No feedback yet, so I apologize for the double post.
Guess the audience is going to shrink a bit due to the release of Oblivion.
Oh well... enjoy the show.
*****************************************************************
Stranded on a rickety old rowboat, with naught but a sextant and miles of ocean between you and the nearest land. This was the popular fate of many outlaws on Smuggler's Run.
But not mine. Well... not yet that is.
From what I've been told, the ballista used to harpoon my old ship had smashed through the hull and knocked me into a quiet slumber. When I had awaken, I was the last of my crew left.
I know now they had been released, but their fate is still unknown to me. Their chances of actually making it to land without aid was slim.
As for me... my fate was about to be determined.
***
The dunmer was motivated to the splintery deck with a shove. His red eyes scanned the crew uneasily. All around him were raiders, men and women of all races. His head was pounding from a nasty wound, but he paid it no mind. He had bigger problems to focus on.
This was Captain Red Fang's ship... the Sheogorath's Whim.
"Who in Oblivion is that?"
He couldn't determine which of the raiders spoke, there were just too many of them.
"I found him on the Cyclone. Too bad he missed his friends' departure."
The Dunmer was resigned to his inevitable death, but nothing could quell his growing terror. He could only imagine the many horrible ways a man could die... and wondered which was to be his.
Someone was approaching, the raiders were silent. He looked up from the filthy planks of the decks to regard what could only have been Red Fang. But this was not the monster he had heard so many stories of...
Standing before him was a Redguard. Dressed in expensive blue attire with a black brimmed hat sporting an obsurdly long white feather. Tucked into a red sash was a sword... possibly a katana from the appearance.
"What's this?" the man asked.
"It's a 'Dunmer' you swi't," came a woman's voice from the growing crowd.
He paid no attention to the voice. Instead, he lazily turned his head away from their prisoner. "Captain, I think you missed someone!"
This wasn't the captain... this wasn't Red Fang. The real Red Fang was now making his way to the captive. The Dunmer's terror was once again ignited.
"Red Fang" was an Argonian, dressed in what appeared to be an old but cared for Imperial officer's uniform. They and the Dunmer hated one another, and would no doubt jump at an opportunity to kill one another. Or so he had believed...
The Dunmer closed his eyes and lowered his head as the captain drew a wicked longsword, praying for a quick death. A short moment passed, but it felt like an eternity.
A clatter jerked his eyes open once again. Resting below his lowered head was the longsword the Argo had drawn. Confused, he cautiously raised his head to regard his captor.
He grinned. It was hard to tell, but it was definetly a grin.
"You have three choices. The first..." He began to pace back and forth as he spoke, reminding the Dunmer of a pendilum in some old clock. "Take up the sword and strike at me. And die." He paused only briefly, then continued. "The second... take up the sword and plunge it into your heart. And die." This time, he spun to face the Dunmer, kneeling to be face to face.
"Or third... take up the sword, and grow wealthy beyond your imagination as a member of the most reckless crew of misfits and bastards that ever set sail!"
The men and women cheered. It was too late for the Dunmer to disembark with his former crew. And unlike the many stories claim, Red Fang was not about to slay an unarmed man.
|