Forgive me if this is not the right forum for this. I have never posted here, and do not know if this forum is reserved exclusively for stories about player characters as the stickied guidelines stated.

NOTE: This is an open thread! Anyone can post their own Elder Scrolls related short stories. What good is a story if it never gets shared? Criticism for my own posts are welcome. I have not done any serious writing in years. I am more than just rusty.

Quick explanation: As part of in game role playing, my Oblivion character has become a book writer. This is the first story she has written. I decided to post it here for your amusemant.



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Kundur the Beggar: the Champion of Welks

By Sajira

Special thanks to my friends; Quill-Weave and Casta Scribonia. Without your encouragement I would have never written this.


_


"I'm Bored", Talin groaned to his friends.

While the Newlands Lodge of Cheydinhal provided some of the best entertainment, usually in the form of violence, there was little amusemant to be found on that dreary afternoon.

"Stop whining, Talin", Durgok muttered to his drinking companion from behind a pewter mug of mead.

"If you're that bored, just have Jon tell you a story", Durgok continued.

"Oh yes! One of Jon's stories would certainly brighten the lot of you up!", Ranine exclaimed while scrubbing at a plate that refused to surrender it's grime.

"My ears are burning", Jon called over to the group with a smile on his wrinkled face.

"I told you all a story just the other day. I need time to find new material you know", The aging Breton stated as he stood up from his table and walked over to the bar; planting his wide posterior on a stool that was likely as old as he was.

"We want to hear another", Talin said with mild annoyance, fixing his dark red eyes on the Breton next to him.

"All right. All right. Have you ever heard the story of Kundur the beggar?"

Ranine smiled as she leaned forward with a pitcher of mead, refilling Durgok's now empty mug. "Of course not. Beggars aren't worthy of stories!", Ranine chuckled.

"This one is", Jon assured.

"Get on with it then", Durgok muttered between gulps. "I'm gonna need a good story to wash down this cheap swill".

"Such a gentlemen", Ranine said with irritation in her voice, flashing a rude hand gesture at Durgok. Durgok smiled back at her and proceeded to make smooching noises at her.

"Right...Well then...Moons ago, in the Eltheric ocean, on the Island of Welks, in the city of Welks, behind Lord Boox's house....in the back alley", Jon smiled as he talked.

"There was a man. No ordinary man, but a Nord, and a Nordic beggar at that. This Nordic beggars name was Kundur Frosthawk.
Of course Kundur had not spent his entire life as a beggar. He too was once a man like any other with dreams and aspirations...and talent. Much talent at that, for Kundur had once been the royal jester of the late duke Eston of Welks", Jon continued.

"Some people know how to swing a sword, other people know how to build a fence. Kundur? He knew comedy. Many a happy night
was spent in the dukes great hall, where he told raunchy jokes a plenty and put on funny plays for the royal family. On some nights it was said that the duke and his family laughed with such fervor at their great entertainer that the laughter could be heard outside the city walls. Kundur
was a truly happy man...Until...", Jon paused as a grim shadow crept across his face.

His audience listened on in silence.

"Duke Eston and his family and many of their servants were stricken with plague".

"No matter how hard he tried, Kundurs jokes would never cure them. Noting could cure them. Months passed as the royal family withered away until eventually the duke, his wife, and three daughters had died a painful death. Kundurs humor had been buried with them."

"Kundur quit his job as jester and took to heavy drinking. Longing for happier days that had since passed, Kundur....wasted away", Jon continued in a sad voice; pausing as Ranine set a mug of ale in front of him from which he took a much needed drink from.

Jon wiped his mouth on his sleeve, "Thank you Ranine...As I was saying, Kundur had wasted away. An empty shell of a once fresh egg of a man".

"In a back alley is where Kundur the beggar now sat, empty ale bottle clenched in his fist, he turned his drunken face to the sky. "Life is not fair!", Kundur shouted in a sad and angry voice at the heavens above."

"What right is it of the gods to take away so many good people?", Kundur shouted again in a even sadder tone. "What is there in life for a broken man such as me!", Kundur cried out in anguish, tears streaming down his face.

"I'll tell you what", A dark figure spoke, and then stepped out from, the shadows of the alleyway. He gave Kundur a warm but menacing smile".

"What? Who are you? What do you want? Why do you bother a worthless man?", Kundur then asked the man, squinting through his tears try and see his face".

"The man ignored his questions and continued, "In two days there will be a great tournament. Warriors from all over will come in great flocks. Including the arena champion from the province...of Cyrodiil", the man spoke to Kundur in a overtly cheerful voice."

"Challenge him and slay him in the battle pit. No longer would you be a broken man, but you would be one of the greatest champions... to have EVER lived", the man continued.

Jon took another long drink from his mug, letting out a belch in Talin's direction. Talin wrinkled his nose in mild disgust.

Jon resumed his tale.

"I am no warrior. I am a beggar", Kundur replied to the mysterious man".

"The man ignored him again, "I want you to think about it. Let it swim in your brain for a while. You have two days to decide...Plenty of time for a man
with nothing to do....Oh..and bring your own weapon. Armor too. Goodbye... and farewell...", the man faded back into the shadows from whence he came until not even the light that shone off his teeth could be seen.

"Kunder knew the strange man had a point", Jon smiled and then finished off the remainder of his drink. "There was truly nothing left for him in life. He still had one fleeting chance at glory. A chance to die an honorable death in battle. A valuable thing for a Nord...".

"So Kundur spent the next two days by the docks in Welks, hoping the salty breeze and vast shifting waters would hold an answer on what he should do".

"He always went to the ocean for answers, for there is nothing more wise than the endless and timeless slow dance of the ocean", Jon explained.

"The waters did indeed have the answer he that Kundur sought. Kundur stared into that deep water, his eyes going wide at what he saw. At that moment, in that place, he knew exactly what he had to do."

"He would... fight in that tournament", Jon said a small excited smile on his lips.

The small group in Newlands Lodge all stopped what they were doing and glanced upwards at the roof, the sound of raindrops interrupting their silence.

Jon began to speak again, his words almost a whisper compared to the sudden downpour outside.

"Two days passed".

"Great ships were moored at the dock of the city Welks, and from them spilled warriors, spectators, and noblemen from the farthest reaches of Nirn.
The streets were overflowing with people, all shouting and clamoring trying to catch a glimpse of the first tournament battle. The crowd erupted in sudden applause".

"My good people!", the announcer shouted. "I welcome you today to a great tournament of all great tournaments. But enough talk. You came to watch a fight, and a fight you shall have!".

"The crowd cheered again as the grand champion of the Imperial province walked out into the combatant pit, his golden armor shining in the blazing sun", Jon said, his own eyes twinkling with amazement as if he could see the champion himself.

"I present to you, the one and only, grand champion of the Imperial province of Cyrodiil.....Golden-sword!", The announcer shouted. The crowd cheered and began to chant his name. Golden-sword smiled a big smile and drew his namesake golden longsword, raising it above his head. The crowd cheered louder".

"Fighting him today is the brave, and fearsome...Frosthawk!", The announcer shouted again, drawing a much...less... enthusiastic response from the crowd", Jon chuckled for a moment before taking on a more serious tone of voice.

"Kundur stepped into the pit, his great brown beard flowing in the wind. He stood as proud as a Nordic king of legend, despite being dressed in only his tattered rags. His face set in stone with a look more determined than even the bravest of soldiers", Jon continued in the same serious tone, "One might even find Kundur to be quite a fearsome looking man...were it not the for the fact that in his left hand he carried a dead slaughterfish by the tail".

"By the nine divines, I thought this was supposed to be a serious story", Durgok grumbled as he rolled his eyes.

"It is a serious story! Let me finish!", Jon snapped at him.

"Anyway...The crowd erupted again...this time it was not in applause, but in laughter. A great laughter that shook the very foundations of the city walls themselves".

"The laughter was shattered when Kundur let out a blood-curdling war cry and charged Golden-sword".

"Golden-sword, who had been greatly confused by the whole ordeal, barely had time to retaliate before Kundur was upon him".

"The crowd gasped. All that could be heard was a sickening thud...and a cry of pain".

Jon Paused.

"Kundur stood, blood pouring out from the great slice in his torso that started at his shoulder and ended at a golden longsword stuck in his ribcage".

Jon paused again.

"Kundur spat blood, and promptly died. His last task fulfilled, as the great champion Golden-sword fell to his knees; his throat sliced by the razor teeth of the slaughterfish".

"Kundur died a happy man".

"This was his greatest joke, his final work of art, and the act for which we remember him by. While another had won the tournament, Kundur was the true champion that day".

"He was buried in silence by the people of Welks, next to the bodies of his beloved duke Eston and his family", Jon continued in a somber tone.

"A statue was built on the spot where he died, in solid gold, it depicts a laughing Kundur stroking his beard in one hand and holding a slaughterfish by the tail in the other".

"Forever we should remember Kundur for his bravery, and his message that we should see the humor in all things. Even death.", Jon smiled, his tale sinking into his audience.

Ranine shed a few tears, lightly scrubbing at the same plate, "That wasn't a happy story at all".

Talin stared at the wall his red elf eyes wide as saucers, his expression blank. Durgok chuckled as a sad expression crept across his broad Orc face.

"That was a true story wasn't it, Jon?", Durkog asked in a dry voice.

"As true as I am old and fat", Jon replied with a chuckle. "Well...As true as you want it to be".

"No more stories for a while", Talin groaned.

This is the perfect topic for me, as, sadly, I have no stickability when it comes to writing but I love it so, haha. I hope you'll enjoy this little story I threw together, excuse the errors and such.

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Bernian gazed around the perpetual darkness which surrounded him. His breath was laced with fatigue and most of all fear. One hand rested upon the cold iron hilt of his blade while the other was rummaging around in his open pack. His hand wrapped itself around the dry wooden handle of his torch before pulling it forth. He held it out and removed his hand from his blade but for a moment. He roughly aimed at the oil-soaked rag upon the torch and focused. A weak ball of fire formed and struck the torch causing it to burst to life, revealing the Imperial's surroundings. He instantly wished he hadn't lit the torch. His comrades were strewn across the cold stone as the flies gorged themselves upon them. What he first assumed was water dampening the floor was thick, putrid blood that had soaked through his boots. He covered his mouth, attempting to hold back the vomit that was so desperately trying to escape his stomach. He backed up, torch still held out until he could go no further. His body began to shake uncontrollably as his brain furiously worked away, trying to arrange the thoughts that span around in his mind into an order that made even the slightest sense. It was failing.

His eyes were fixated, drawn in by the gore that coated his allies. Their wounds were savage, clearly caused by a beast of immense strength and no restraint. The thoughts of escape were overridden by a rising fear that froze him in place. This contagion of fear was spurred on by the low pitched growl originating to his left. The Imperial hesitantly forced his head to twist and his eyes met yet another horrific sight. His dread was consolidated with one gaze of his oppressor. Its fangs were of a dull yellow colour and possessed a coating of fresh blood. The beast's many eyes tore right through Bernian's remaining sanity, causing the Imperial to flee for his very life.

The Imperial fled without a moment's indecision. Panic led him through the narrow, dark, winding tunnels that made up the beast's liar. Jutting rocks and roots cut at his face, working with the beast to keep him trapped. Blood trickled down his face as he forced his way through, occasionally yelling curse words back at the creature. He could hear its numerous legs scrapping and pounding. He could feel its fetid breath on the back of his neck. He could sense its hunger. His tired body found itself at the end of the narrow tunnels and instead on the edge of a gorge. He ground to a halt as it came into view narrowly avoiding falling into the abyss below. He glanced over his shoulder, but there was no sign of his stalker. He threw the torch across to the other side and prepared for the jump. Taking a few steps back, he launched himself across the gap. His limbs flailed as he drew near to the other ledge and his hands groped at the jagged rocks of it. His body hung, saved only by his dexterous fingers. He pulled with all his might, struggling to lift his armoured body from inevitable doom. Without thinking, he used his teeth to un-strap the heavy iron cuirass that had safeguarded him from many a fatal blow in the past and watched it tumble down into the fog. With the weight lifted from his shoulders, he pulled his body up and got to his feet, panting.

Before he could pick up his torch and continue, the huge spider-esque beast appeared in front of him, hissing. Cornered, the Imperial drew his blade in an attack of defiance and readied himself. Unfortunately, his opponent possessed far stronger limbs than himself and with one fell swing of its arm; he was both unarmed and thrown to the floor. Again, Bernian found himself watching as another piece of his valuable equipment was sent plummeting to the depths of the cave. The spider seemed to laugh and mock the weakened Imperial as he staggered back to his feet, drunk with weakness. As he stood up, his hand fixed itself around a stray rock. His fear was replaced by a new emotion; hate. He thought back to his friends and how they had thought to survive, he reminded himself of the reason he was here. "You...You killed my family! My friends! And you think you're going to kill me?!" He screamed, stamping his foot and flaring his nostrils. "No! You're not going to kill me, you oversized house spider!" He spat towards the beast and watched as it recoiled slightly, distraught over the Imperial's new found power. He took a step forward and with a frenzied burst of power, launched the rock directly into the spider's central eye. Once more, it founded itself on the retreat as it screamed in pain. This time, it was Bernian who let out the laugh of impending victor as he grasped his blazing torch and drove it violently into the torso of his tormentor. By some super human feat, the wooden stake penetrated the beast and caused it to sway and stagger. It cried out, screeching and wailing as it tripped over its own legs, tumbling down into the void.

Once more, Bernian founded himself in darkness, but this time, he had nothing to fear.