Okay so here's my Imga story. I'm playing with a writing tool I learned from Chuck Palahniuk's Pygmy. There's a reason for it, but I've never used it before so be kind. It may take some getting used to.

This is Part 1 of a planned three part series. I will post the others as I write them. It may possibly go longer than that though.

Anyway...

Enjoy. And please feel free to share thoughts and criticisms.
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Editors Introduction

The following story was told to me by an Imga. Most of you have probably only heard about the Great Apes of Valenwood from their single mention in the Pocket Guide to the Empire. As someone who lived among them for quite sometime (I was forced to bathe twice-daily), I can tell you that the description in that book is horrendously flawed. The Imperial 'scholars' likely never left the safety of the Bosmer tree cities. It would explain their biased and libelous account. While it is true that many Imga revere and emulate the Altmer (including some of the embarrassing examples contained in the Pocket Guide), many more live by the old ways on the forest floor. Some of these traditionalists despise their tree-dweling shaved counterparts.

This story takes place after the Oblivion Crisis but before the Great War. I cannot testify to the truth of the tale, but I can assure the reader that the teller believed every word. I have reproduced his oral account as faithfully as possible. The edits I have made were minor and were done only for the sake of reader-comprehension. Still, I fear the reader will be missing out. The tale in its original form, the tale as told to me, came replete with excessive hand gestures, grunts of inflection, and at times even physical contact to bring me into the story. While I would like to think my writing is capable of jumping off the page, it will certainly pale in comparison to that.

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Chapter 1: Malcontent
Watching, waiting, breathing. Muscles ache, hanging there. Eternity passed. Stomach growled; damned Daedra.

Rustling in the detritus; not far away. I see it slithering: spotted pit!gon! More waiting now, breath stopping. Silence is vital.

Directly below me. Falling now; toes grabbing, hands smashing. Watch the venom. Twist, pull, and break. Crunch! I win.

Beat it on the tree, just to make sure. Uncle Glurp died from a snake bite. Thought he’d won. Forgot to make sure.

Fold it in half. Time to go home. Snake was heavy. Eighty pounds at least. Joff’s people would eat well.

Moving through the forest like the wind. Turning, twisting, jumping. Let the Bosmer have their trees. Imga rule the forest floor. Tree-folk can’t handle the dangers.

Home is just up ahead. No drumming coming from the clearing. Stupid Gorf. Keep playing, I tell him. Don’t stop ‘till I get back, I tell him. Would have to beat him now.

Then, new sounds. Shouting. And smells, a mix of dung and sweat and vomit.

In my home!

Throw the snake first. Good effect. Leap in after it, through the trees. Land loudly. Spin, throw leaves, grunt. Pause. Beat the floor and beat my chest. Make them scared. Now stop.

Five Imperials I can see, more I can smell. A cart not far away. They do fear me; they grip their swords. All but one. Must be the commander.

“Why here!?” I demand. “This place belong to Duke Joff and Imga. No man-pigs.”

Puff out your chest. Show him you’re big.

“What did it say?” commander man-pig asks vomit-sack. “I can’t understand those monkey grunts. The shaved Imga in the trees are bad enough. These wild things though...”

Vomit-sack responds: “It says its name is Joff. It doesn’t want you here.”
“Ah, well that’s too bad,” man-pig makes its voice slow. “You pay taxes. We Empire. Emperor Mede. You understand?”

Anger boils. “No taxes! No Empire! [censored] Mede.”

Vomit-sack begins to translate.Commander Man-pig cuts him off:: “I got that part.” Makes voice slow again. “Right, Joff. Monkeys haven’t been paying taxes. Very bad. Everyone in Valenwood must pay taxes. Otherwise, bad things happen.”

Gorf must have argued. Explains shouting. Wouldn’t have to beat him. ‘Least not hard. “Duke Joff to you man-pig...”

Not listening. Man-pig waves its naked hands. Smelly creatures start to move. Rummaging through our things.

Rage smoulders. Kill them? Others hiding. Can smell more than can see. None can escape. Army will follow. Must wait.

Man-pigs take mostly shinies. By Jiffer its Dumb! Stupid dung-men. Ale. Mead. Wine. Rare skins. Finest drums in Tam!RUGH! Joff’s treasure is endless. Fools can have gold. Maybe taxes not so bad.

“The don’t have much sir,” vomit-sack reports. “But I think its enough.”

“Not for back taxes. Take the alcohol too, everything you can carry. The men can have it tonight.”

Man-pig looks at snake. It’d better not. Uglier than a shaved Imga it is.

“And take that snake. I’ve never seen one so big. That should be worth a fine price at market.”

Fury explodes! KILL THEM! No. Can’t. Must wait.