wages is empty and weak. Loyalty that comes from the heart is stronger than adamantium and more valuable than diamonds.

Every individual is part of a whole.

Every ruler inevitably becomes responsible for his subjects.

Everyone is a possible enemy. Every place a possible battlefield.

Expect the unexpected, but only the unexpected that will take place.

Followers should always consider their leader greater than themselves, why else would they follow?

Good leadership is mostly invisible. If everything goes well, no one will notice the leaders' work. That's why he must give his subjects something to cheer about, something to discuss, something to remember.

History has rarely been kind to those that deserved punishment.

History shows the undeniable. Unfortunately, it shows it too late.

Honor cannot be bought.

Hope is the most powerful weapon the trampled have, though it is the greatest enemy of those that face destruction.

Humiliation is never forgotten.

If things went well and got better, it would be better if things went well again.

If you surrender, you have lost. If you try, regardless of the odds, you at least succeeded in trying.

It is hard to make power beloved. That is the dilemma of every ruler.

It is no secret that we all carry secrets. Though they are not all as secret as we might want them to be.

It's true that someone may become rich by practicing evil. But the power of truth and justice is that they last.

Knowing what you are supposed to do is never enough.

Lack of motion is often mistaken for peace.

Law surpresses the weak and supports the strong.

Leaders generally are fortunate so few of their subjects realize he rules by their approval.

Leaders often do not accept the practical use of imagination and original, new ideas, until it is brought to them by bloody hands.

Memory and history are two sides of the same coin. Over time however, history will turn to a more positive impression of what happened. Memory however has the painful task of preserving the worst aspects.

Military victories mean nothing, unless they represent the wishes of the people. A ruler only exists to unfold these wishes. He executes the will of the people, or will not rule for long.

One cannot hide from history. Or one's nature.

One moment of incapacity can be fatal.

One of the responsibilities of government is punishment. But only if the victim asks for it.

One uses power by holding her loosely. Use it too forcefully and you will fall to it and become its victim.

Only a fool leaves behind witnesses.

Only one form of science exists to man. Dissatisfaction.

Organisational structure is vital to the success of a movement. It is also the first target to be attacked.

Pay your spies well. One good spy is worth more than a thousand soldiers.

Peace is not always the same as stability. Stability is not always harmonic and it is never far from chaos.

Politics is the art of appearing as honost as possible and still being able to hide a great deal.

Power is the least stable goal that can be reached. Belief and power excommunicate eachother.

Renewing and daring actions bring forth heroes. Thoughtlessly following dated rules brings forth only politicians.

Secrets are an important side of power. An effective leader spreads them to control his people.

Some lies are easier to believe than the truth.

Sometimes, doing something wrong is better than doing nothing at all.

Speak the truth, for that is much easier and often the most powerful argument.

Storms cause storms. Revenge causes revenge. War causes war.

Support strength, never weakness.

The enemy that is to be feared most is the one that looks like a friend.

The first fight that cannot be won has yet to take place.

The natural fate of power is fractionation.

The world was shaped by mistakes, accidents and chaos. And so it will be destroyed.

The worst protection is trust. The best protection is suspicion.

There are weapons hands cannot hold. They can only be wielded by the mind.

There is no way to share information without judgement.

Those confronted with a need to act, always have different possibilities. As long as the job gets done.

Those in power inevitably try to turn all new knowledge to their wishes. But knowledge cannot have any wishes. Neither in the past nor in the present.

Truth is a chameleon.

We do what we must. To hell with friendship and trust. We do what we must.

What is a man other than a memory for those that follow him?

What is shown is likely of less importance than all that remains hidden.

What senses do we miss that we cannot see or hear the other world everywhere around us?

When facing a choice, not choosing is just another choice.

When one is exercising vengeance, one must enjoy all moments of expectation because the actual performance usually differs greatly from the original plan.
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 05:58 PM
Post #23


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Miscellaneous Text

Written by Vorian (Perseus)


72 Lessons of Life
Written by Vorian (allegedly a disciple of Sotha Sil)

A life is nothing without a goal. Sometimes a goal becomes a man's whole life. But what if that goal is reached? O poor man, then what?

A man can fight his greatest enemy, make the longest journey, survive the severest of injuries, and still be helpless in the arms of the woman he loves.

A man is but a stone cast in a pond. And if a man is but a stone, all of his works cannot be more.

A man, who continues to sneak up on a beast in a place where there is none, can forever wait for results. Persistence while searching is not enough.

A mirror will never see itself.

A process cannot be understood by stopping it. It must be experienced in motion to have meaning.

Behold, o sentient being. You can create life. You take life. But see, you have no choice but to accept life. Therein lies your greatest strength and greatest weakness.

Dreams are as simple or complicated as the dreamer.

Each road that limits future possibilities can become a deadly trap. Men do not merely search their way through a maze, they gaze at a wide horizon full of unique possibilities.

Even the innocent carry their guilt. No one comes through life without paying in some way.

Every man dreams of the future, but it is not shown to us all.

Every path that is followed to its ending leads nowhere. One must climb a mountain far enough to see that it is a mountain, far enough to see where other mountains are. From the top of a mountain you cannot see the mountain.

Everything may seem to be simple, as long as it is still a dream.

Exploring is dangerous. But so is life. Someone unwilling to take risks, will never truly learn, will never grow and never really live.

Facts mean nothing when they are contradicted by phenomena. Never underestimate the power of impression rather than reality.

Fate and hope speak the same language.

Fear guides like a blind man with a stick. With his stick however he avoids holes in the ground.

Four things cannot be hidden: Love, smoke, a pillar of fire, and a man walking through the plains.

Going back the way you came is just another way of moving forward.

Hate is as dangerous a feeling as love. The capacity for one means capability to the other.

How easily can sadness turn to rage and resentment find its roots.

If one can accept his sins, he can live with them. If he cannot, he will suffer unbearable consequences.

If the center of the storm does not seem to move, you are on its path.

If you have examined your fears, they will become less frightening. A part of our bravery comes from gaining knowledge.

If you let go of a ladder, you may fall upwards.

Imperfection can, when lit correctly, be extremely valuable. This is because nothing in the universe is coincidental.

Infinity lures us as a shining ray in the night and blinds us to the abundance it can unleash on the finite.

Is it good to be human or more human to be evil?

It takes a desperate, lonely sort of courage to challenge accepted insights on which society rests.

Look within yourself, and you will see the universe.

Love is the highest reachable goal for all. It is an emotion that captures the full depth of heart, soul, and spirit.

Luck travels everywhere.

Miracles and coincidence are side effects of life and reality.

Nature makes its mistakes. Good and evil are human categories.

Never be in company of those you would not want to die with.

Never underestimate the ability of the mind to believe what it wishes. No matter how the facts differ.

Nothing exists without its opposite.

One cannot drink from a mirage, though one can drown in one.

One looks at the survivors and learns of them.

Paradise on the right, hell on the left and an angel of death behind me.

Reality is always one step ahead of logic.

Rule out the impossible. What remains is the truth.

Sadness travels everywhere.

Specific knowledge can be a terrible disadvantage. If you take it too far, you end up on a road you can no longer explain.

Standing on the top of the mountain will not help you find your feet.

Staying alive is not equal to living.

The best way to keep a secret is to let one believe he already knows the answer.

The day you stop learning, you will die.

The ego is no more than a piece of consciousness that floats in an ocean of darkness. We ourselves are the mystery.

The goal of reasoning is changing the nature of truth.

The greatest problems in life cannot be solved. One can only grow beyond them.

The greatest question in life is: Who am I?

The haughty only build castle walls in which they can hide their doubt and fear.

The highest function of science is understanding consequences.

The individual is always shocked discovering its mortality.

The key to discovering is imagination.

The less we know, the longer the explanation.

The mystery of life is no problem to solve but a reality to experience.

The power to learn is a talent. The ability to learn is a skill. The willingness to learn is a choice.

The ultimate question: Why does life exist? The answer: For life's sake.

The universe is our image. Only naive individuals imagine that it is the way they think it is.

The unknown surrounds us at all times. That is where we turn for knowledge.

There is no reality. Only order you create and force on everything.

Things that never happen will happen. They just take more time.

Thinking and ways in which thoughts are transferred inevitably create a system that is filled with illusion.

Those that laugh alone in the middle of the night are thinking of their own evil.

To every question there are ten new questions but only one answer.

Trust everyone, and you will not live long. Trust no one, and you will not know friendship.

We are trained to believe. Not to know.

Why look for a meaning that does not exist? Would you follow a path that leads you nowhere?

You with fear in your heart, be strong and fear not. See, your god will come, and how! He will come and save you from the blasphemists.

Your mind knows, your soul feels, and your spirit guides. However, you may never know where feelings guide you.



EDITED BY VENOM_X

72 Lessons of Leadership
Written by Vorian (Allegedly a disciple of Sotha Sil)


A dumb friend is worse than a cunning foe.

A realm, built on power, cannot call upon the love and loyalty that people give to a regime of ideas and beauty. Enhance your realm with beauty and culture.

A secret is worth most when kept secret. If it remains secret, it needs no evidence to be proved.

A stone is heavy. Sand even more so. But the wrath of a fool is much heavier.

A surplus of knowledge never leads to simple decisions.

All is ruled by four things: the teachings of the wise, the justice of the great, the prayers of the just and the courage of the brave.

Always expecting danger means always being prepared. Only those that are prepared may expect to survive.

An enemy you admire easily strikes fear into your heart.

Any law turned absolute is absolutely invalid.

As with many dishes, revenge is at its best when taken slowly after much preparation.

Bravery is the choice between being a coward for a minute or dead hero forever.

Conquerors despise the conquered because they allowed themselves to be defeated.

Diplomats are chosen for their ability to lie.

Enemies strengthen you. Allies weaken you.

Even the poorest can be rich of loyalty. Loyalty paid through bribery and wages is empty and weak. Loyalty that comes from the heart is stronger than adamantium and more valuable than diamonds.

Every individual is part of a whole.

Every ruler inevitably becomes responsible for his subjects.

Everyone is a possible enemy. Every place is a possible battlefield.

Expect the unexpected but only the unexpected that will take place.

Followers should always consider their leader greater than themselves, why else would they follow?

Good leadership is mostly invisible. If everything goes well, no one will notice the leaders' work. That's why he must give his subjects something to cheer about, something to discuss, something to remember.

History has rarely been kind to those that deserved punishment.

History shows the undeniable. Unfortunately, it shows it too late.

Honor cannot be bought.

Hope is the most powerful weapon the trampled have, though it is the greatest enemy of those that face destruction.

Humiliation is never forgotten.

If things went well and got better, it would be better if things went well again.

If you surrender, you have lost. If you try, regardless of the odds, you at least succeeded in trying.

It is hard to make power beloved. That is the dilemma of every ruler.

It is no secret that we all carry secrets, though they are not all as secret as we might want them to be.

It's true that someone may become rich by practicing evil. But the power of truth and justice is that they last.

Knowing what you are supposed to do is never enough.

Lack of motion is often mistaken for peace.

Law suppresses the weak and supports the strong.

Leaders generally are fortunate so few of their subjects realize he rules by their approval.

Leaders often do not accept the practical use of imagination and original, new ideas, until it is brought to them by bloody hands.

Memory and history are two sides of the same coin. Over time however, history will turn to a more positive impression of what happened. Memory however has the painful task of preserving the worst aspects.

Military victories mean nothing, unless they represent the wishes of the people. A ruler only exists to unfold these wishes. He executes the will of the people or will not rule for long.

One cannot hide from history or one's nature.

One moment of incapacity can be fatal.

One of the responsibilities of government is punishment but only if the victim asks for it.

One uses power by holding her loosely. Use it too forcefully, and you will fall to it and become its victim.

Only a fool leaves behind witnesses.

Only one form of science exists to man, dissatisfaction.

Organizational structure is vital to the success of a movement. It is also the first target to be attacked.

Pay your spies well. One good spy is worth more than a thousand soldiers.

Peace is not always the same as stability. Stability is not always harmony, and it is never far from chaos.

Politics is the art of appearing as honest as possible and still being able to hide a great deal.

Power is the least stable goal that can be reached. Belief and power excommunicate each other.

Renewing and daring actions bring forth heroes. Thoughtlessly following dated rules brings forth only politicians.

Secrets are an important side of power. An effective leader spreads them to control his people.

Some lies are easier to believe than the truth.

Sometimes, doing something wrong is better than doing nothing at all.

Speak the truth for that is much easier and often the most powerful argument.

Storms cause storms. Revenge causes revenge. War causes war.

Support strength, never weakness.

The enemy that is to be feared most is the one that looks like a friend.

The first fight that cannot be won has yet to take place.

The natural fate of power is fractionation.

The world was shaped by mistakes, accidents, and chaos. And so it will be destroyed.

The worst protection is trust. The best protection is suspicion.

There are weapons hands cannot hold. They can only be wielded by the mind.

There is no way to share information without judgment.

Those confronted with a need to act, always have different possibilities, as long as the job gets done.

Those in power inevitably try to turn all new knowledge to their wishes. But knowledge cannot have any wishes. Neither in the past nor in the present.

Truth is a chameleon.

We do what we must. To hell with friendship and trust, we do what we must.

What is a man other than a memory for those that follow him?

What is shown is likely of less importance than all that remains hidden.

What senses do we miss that we cannot see or hear the other world everywhere around us?

When facing a choice, not choosing is just another choice.

When one is exercising vengeance, one must enjoy all moments of expectation because the actual performance usually differs greatly from the original plan.
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 05:59 PM
Post #24


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Miscellaneous Text

Written by Unknown (stargate525)


50 Lessons of War
Unknown

1) An enemy of my enemy is a friend,
2) Such friends must not be trusted.

3) A friend of my enemy is also an enemy,
4) Unless he is more powerful than I am.

5) Speed is good,
6) Power is better,
7) Both are best.

8) Know the terrain before you attack it,
9) Know the terrain before you defend it,
10) Know the terrain before you cross it,
11) Know the terrain at all times.

12) A trustworthy friend is more powerful than a legion,
13) Defend them with all your power.

14) When you know your enemy, you hold the key to their defeat.

15) The best methods of war do not use weapons,
16) they use the people,
17) they use fear,
18) they use intimidation,
19) they use confusion.

20) A soldier's courage can be broken,
a sword’s cannot.

21) Train your forces in ranged warfare,
22) for if they can fell an enemy before they arrive,
There is no risk to them.

23) Diversify your forces,
24) So that if the enemy undermines one part of your force,
the entire command does not fall.

25) Know your enemy’s weaknesses,
26) Exploit it when at all possible

27) Show your enemies no mercy,
and they shall show none to you.

28) Show your enemies mercy,
and they shall defeat you.

29) The powerful do not always win,
30) for even the strongest enemy cannot hit what he cannot see.

31) Trust not to someone else,
what you can trust yourself to do.

32) Lose sight of your enemy,
and you may find him with a dagger to your back.

33) Seek the advice of others,
34) But do not trust such advice.

35) When victory is expected,
Defeat is twice as bitter.

36) Expect defeat,
and your victory will be twice as sweet.

37) Wise men are powerful,
38) But not all-powerful men are wise.

39) Expect the unexpected,
40) But do not let the expected surprise you.

41) Victory is a subtle term;
Victory is in the eyes of the beholder.

42) Anything is a weapon,
when used correctly.

43) Sometimes the most direct tactics are the best.

44) Do not let yourself be captured,
45) such a defeat is worse than death.

46) Death is foul,
47) But surrender is far worse.
48) Never have your back to anyone,
49) But do not keep your back to a wall

50) Superiority lies with the one who is best prepared.
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:00 PM
Post #25


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Miscellaneous Text

Written by M'Ainp (Venom_X)


The “Truth”

Written by M’Ainp cousin of M’Aiq

In the province of Cyrodiil there are many interesting things to find and see. Here is a list of things that you should look for:

If you start in the exact middle of the capital and walk directly at High Fane’s Office in Vivec for five and a half miles, then you will find the Holy Boots of the Tribunal. These boots will increase all of your abilities by 10%.

There is a man in Skingrad who has a magical lamp that will give you any amount of gold you wish if you can bring it the mythical head of D’Roken.

Anvil was built on an ancient Daedric temple that was destroyed long before man existed. It is said that some of the true weapons of Daedra princes are still present in the temple. Be warned however that Daedra will not take kindly to you attempting to retrieve these weapons.

In Topal Bay there is a Dwemer ruin in which Kagrenac kept his books about his experiments.

There is a troll north of the city of Kyatch that will buy anything you have. He carries much money on him and purchases items at a fair price.

In Pale Pass there is a stone. There is only one key, and it is the star.

The Dwemer are not dead. They are out of phase with our reality.

Sheogorath has a spoon that is well hidden in Cyrodiil.

If you wish to battle while on your stead, then look to the north for the amulet, which is the key.

There is a head vampire in Cyrodiil who can only be killed by a silver throwing knife.

If you can find the true judge of man, then you will see the hammer fall upon the land.

The Tribunal were all vampires.

The Nine Divines stole their powers from their creator Tanoreth.
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:03 PM
Post #26


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Miscellaneous Text

Written by Polonius Rialle (Stargazey)


Oddities and Mysteries
As transcribed by Polonius Rialle and Murkus from an interview with M’Aiq the Liar


You want to know the secrets that M’Aiq knows? Fine. M’Aiq will tell you all he knows about the Oddities and mysteries of Morrowind.



The Mystery of the Dwarves-There is no mystery. M'Aiq knows all. The dwarves were here, and now they are not! They were very short folks... Or perhaps they were not. It all depends on your perspective. I'm sure they thought they were about the right height.


The Talking Mudcrab Merchant-M'Aiq has heard of this. They've got all the money. Mudcrabs taking over everything. They already run Pelagiad."


The Naked Barbarians of Morrowind- M’Aiq has heard of this. Foolish Nords becoming besotted with witches. M’Aiq has no sympathy for them. Serves them right.


Capn’s Guide to the Fishy Stick- M’Aiq has never read this book. However, M’Aiq loves fishy sticks and fishy stick sauce. In fact M’Aiq has some fishy sticks with him right now. Would you like one?


Ra’Gruzgob- M’Aiq has heard of this Orc who believes he is a Khajiit because he likes the sugar so much. This is foolish; all know that Orcs are nothing like Khajiit. M’Aiq thinks that the sugar is both a blessing and a curse.


Weresharks- I have only met one, and he was afraid of the water.

Dragons- Dragons? Oh, they're everywhere! You must fly very high to see most of them, though. The ones nearer the ground are very hard to see, being invisible.


Horses- Horses.... Oh, M'Aiq loves horses! Especially with good cream sauce."


Dual Wielding- Two blades at once? Well of course it is possible. M'Aiq can help you if you let him bite off your thumbs.

Mounted Combat- You want to fight from your horse. Are your feet so lazy that they will not bear you?

Thrown weapons and Crossbows in Cyrodiil- You want a Crossbow and throwing weapons? What is wrong with your bow? Does it not kill things far away? Honestly you young ones can never be satisfied, can you?

Fast Travel- Of course M’Aiq know what fast travel is. It is when M'Aiq has too much moon sugar and the Imperials are grouchy. But M'Aiq does not see what business that is of yours.

Skooma and Moonsugar in Cyrodiil- Well that depends. Do you know any Khajiits in Cyrodiil? Then yes, you can find Skooma and moonsugar.

Cliffracers- M’Aiq hates those damn birds. All they do is fly around and harass M’Aiq. M’Aiq has heard there are none in Cyrodiil. Perhaps M’Aiq will move to Cyrodiil.



Authors Note: My interview with M’Aiq the Liar was very tiring, as many of his answers are questions. The reason for the shortness of this book is my exasperation with M’Aiq.
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:06 PM
Post #27


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Plays

Written by Tis'Nael (Corryn)


T’Seca (Based on a True Story) - Author Tis’nael
(recovered by Corryn)

Act I

“But it’s ridiculous that you did nothing to that horrible Dunmer”

“T’Seca knows this, but there is nothing T’Seca can do”

Tish’Nal falls to her knees, sobbing, “What do you mean? You don’t have to fi..fight him; you did nothing to offend his honor and HE KNOWS IT! Just don’t..just don’t go!”

“T’Seca must fight him and T’Seca must fight by the rules of the duel.”

“But why? You know he just wants to…to hunt you! He always finds a way for a slave to insult him one way or another when he is bored! And...and with that bracer on your arm yo..you can’t fight back. Please, you must escape!”

“T’Seca escapes and his friends will be the ones to suffer. If T’Seca wins perhaps we can find new lives together. If T’Seca loses…please, do not cry.”

Tish’Nal lifts herself unsteadily to her feet.

“You still must..you mu…no, no you wouldn’t leave any of us, would you?”

T’Seca smiles with a great sadness in his eyes.

“No.”

With tears still welling up, she whimpers, “Even though you ca…cannot cast with that thing on your arm.”

T’Seca nods slowly.

“Even then, yes.”

T’Seca rises from his place and begins walking to the door. Tish’Nal hurries after him.

“You cannot follow,” T’Seca says, taking her gently by the shoulders. Smiling sadly, he moves her aside. “T’Seca will return for you; he promises.”

She droops back numbly against the wall and stares after him as his silhouette fades into the distance. “Please, come back,” she weeps toward his receding form.


Act II

T’Seca arrives at the field and sees the Dunmer slaver awaiting his arrival.

“So, Khajiit, you did not turn tail.” The Dunmer laughs, apparently amused by his own wit, then his eye catches an old dagger in T’Seca’s belt. “Oh, I see. I suppose it was too much to ask for a beast to remember the rules of a civilized duel.”

T’Seca ignores him, but stands ready to act.

The Dunmer pauses briefly then, while pacing in a slow circle around T’Seca, and continues with a patronizing grin, “It was my honor, after all, that was offended, Khajiit, and I chose magic to decide this contest. If you strike me with that piece of scrap metal, you forfeit,” the Dunmer scowls abruptly, “And I will see to it that the rest of your pitiful lot suffer greatly for my pains.”

T’Seca growls and lifts the blade in the air.

The Dunmer grins once more. “So much for your innate Khajiiti sense of honor. Very well. If you care so little about their fates then I see no reason to prolong this dispute. Time for me to end this.” Deep blue begins to shine from behind his eyes and the air hisses and pops as energy builds around him into blinding light.

“For Tish’Nal” T’Seca whispers and swiftly drives his blade forward. There is a soft thud and T’Seca cries out in pain.

“What…what did you do?” stammers the Dunmer, taken aback and too surprised to react. T’Seca raises his arm clutching it and gasping in pain. Slowly he slides the bracer past the ruin at the end of his arm. T’Seca rises slowly and begins to growl, moving toward the dismayed slaver.

“You can’t have…you…your own hand!” The Dunmer falteres, but then realizing T’Seca was moving toward him releases a bolt of bright energy from his fingertips in panic. To his dismay it splashes harmlessly around T’Seca as wisps of smoke trail away from the shield surrounding him.

T’Seca raises his intact hand and ethereal flames begin to dance around in his closed grasp, “Such horrible deeds you have wrought, and even now you have no remorse.” He opens his palm as the flames flow outward, and the roar drowns out the shrieking Dunmer’s last words.

T’Seca reaches down to the body and lifts a key on a chain from around the Dunmer’s neck. He places it in a pouch and, wincing, supports his damaged hand. “Now, the others and Tish’Nal need not pay such a high price.” He turns slowly and limps back toward the distant huts where a figure stands in a doorway, weathering the chill of the morning and awaiting his return.
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:07 PM
Post #28


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Plays

Written by Stagerunner (Stargate525)


The Lord’s Mail
A Play in One Act
By Stagerunner

Stage is set with two chairs, a table in between them. Miscellaneous homely furniture and decor can be used also. a little to stage right is a doorway. This is where most of the action takes place. the characters are as follows:

Dargon Lethro: (DL) Dark Elf mailman with a short temper, very committed to his work.
Sucha Methro: (SM) High Elf maid for the Sethra household. Very determined and stubborn, dumb and hard of hearing.
Raynes Sethro: (RS) Lord of the manor
Gildor Sethro: (GS) Raynes’ brother
Lipal Sethro: (LS) Daughter of Raynes Sethro.


(DL comes to the door. he pauses slightly, then knocks. SM hurries over to answer it.)
DL: Cyrodiil postal. I seek a ‘Raynes Sethro’.
SM: Who?
DL: (slightly louder) Raynes Sethro.
SM: What did you say?
DL: (half-shouting) RAYNES SETHRO.
SM: Okay, Alright. No need to shout. You cannot see Lord Sethro.
DL: Why not?
SM: he is currently away to see someone.
DL: May I inquire as to who? This package is very important.
SM: Indie.
DL: Indie? Indie who?
SM: Indie Bas Ment. He said he would go see Indie Bas Ment.
DL: (exasperated) May I come in and wait? I have the Lord’s mail.
GS: (running on stage with a shout) YOU DO?!
DL: Of course I do.
GS: Give it to me! It is an important legacy.
DL: (confused) The Lord’s mail?
GS: Of course it is boy! Haven't you heard the legends? The Lord’s Mail can stop all kind of blows. It’s enchanted!
DL: (Examines the package closely) This? The Lord’s mail can do that?
GS: (confused) what is that? (Realizing the misunderstanding) Oh, you meant...and I thought... (slumps into chair, disappointed) Oh. Sucha, who is this anyway?
SM: This is Daynes Rethso, he wants to see Mr. Sethro... Wait, I’m not married. YOU! (Grabs broom and starts chasing DL.) TAKING ADVANTAGE OF AN OLD WOMAN, YOU LADYCHASER! (Continues to rant and chase DL around the room until LS enters.)
LS: What in all of Tamriel is going on here?!
SM: I am TRYING to get rid of this ladycaser!
LS: Him? He’s the Mailman!
SM: He most certainly is not a frail man; I must have hit him a dozen times by now! (Continues to chase DL until LS snatches broom from SM)
LS: Now Sucha quit harassing this man! (to LS) Why exactly are you here?
DL: I...I... need to deliver this package.
LS: What is it?
DL: (sarcastic) Do I look like a Telvanni? I just deliver the package, not see what it is.
LS: Will you give it to me?
DL: Sorry, but I can only give this to the one it’s addressed to; Lord Sethro.
SM: Then you’re in the wrong place, Lord Kethro’s manor is in Cyrodiil.
RS:(coming up from basement) What’s all the racket?
LS and GS: (in unison) He’s come to deliver the mail.
RS: What male? I am a firm abolitionist. If someone has sent me a slave then I’m afraid I’ll have to...
LS: (soothingly) it’s just a package father.
RS: Oh, well in that case... (Takes package from DL and opens it, pulling out a chain mail shirt) I don’t believe it... it’s the Lord’s Mail!
All except RS: WE KNOW!

end
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:08 PM
Post #29


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Poetry & Song

Written by Corryn (Corryn)


Deep Thoughts of a Bosmer - Author Corryn

A Foreign land will always have a strange feel,
The food is unusual and can make your head reel,
But if you seek good cuisine, I'll make you a deal,
Come to Valenwood where you are the meal.

We Bosmer are often spoken of with dread,
But don't let these rumors go to your head,
If you see us, approach and tell us instead,
Whether you go better together with white wine or red.

But do not fear I have already ate,
Though we may meet at some later date,
And then my hunger will determine your fate,
If you’re a guest at my table, or food on my plate.

I once met a man that thought he could fly,
but no man without magic can soar in the sky,
And though I knew he wouldn't live from so high,
My stomach was grumbling and dinner was nigh.

Remember in life you must seek for the, light
To face the dark horrors and fear of no fright,
And strive to overcome and do what is right,
But right now I'm hungry so put up no fight.

Poetry is wonderful and this has been quite fun,
But it seems our time is up and now I have to run,
You may expect one last joke, alas that I have none,
The time for laughing is over now, the feasting has begun.
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:11 PM
Post #30


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Poetry & Song

Written by Rhense (Corryn)


In Sanity – Author Rhense

A wanderer walked in the wild
Seeking long for an ancient path
He met a man that seemed most riled
And who did shriek “I’m Sheogorath”.

“A god holds scorn for a false claim”
“I am the dam dog or can’t you tell”
“Have you proof you bear his name”
So then the man did loudly yell

“I am Sheogorath I do not die”
And with a blade he stabbed his thigh
The Wanderer said “Please let me try”
And when no darkness cloud his eye
He leapt from his place and aloud did cry
“Oh now I recall that so am I.”

It is good to meet me once again,
But I hesitate to call me friend,
While I must continue on my stroll,
I believe that is my purse I stole.
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:14 PM
Post #31


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Poetry & Song

Written by Unknown (Yipsl)


"Cyrodiil Horseman's Lament":

"My horse he doesn't fight,
yea, you got that right,
and he runs away and hides all day,
when the villain comes in sight.

My horse he doesn't pray,
To the Nine Divines I say!
He casts no spell to help or heal,
But carries me with a hoof and a neigh.

My horse he doesn't steal,
He cannot make a deal.
He picks no locks, just eats the shocks,
And waits in night's gray keel.

My horse, he cannot mix,
Alchemy’s odd tricks.
He just eats the roots,
of plants and their shoots.

My horse he gets me there,
I paid for him quite fair,
He looks so fine in that stable of mine,
And prances without a care!"

The above is an occasionally heard bar room song lamenting how horses really aren't much use to any profession beyond looking nice and getting you where you're going.
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:15 PM
Post #32


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Poetry & Song

Written by Jules (Stargate525)


The Road
by Jules

The road forever does wear on
Running along its way
although it may be used often
or fall into decay.

The road does not care whether it’s used
or whether it falls apart
for it will still travel
the way it has always
Right from the end to the start.

Although it may wither, rot and decay,
the road shall persevere
and a trait so admirable
in an object so common
is a trait that should be revered

the road may be forgotten
in the passing of years
But that doesn't mean it isn’t there
Waiting to be used again
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:16 PM
Post #33


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Poetry & Song

Written by Maloki Frun (Oni_Tora_)


Post-War Sonnet

As I walk through the field of the dead
They lay there, so still, as in a peaceful slumber
Their blood stains the land crimson red
So peaceful is the moonlit night of summer
And I pity those that still struggle and still strive
To hang onto life even as they bleed it away
Just to think of their homes to which they will never arrive
For they came onto this field, and in it they will stay
This is the atrocity of post-war
Lives spent for some un reached goal
Which may never be reached, but still worth dying for
And dead though the body still lives the soul
These soldiers have paid a price they cannot afford
And he who lives by the sword dies by the sword

- Maloki Frun
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:17 PM
Post #34


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



[B]Section: Poetry & Song

Written by Common Drunkards (Oni_Tora_)[B]

A Drinking Song
-Some drunkard

As long as there be good ale in me cup,
there’ll be good ale in me belly!
And as long as there be coin in me purse,
there’ll be good ale in me cup!
And when me purse be void of coin,
I shall not go peacefully,
I'll fling a chair and start a bout
and get me self kicked out!
But if me purse remains full
into the wee hours of night,
And last call is passed around
I'll stumble around town
Until me house be found,
And as I throw me self into me bed
I'll think of the morning horrors of me pounding head!
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:19 PM
Post #35


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Race-specific Text

Written by Tillius Hunius (JulZ)


The Sub-races of the Khajiit
By Tillius Hunius

Foreword
This book was written as a guide for Imperial merchants traveling in Elsweyr. The Khajiit are one of Tamriel’s three races of Betmer, or beast races, the other two being the Orcs and the Argonians. However, unlike these two, the Khajiit come in a variety of forms or sub-races. The sub-race of a Khajiit kitten is decided by the moons’ positions when he or she is born. It is important for one who frequently deals with them to be able to tell the difference between the sub-races, and this book should help you in this.
-Tillius Hunius

Ohmes
The Ohmes are the most man-like, or rather, mer-like, Khajiit. They are born when Masser is new and Secunda is full, and are very easily mistaken for Wood Elves, but they do not like this comparison at all themselves. Luckily, many Ohmes tattoo their faces to show their true identity. This makes it easier for the untrained eye to recognize an Ohmes Khajiit for what it truly is.

Ohmes-Raht
The Ohmes-Raht look much like the Ohmes, but they have tails, light fur and slightly more feline features. They are born when Masser is new and Secunda is waxing.

Suthay
These Khajiit look like bipedal cats with slightly more humanoid limbs. They are nearly the same size as the Ohmes. They are born when both moons are full. They are, perhaps, the ultimate thieves — small, agile, fast, silent and have, like all Khajiit, very good night vision. They are often encountered outside of their homeland. As Khajiit have difficulties understanding the meaning of ‘property’, the Suthay are a sub-race to be feared if you have your possessions dear.

Suthay-Raht
The Suthay-Raht are nearly indistinguishable from the Suthay, except for the fact that they are slightly larger. They are born when Masser is new and Secunda is waning.

Cathay
These Khajiit have leopard-patterned fur, and share some traits with this exotic creature. They are bipedal; their physique reminds of the Suthay and Suthay-Raht. They are born when Masser is waxing and Secunda is full. They have a warrior’s strength, and this is indeed what most Cathay are.

Cathay-Raht
Cathay-Raht are similar to the Cathay, but are even bigger, stronger and more ferocious. They are born when both moons are waxing.

Tojay
My sources know very little of these Khajiit; only that they are born when Masser is waxing and Secunda is new, and that they are resident of the Tenmar jungle.

Tojay-Raht
Again, my sources know little of these. They are, as I have been informed by a somewhat reliable Wood Elf, born when Masser is waxing and Secunda is waning.

Pahmar
These are very similar to tigers. They are born when Masser is full and Secunda is new.

Pahmar-Raht
These look like the Pahmar, only larger and stronger. They are born when Masser is full and Secunda is waning.

Senche
These are similar to the Pahmar-Raht, but stand as tall as a High Elf, and can weigh as much as twenty! They are born when both moons are full, and the more bipedal of the Khajiit forms ride them like horses.

Senche-Raht
These huge creatures are known to most Imperials as “battlecats”, and can be twice the size of a Senche! They share many of these’s physical traits, but have straighter legs and shorter body (Relative to size, of course). They are born when Masser is full and Secunda is waxing, and like the Senche are used as steeds.

Alfiq
These look much like regular domesticated Imperial cats, but can understand human speech (though they are unable to speak it themselves). They are born when Masser is waning and Secunda is new. Some Wood Elves claim they have strong spellcasting abilities, but this is very unlikely.

Alfiq-Raht
Like the Alfiq, but larger, up to the size of a small dog. They are born when Masser is waning and Secunda is waxing. As with the Alfiq, I have been told they have a talent for spellcasting.

Dagi
I have heard of this sub-race, but they likely live in some out-of-the-way part of Elsweyr, perhaps in the Tenmar jungle, if they exist at all, because my sources knew nothing about them. I have read in a Khajiiti lorebook that they are born when Masser is waning and Secunda is new.

Dagi-Raht
These are as mysterious to me as the Dagi, but I believe they are born when both moons are waning.

The Mane
The Mane is believed to be a unique sub-race, consisting of only one individual, namely the Khajiit’s spiritual leader, bearing the name of his sub-race. The Mane is an important character to the Khajiit.

I hope this book can be of aid to any explorers traveling in the Khajiit’s province of Elsweyr.
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:20 PM
Post #36


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Le-Ran (Argonians Rule)


Tale of a Drunken Orc

Written by Re-Lan

Part I

Glishnak sat up in the field he had been sleeping in. The effects of flin had muddled his simple mind. The burly orc sat for a few minutes, trying to recall where he was. Soon, it all came flooding back to memory. He was in Cyrodiil, spending large amounts of gold on alcoholic beverages when a nobleman had approached him. The man had asked him to fetch a case of flin from a nearby town in exchange for fifty pieces of gold. Glishnak had agreed, and had retrieved the flin; unfortunately he proceeded to drink it’s contents while returning to the nobleman. A few minutes later, he had stumbled into the field and had passed out. As this came back to him, Glishnak grew worried. He knew the nobleman would soon wonder what happened to an entire case of expensive flin. Glishnak wandered to the nearest town, cautious, as he suspected that the nobleman had sent someone to retrieve him.

Then, an unfamiliar figure approached Glishnak and said, "Here, orc, I believe you are in need of a case of flin. I can help you. All that you must do is defeat an evil warlock by the name of Galmor."

Glishnak agreed instantly, taking no time to consider this blasphemous offer, but said, "Wait, me have no weapons to fight bad guy."

“Here, take this. It’s called the fork of horripilation," the man answered. Glishnak took the fork and, without another word, set out to the East. He had walked just short of a hundred yards when the man caught up to Glishnak and said, “Wait, orc. It would be wise to look in the West.” And so the half-sober orc walked heroically into the sunset with the fork of horripilation in his hand, with no clue as to where to find Galmor.

Part II

Glishnak soon grew hungry. He had been walking westward for nearly three days, and was now traveling through a deeply wooded area. However, the man had advised him to search in the West, and hadn't mentioned eating or sleeping; Glishnak had interpreted this to mean that he must continue heading westward, and that no eating or sleeping was permitted. Finally, malnourished and exhausted, Glishnak collapsed.

"Oi, I foun’ some’n!"
"Aye, iss one o’ dem orcs."
"Shou’we eat ‘im?"
"Nah, me ol’ mum told me never to eat an orc. That she did."

Glishnak awoke to see two scruffy-looking men standing over him. He didn't notice the obvious signs that they were bandits, and just assumed that they were two travelers.
"Can you help me up?"
"Oi! He's aloive!"
"Le’s kill ‘im!"

Glishnak's minuscule brain began working as he heard those words. First he thought, I'm thirsty. At that moment, he noticed a puddle at his feet. He bent down to drink just as the first bandit’s sword cleaved through the air; however, as he was hunched over, the bandit's sword sliced straight above him and through his partner’s neck, decapitating him. This didn’t stop him, however. He returned with another, vertical slash. At this time, however, Glishnak slipped in the puddle because of his lack of balance. The swipe missed once again. Suddenly, Glishnak’s short attention span shifted in thought, and decided it would be fun to roll in the mud. As he rolled, the bandit’s lunge failed even to graze his skin. The bandit had lunged too far; his blade stuck in the ground, and Glishnak stood up as the bandit attempted to free his blade. Glishnak spotted a pack of food on the bandit's back and thought, me already sleep; no harm in eating. With that he drew the mighty fork and stabbed at an apple in the pack, but due to lack of any kind of skill he missed and got the bandit in the neck, effectively slaying him. Glishnak proceeded to eat all of the food, then lay down and dozed off. When he awoke, he noticed the decapitated bandit had a pack full of stolen brandy. Glishnak drank the entire pack, and then staggered down the path on his quest to kill the warlock and earn himself a case of flin.

Part III

Glishnak was still walking on the path. It had been two days since he had run into the bandits, and nothing eventful had happened. He noticed a trapdoor in the middle of the path, and proceeded to open in and jump inside. Once inside, he noticed it had led to a massive cavern. Deeper in the cavern was a massive Daedric shrine. He continued forward only to hear a voice:

"So someone has finally come. What is your name, orc?"
"Me Glishnak, what you?" replied Glishnak
"I am Galmor," said the voice.
"Oh."

Glishnak strained to remember where he had heard this name before. Then it returned to him.

"Me on quest to kill you," Glishnak replied heartily.
"Indeed..."

At that moment, a tall, gaunt Dunmer emerged from behind a wooden pillar. It was after the Dunmer emerged that Glishnak noticed the large wooden beam supporting the shrine.

"What wooden thing?" asked Glishnak.
"That is a support beam. I am using it to construct my own Daedric shrine. Until it is complete, that beam is the only thing keeping this shrine erect. Now enough questions. Die, filthy orc," exclaimed the warlock.

Galmor summoned a Dremora from Oblivion, which proceeded to attack Glishnak with a massive warhammer of Daedric craft. The hammer hit his skull repeatedly until the summoning’s duration dissipated, and the Dremora returned to Oblivion. However, Glishnak's thick skull took the beating without so much as a crack. Galmor then used sorcery to drain Glishnak’s intelligence, hoping to reduce Glishnak to a babbling mess. This had little effect on Glishnak’s already low mentality. Galmor was growing worried; he decided he wouldn't be able to defeat the orc, and cast a spell of sound to make a quick distraction while he ran. Glishnak had awoken nearly every day of his life with a hangover and thus wasn’t bothered by the sound. He chased Galmor through the shrine, fork in hand, attempting to stab Galmor. Finally, after nearly a quarter of an hour of chasing him, Glishnak grew frustrated. He saw the beam and kicked it in anger, causing the shrine to begin caving in on itself. Using pure instinct, he knew to escape and was able to run out the trapdoor just before the shrine collapsed. Galmor wasn’t as fortunate, his last thoughts being, why in the world didn't I have more than one support beam!?

Glishnak returned to the East along the path, and eventually reached the town in which his quest began. He entered the tavern in which he had met the strange man. At the sight of Glishnak, he smiled and exclaimed, "Ah, my friend, you have returned! It was quite enjoyable, watching your adventures."
"How you watch me?" Glishnak said, with a confused look on his face.
"Why, I am lord Sheogorath. I will now take back the mighty fork and give you your case of flin."

He then vanished into thin air. Glishnak didn't think much of having met a Daedric prince. But then again, he didn't think much at all. Glishnak took the case of flin and instantly drank it, having forgotten why he needed it in the first place. He then stumbled into an alley and passed out, living out the rest of the night in blissful ignorance.

THE END
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:24 PM
Post #37


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Xerxys (Troika)


The Nobleman's Daughter

Written by Xerxys

Some years ago, there lived the daughter of a wealthy nobleman, the only child the nobleman had fathered before his wife had died. She was a pretty girl, but found the would-be suitors of her town rough and boorish, and not at all what she, or her proud father, was looking for in a husband.

Time drew steadily on, and, upon the daughter's 21st birthday, her father consulted the local alchemist, to see if there was any way to help along the process of finding his daughter a good husband.

"Take these seeds," said the wise old woman, who was really much more of a witch than an alchemist, "And when the man who is truly right for your young one first enters her life, only then will the seeds grow." The nobleman looked at the handful of small, dried brown seeds doubtfully, but was reminded of how his daughter's youth was quickly fading, and how he still had no heir to his title.

The daughter, most excited at the witch's plan, planted the seeds immediately in a small pot. She then proceeded to carry the pot with her wherever she went. Being the only daughter of a nobleman, she knew not what it was to work, and so her lazy days were spent simply spending time with her friends or looking through the various shops of the town.

One morning, whilst she was in the town's most upper market a clothier, a tall, blond-haired man, whom she'd never seen before, walked in, carrying three large bolts of cloth. The nobleman's daughter thought that he must have been very strong to be able to carry such a large amount of bolts upon his broad shoulders, and once he had left, the nobleman's daughter immediately ran to the young shopkeeper, asking about the blonde-haired man.

"He is the deliverer of much of my stock. Upon the first morning of every month, he delivers whatever stock I need from the city to the North."

The nobleman's daughter continued to press the shopkeeper for information, who could sadly not provide much more than his name - Jargo. But it did not mater, for as soon as she had left the shop, the nobleman's daughter looked down and found that the first green shoot from her magical seeds had begun to poke through the earth.

Jargo was the man who would be her husband.

For the next month, she prepared and waited for the day when Jargo would once again return to the town. When the first day of the new month arrived, he seeds had all sprouted now, and were growing healthily. She made her way hastily to the clothier's shop, and after an hour of waiting and chatting with the shopkeeper, the door opened and in walked Jargo, with two bolts of cloth slung over his shoulder. Immediately, the nobleman's daughter tried her best to charm Jargo, saying good morning and fluttering her eyelashes until she thought she must have been looking as if something was very wrong with her.

Jargo simply returned the good morning, and went about his business, taking the gold from the shopkeeper and hastily leaving. The nobleman's daughter felt a little distraught; she had waited an entire month to once again meet with the man who would make a perfect husband, and he says little more than two words to her.

Needing some time to think about her predicament, she offers to help the shopkeeper put away the bolts of cloth. They were extremely heavy, much heavier than anything she'd had to lift before, but as she spoke with the shopkeeper, she decided to press on resolutely with her pursuit.

"I shall be here on the first day of every month until I have Jargo's heart," she proclaimed to the shopkeeper as she left to go home, her arms aching from all the lifting.

And so she did. Every month she would wait in the shop talking to Armund the clothier as she waited for Jargo to arrive. Every month they would get a little better acquainted, with the nobleman's daughter being as pretty and as charming as she could possibly be. Then each month, after Jargo had once again left, leaving the nobleman's daughter's heart behind with her, she would help in the shop a little, talking to Armund about her predicament.

The young shopkeeper would always agree with her suggestions of what she should do and say next month, nodding his head politely. Each month, the nobleman's daughter would help a little more in the shop, sorting out the spools of thread or organizing the half-completed items of clothing. The time allowed her to think about Jargo, her extremely vexing quarry.

After Jargo had walked out of the shop, without the nobleman's daughter, for the seventh time, she was feeling particularly upset. After helping put away the bolts of cloth (which she was now really quite good at doing), she asked Armund if she could go and lay on his bed upstairs for a while, feeling very sad that Jargo was still not responding to her advances.

Armund showed the nobleman's daughter upstairs, as she'd never been up here before, and offered her his small bed. It was very simple, with just a small table with a pot of red flowers beside it.

"How curious," mused the nobleman's daughter as she sat upon the bed. "I have a pot of the exact same flowers at home, yet they are not ordinary flowers."

"I know," replied Armund, his shyness becoming suddenly stronger. "And I know why you have these flowers. I too bought the enchanted seeds from the old alchemist. And mine sprouted the day you entered my shop." The nobleman's daughter was flustered. She suddenly laid down onto the bed, feeling very giddy.

"But... But, Jargo. My seeds grew for Jargo," she protested, remembering the strong, blonde-haired man whom she's spent no more than twenty minutes with in total over the last seven months.

"Was I too not in the shop that day?" It was of course true. The nobleman's daughter looked over the flowers, growing as strong and as healthily as hers grew at home. She then looked at Armund. He wasn't as handsome or as strapping as Jargo, but he has a kind face, and she enjoyed his company. She then began to laugh to herself.

"What is it?" asked Armund.

"I have waited seven months for my perfect man, and yet he has been here all the time. I really am very foolish."

The End
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:25 PM
Post #38


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Forrest (Forrest_Roberts)


The Cursed Bow

By Forrest


Morning Star 5th : 7 in the morning-


Riften,Skyrim-

Hylf Fork-Beard stepped out into the morning and breathed the fresh air. "Ah,another fine day in Riften." he said to himself. He wondered what he should do today. "I guess I could go hunting again" Hylf said to himself. He stepped back into his house grabbed his bow and quiver of arrows and stepped out again.
He walked across the hills,the trip he made just about every day of his life. Only today something was different. There was a strange feeling in the air. After walking for about five minutes he came across a group of people. Five of them. Hylf knew by the look in there eyes they were up to no good. "Hello there my Nordic friend. I can see that your bow has seen its share of battles. Could I interest you in this high quality Steel Longbow crafted by the finest Bosmer armorer." the young long-haired Bosmer said to Hylf. "My bow has been my friend for years,it was my fathers bow and his fathers. I have no interest in your so-called fine bow." Hylf said proudly.
Showing no further interest in the Bosmer or his friends he began to walk again. Spotting a bear off in a clearing Hylf equipped an arrow,rose his bow and aimed. "If you'll just allow me to demonstrate how well this fine bow works..." He was interupted by Hylf,who shot him a scowling look and put his finger to his lips motioning him to be quiet.
Hylf resumed to hunt his prey only to find the bear to have ambled off somewhere. "Are you happy now?" Hylf said,turning to the Wood Elf. "I guarantee,that if you would have used this bow then you would have got your kill" The Bosmer said defensively. Hylf turned and walked off. "I guess I'll have to demonstrate this weapon the hard way." he said raising the bow and arrow up and aiming it at Hylf. Hylf spun around and dodged the arrow just in time. He put his bow up and un-sheathed his Nordic Longsword.
"You messed with the wrong Nord." Hylf shouted. Racing to the Bosmer he slew him where he stood. The other four,in sheer terror turned and ran. Hylf crouched down to relieve his would-be-killer of his former possessions. He found sixty septims,a key,and a bottle of Cyrodiilic Brandy.
Hylf looted the body,and grabbed the bow,planning on selling it later,and returned home. Hylf thought of what had transpired in the past five minutes. He now realized that the Bosmer and his band of followers were bandits. Arriving at his shack,Hylf placed his bow on his shelf and leaned the looted one against the wall.
He then walked to the tavern to have some mead and chat with his brethren. Sipping away at his mead he told the bartender of his experience that morning. The bartender replied "That's strange,I got a report of a band of six were seen at Pale Pass yesterday. There was a Wood Elf like the one you described,three Bretons,an Argonian and a Khajiit. They were a suspicious looking bunch". Hylf turned this over in his mind a couple of times,dropped it completely from his mind and continued in drinking his mead.

Morning Star 5th : 6 in the evening-

Hylf,getting quite hungry thought he would go hunting again. He grabbed his father's bow and went out. He managed to get his dinner. Hylf returned home after he had slain his prey,when he opened the door there stood the Bosmer who killed earlier on. He was transparent and there was a strange glow about him. Hylf didn't know whetther it was the mead or if what he seeing was real. "You killed me and now I'll have my revenge! At exactly seven o' clock tommorrow morning you will die and your soul will be trapped in this bow unless you dispose of it" The ghostly Bosmer said. Hylf replied "Fine then,I'll throw it into the lake if it pleases you that much. I believe not in your childish superstitions but if it'll make you go away then fine". "Oh no,my Nordic friend you won't be able to!" At that moment a green ball shot forth,hit Hylf and froze hime where he stood. The Ghosth of the Bosmer vanished.
Hylf was getting restless,how many hours had it been? Two? Three? He couldn't tell. It was eating away at him. This was such a horrible way to go for a warrior such as he. When dawn came his fate was sealed,or so he was told. "Nonsense,I must have only injured that elf earlier today. He just cast a spell on me. He's just trying to scare me." He kept thinking to himself,making himself believe it was true.

Morning Star 6th : 6:58 in the morning-

Hylf was going mad,he hadn't been able to move for hours. He could see out his windo the sun slowly creeping up.Hylf looked down,and was horrified. The bow which he'd taken from the Wood Elf had blood stains on it,and was glowing. Hylf's eyes grew wide. He panicked. Suddenly the ghost of the Bosmer returned and said "The time has come,your soul belongs to the bow now!". Hylf,desperately trying to move,was terrified. Not of losing his soul. But of not dying an honorable death.
Hylf felt something pulling at him. Then he went blank. A body bent down and picked up the bow and said "Hmmmmm it's been a few thousand years since I've been a Nord but I'm sure it'll be better than that short Bosmer".

And so if you ever run into a shady person who is trying to sell you a bow then politely refuse and get away from him or who knows...Hylf and your fate could be the same.

The End
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:26 PM
Post #39


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Superum Lucretia Victrix (MadDocSkooma)


Tales of the Hermit Enchantress, Part 1
by
Superum Lucretia Victrix (MadDocSkooma)

This is the story of how I came to be the Hermit Enchantress Superum Lucretia Victrix. Some tales may sound embellished, and others actually are enhanced, as they say, but most are true. My time in the lands of Tamriel are growing short, I am an old woman now. But, if you take pleasure in the adventures of daring do and ne'er do wells then read on.

It all started when I was arrested as a young girl. The war effort had taken its toll on the local farms, and we were being rationed by the military. My family was hungry, and I did not believe the Imperial Guard would arrest a child for lifting a loaf of bread. I was sentenced to three days. Three days! For a loaf of bread? Me, a young imperial girl given three days for simply helping out my family? If ever I meet the Emperor I'd give him a piece of my mind, and more. That is what I had thought then. Oh to be young and brash and full of vigor. I guess the bread did belong to the captain of the guard, but still he had plenty of food.

The guards shoved me into a dark cell deep within the prison tower. It suddenly dawned on me that they had indeed found me guilty! As I was lost in my thoughts of anger, I hadn't noticed there was someone else in the cell with me. As my eyes adjusted I noticed the figure of an old woman sitting on the bed clutching a blanket around herself to stay warm.

I asked the old woman, "Who are you?"

"Just an old woman caught stealing." she said.

Sitting in the cell with the old woman who had been punished much like myself, we could hear a great battle raging outside. I suppose, the price one pays for living near a province not yet under the rule of law. Not having much to do the old woman tried to befriend me, she said she was a great enchantress. All I could believe was that she was a filthy liar and a thief, like me, otherwise why was she caught stealing? But, not having much to do I listen to her, as she prattled on about how to enchant ones shoes to travel faster.

She says to make such an enchantment; one needs a great soul of a demon. I couldn't believe that she could capture the soul of a rat, but still there was something about her that kept me interested.

"Old woman, tell me. Have you done so to your shoes?" I asked.

"Aye, young child I did. But, they have been stolen. Along with my collection of soul gems. Unfortunately, there was a slight problem with the soul I used for the enchantment." she said.

"Problem? What happened?" I was quite intrigued by this, had the great enchantress made a mistake?

"Well, as it turns out the shoes, well actually boots, had a rather nasty habit of making the wearer blind!"

Some enchantress I thought. Still, she had shown me a few tricks to enchanting, and I became more interested in the process. The days went by, the old woman showed me a few more tricks of the trade before we were released, a day later than we had been sentenced. The guards said it was for our own good, and besides it would have been too dangerous for an old woman and a child to be around all the fighting.

As we left the prison tower I noticed a charred patch of land nearby, the place where my families home used to be. I felt an assuring hand placed on my back, I looked up to see the old woman. With a glint of tears welling in her eyes she motioned towards a distant hill where a small shack perched precariously atop it and said, "Come child, you may stay with me."
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Troika
post Mar 13 2006, 06:27 PM
Post #40


Agent

Joined: 30-March 05
From: Berlin, Germany



Section: Stories

Written by Balorduin the Sage (Jaeld Alteir)


Chronicles of the Riftguard, Volume 11
Witnessed and recorded herein by Balorduin the Sage, at the Eighth Coming of the Great Cold

Translated and Edited for the Modern Era by Jaeld Alteir


[Editors Note: Although this work is entitled as the 11th chronicle, no other volumes are currently known to exist, and indeed very well may not. This manuscript was found languishing amongst a stack of forgotten documents in a ruined keep to the far north, and translated from an archaic Nordic dialect by myself for the purposes of the modern audience. A number of pages were missing or decayed beyond recognition, but I have salvaged what I could. The legend of the Riftguard apparently has a long established presence in Nordic folklore, but no new tales seem to have surfaced in the past thousand years or so, and considering the rather unbelievable nature of this tale it seems unlikely that they were ever more than heroic myths bantered about in mead halls.]


...but the omens were not to be ignored, and a call went out from Castle Northfang to the lands of the far north. A great council was assembled, composed of the noblest of the lords of frost and snow, and they gathered in the cavernous halls of the fortress at Riftgate to examine the chasm of the Rift for themselves.

But as the snows blew ever colder and as the frost crept across the surface of the towering Riftwall like cobwebs of ice, it was clear that the shamans had read the signs true. The wolves kept by Lord Northfang howled continually, a mournful sound of impending dread sent up to warn their masters of the coming Cold. The ways of beasts are older than the ways of men, and their warnings are not to be taken lightly. The fear was evident even in the eyes of these greatest predators of the North. They could sense what was stirring deep in the earth.

And so the council ventured out through the iron teeth of the Riftgate; the immense thickness of the base of the Riftwall; the one narrow passage carved in the ancient stones laid by the first wardens of the Rift countless generations before. The Gatekeeper, spear nestled in the pit of his arm, led them through the series of gates that had not been opened for many centuries, and the hinges creaked and groaned in protest. When they reached the outer edge of the wall, the Riftguards eldest shaman bent and spoke an ancient incantation before the enchanted wardstone that served as the most potent seal of the Riftgate between men and Rift.

And so, ringed by thirty of the Riftguard's stoutest defenders, with burning torches held aloft and clutching spears and swords enchanted with flame, the council ventured forth into the Valley of the Rift. To the edge of the great Rift itself they crept, and peered down through miles of fractured ice and earth into the chilling realm of nothingness. The cold here is so great that it froze the very earth itself, and split it asunder. There are ancient magic’s at work in the swirling cold of the Rift, and at a certain depth...things change. Men are said to have ventured into the void and never returned. But one thing is certain: this is the point from which the Cold Ones and their minions spill forth into our world. It is said that the council could hear the unearthly wails and whispers of the Cold Ones themselves carried up on the icy winds that poured forth from the Great Rift, and it was then that the council knew beyond all doubt that They who had long slumbered had finally awakened once more, and that war was coming once more to the realm of all that lived in light and warmth.


...the valiant warriors of the Riftguard had met the first wave of the Cold Ones and their minions with flame and steel, but the relentless tide of icy foes had begun to overwhelm the outer fortifications in the days since. It was not only the formless Cold Ones themselves who led the assault, but also the shaggy Frost Giants summoned up from the depths of the ice and corrupted by the dark hatred emanating from the Cold Ones. Most dreadful of all, however, were the animated corpses of the Riftguard's own slain, twisted by the Cold Ones into lifeless shadows of their former selves, with cold, dead eyes of frozen blue. It was a horrible thing to watch as these brave men of the Riftguard were forced to cut down the defiled remnants of those who had once been their closest comrades, tears mingling with the frozen blood on their blades. It is a credit to the stout hearts of the men and women of the Riftguard that they did not waver from their duty even in this, but it will take many a pint of mead to wash these vile memories from their minds when at last this war is over.


...barnacles cling fast to the hulls of boats sent from the mainland to reinforce us, for they have lain silent in port for several weeks now. Lord Northfang's swiftest ships and ravens summoned them from afar when first the council decided that the Cold Ones were to come again, reviving near-forgotten alliances from ages past. From all quarters they came, for all races remember that when the Cold Ones come, the living must rally to meet them. Their ships shall return home much lighter when this nightmare finally ends, however, for many of the warriors they brought here now lie buried at the foot of the soaring Riftwall. Late at night while on watch at the top of the wall, I have heard men tell of how the ancient heroes of the Riftguard buried their dead in a wide arc around the Great Rift, and that the very Valley of the Rift itself was formed by these heaps of corpses piled up over the ages, when the battles between men and Cold Ones raged almost continually. The Imperial soldiers sent from the mainland, and the Dunmer warriors who came to our aid from Morrowind, laugh at these tales, and consider them too outlandish to be true...until they stand for themselves before the onslaught of the Cold Ones, and face that empty, animated armor of ice for themselves. They are quieter after that, and perhaps they start to believe the old tales...

...The outer bulwarks are crumbling, smashed and overwhelmed by continual assault from our icy foe. Still the Riftguard and their allies try to hold the defenses at the base of the Riftwall, willing to fall back to the mighty wall itself only as a last resort. For although the massive Riftwall towers above the valley almost to the limits of my sight, and seems an indomitable barrier, it is truly the last line of defense between the Great Rift and all that lives beyond. If the Cold Ones were to break through, their plague of ice and darkness would consume the world, plunging all into frozen lifelessness. They cannot be allowed to breach the wall, and so we must not let them reach it--at the very least we must minimize the time they have to pound its huge stones with their icy fists, and dig their frozen blades into its ancient mortar.

But still they come onward, by the gods how they come. In the dark of night they hurl themselves at our defenders, and the night is filled with their unearthly wails and the defiant battle cries of our noble defenders. The battlefield is alight with the dancing flames of torches and the arcing tracks of fire arrows launched from atop the wall, for these demons of cold despise the light and warmth of fire.

The wood elves are our finest archers, a complement of whom arrived from Valenwood no more than a week ago. Even in the heaviest wind and snow, they can be relied upon to hit their mark, and the screams of the Cold Ones attest to this accuracy as the flaming arrows consume them. But there is always more surging out of the Great Rift to replace them.

But the strangest and most unexpected of our allies arrived even before that, on a black and windless night beneath a slender moon. Shadows spread and slithered in his wake as he strode silently up to the towers of Riftgate behind the wall. The lone pair of men set to watch the rear side of the Riftwall shrank warily back as the sound of his voice drifted up to them, like the slow gasp of escaping air from a long-sealed tomb. "I am Vhalithasion, born of night and blood, come to fight on the side of the warm bloods."

For he is nothing less than a Dark Lord, a vampire, ancient and immortal. And yet here he was, strolling boldly into the midst of the living, a blackened longsword slung at his side beneath a blood-red cloak embroidered with arcane runes. Half a dozen suspicious men of the Riftguard escorted him into the presence of Rhojal Icefist, Warden of the Riftwall, and his circle of fellow commanders gathered from across the globe. Most notable among them was Lord Northfang, the lord of Castle Northfang, the only other outpost on this far Northern Isle, whose noble bloodline had founded the Riftguard far back in the distant recesses of history.

They too were naturally suspicious of so unusual an ally, but we were desperate for all the aid we could acquire, and the Riftguard has never placed political squabbles above the defense of the living world...so perhaps that could now be applied to the undead as well. They conversed in private with this Vhalithasion for some time, and when at last they reemerged it was agreed that he should fight alongside the ranks of men and elves, an uneasy truce granted in the interest of greater goals.

At first some of our mortal warriors muttered and cursed about this unnatural beast within our midst, but I must grudgingly confess that the one known as Vhalithasion bore it all with an admirable calm. He had a noble air about him, and I gradually began to understand him as a creature that had...lived? existed? long and knew much...he was not merely a base monster as so many of his kind are known to be. I fear we shall never fully understand his reasons for joining us in this fight, and when I asked him about it he seemed almost amused. As his deep red eyes bore into me, he responded "Perhaps I do not wish for these...Cold Ones...to rob me of the lifeblood of this world. Or perhaps if you had lived as long as I, you would understand that a changing world is all that an immortal has by which to measure his existence...an eternity of cold and darkness does not interest me." He flashed a grim smile then, revealing the gleaming fangs that marked him as no mere Dunmer. "Or perhaps I merely thirst for battle after a long slumber. My reasons are my own, mortal. Simply be glad that I fight with you rather than against you."

And we most certainly did come to be glad of that. The first night after his arrival, he took up a post on the front lines of our defenses. We were still wary of him then, and the defenders shrunk from his presence, holding their torches close. But he seemed hardly to notice their discomfort as the cold night air whipped and coiled around him, setting his cloak aflutter. His red eyes glowed in the flickering firelight as he stared off into the darkness, waiting, poised to strike, yet unmoving against the frigid wind.

We all heard it then, carried on the wind--the now-familiar sound of Cold Ones and Frost Giants clamoring up the sides of the Great Rift, and the scraping of ice as they shuffled up out of the valley. Vhalithasion stepped through the line of wooden stakes that marked our furthest perimeter, and strode alone out into the fresh snow. The only sound was the soft crunching of his footsteps and the distant murmur of the advancing foe, for none of our own soldiers spoke. They watched, transfixed, as the imposing vampire slowly drew his fearsome black blade, more than two dozen strides out in front of the nearest man. The sounds of the Cold Ones grew louder in the darkness, but he did not move. Soon we could make out their shapes advancing through the icy mist, but still the Dark Lord stood firm.
The wailing of the Cold Ones and the roar of the Frost Giants grew louder until it filled the valley, and at last they burst fully into view, a great wall of foes streaming towards us across the floor of the valley. I think Vhalithasion laughed then, but the sound of it was like...like the echo of a dying star, perhaps, is the best it can be described. Even more difficult to define is what happened next, for it seemed that all the sound was sucked out of the valley in an instant, and as its absence throbbed like a heartbeat in the air, Vhalithasion's upraised sword burst into flame and a great ring of fire erupted out of the frozen earth around him, soaring up into the heavens before vanishing in a flare of red light that illuminated the entire battlefield for an instant. The Riftguard and our allies gasped and gaped, and even the legions of ice faltered in their advance at this great display of heat and power, but Vhalithasion merely let out another otherworldly cry and leapt upon his foes, covering a hundred strides in an instant, with his flaming sword flashing in the darkness.

Blazing curtains of flame erupted from his hand as he summoned arcane magics to his aid, and the wails of our foes filled the air as the fury of flame and sword tore into their ranks. Say what you will about these vampires, lords of night and blood, but I merely record what I saw: In battle, Vhalithasion was a god of ferocity and flame, his prowess unmatched by even our most heroic warriors. His charge ignited the courage of our own ranks, and we burst to life out of our stunned stupor--a flight of flaming arrows from atop the wall was first into the fray, followed closely by gouts of flame launched by our own battle mages. And as the blanket of flame subsided and the Cold Ones surged up to the edges of the defenses of the living, the rest of our troops surged into action, and the night was alive with the sounds of battle.

Though many of the men and elves who fought with us never fully trusted the taciturn Vhalithasion, he earned their respect that night, and there was never any doubting that he meant to fight alongside the best of us just as he said he would. He remained one of the greatest warriors of this war, and each night he appeared on watch without fail, always ready to leap into the thickest fighting and help drive back the hordes of foes who assailed us. Regardless of what he may have done before or since, in the annuals of the Riftguard the name of Vhalithasion shall always be remembered as a champion and stalwart defender of the mighty Riftwall, and may his legacy prove to generations hence that aid can come from even the most unexpected corner.

This post has been edited by Troika: Mar 13 2006, 06:27 PM
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