The Elder Scrolls IV.IV: Oblivious (Full Version)

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Cow Face -> The Elder Scrolls IV.IV: Oblivious (3/16/2010 10:33:05)

As Bethesda Softworks allows fanfiction- and this is more a parody than a fanfiction- I think it should be alright to post this here. There are, of course, many, many similarities between the plot of Oblivion and the plot of this story. At times, I have taken dialogue right out of the game. However, any such similarities are for humorous purposes only, and I do not pretend to take credit for the plot itself. Merely the ridiculousness which I have injected it with. Please note also that while this is a work in progress it shall be its own thread; however, when it is finished, I shall move it over to my other thread, "The Steakhouse: Stories." So, "formalities" aside, here is:


The Elder Scrolls IV.IV: Oblivious
A parody of The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion

Chapter One: Hero Guy

It was a time of darkness in the land of Thumbnail. In the outer provinces, chaos was descending upon the land. A vast army was gathering: they swept, vacuumed and tidied all which opposed them. No force could stand before them. All were steadily falling beneath the dishpan hand of the Maidra.

However, I find that I am getting ahead of myself. Were I to continue longer, all of the dramatic irony and such that you, the reader, will experience would be lost. Our tale begins in the province of Pickledill, seat of the Empire, in the Imperial City, in the Prison District therein, in the prison for which the district was named, in a cell in that same prison. No, not that cell. The one a few over. Not the angry Dunmer. Yeah, across from him. That one. There. Good.

In this cell, there was contained a hero-to-be. This hero was of unknown origin. Unknown name. Unknown race. Unknown age. Let's face it; on the list of TIME's most influential people, this guy was below that pimple-faced bagger kid at your grocery store. There are many tales about this hero: no-one can seem to decide who they were, or even what they did. My research indicates that he was a mighty Imperial warrior, named Squeeble von Monkeypants. For his own sake, I shall simply refer to him as Hero Guy. And this… is his story.


Putting down his copy of How To Cast A Fireball For Dummies and Orcs, Hero Guy paced his cell. He had spent almost a week in this prison, for reasons unknown. The only other inmates were a grumpy Dunmer and a banker who had asked for extra funds after the National Bank of Pickledill had collapsed. Needless to say, interaction was scarce. Nonetheless, Hero needed to talk to someone. He had dropped his harmonica into a pile of rat dung, so further renditions of "Nobody Knows the Troubles I've Seen" were out of the question. Forcing his aching muscles to let him stand, he called out to the Dunmer.

"Excuse me! Might I speak to you for-" he began, but was interrupted.

"Oh, look- an Imperial in the Imperial Prison. I guess they don't play favorites, huh?" drawled the Dunmer in the other cell.

Hero stumbled, taken by surprise. "Uh, yeah, I guess not. Anyway, you looked lonely, and-"

"Your own kinsmen think you're a piece of human trash. How sad."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say-"

"I'll bet you get 'special treatment' before the end. Oh, that's right; you're going to die in here, Imperial. You're going to die."

"I'll bet your mother got special treatment!"

"Imperial criminal scum like you give the Empire a bad name, you see. You're an embarrassment. Best if you just… disappeared."

"Whoa, David Copperfield's here? Really!?"

"Hey, you hear that? The guards are coming- for you!" His insulting, uninterruptible speech finished, the Dunmer retired to the back of his cell, snickering to himself. Hero, taken aback by the sheer rudeness of this inmate, called after him, "You know, if I ever break out of here and join an underground guild of assassins, you're going to be one of the first on my list. Seriously. Right after a pirate captain and some guy who likes mounted heads. But you're going to be third." This threat, however, went unnoticed; the guard were indeed approaching.

An aged voice, though still full of authority, rose over the metallic footsteps. "My sons… they're dead, aren't they?" It was almost more a statement than a question, as though this entire event had been scripted by some team of writers. Another voice, this one more feminine, answered him. "We don't know that, sire; the messenger only said they were attacked."

"No, they're dead. I know it." He paused, perhaps stricken by grief. "Otherwise… where would the plot be? I mean, come on. A pseudo-medieval videogame that doesn't begin with regicide? That would be like an episode of The Next Generation where Picard doesn't say, 'Make it so.'"

They had already reached Hero's cell by the time he had finished speaking. All three were wearing suits of armor that looked suspiciously Eastern, and carrying katana. It was altogether too out-of-place for them to be anything besides a plot point. Following the direction of one of these guards, Hero stepped back against the wall. "Stay put, prisoner," growled the guard in question. "And cover your eyes while we open this super-secret passageway through which you could make an escape without trouble from the prison guards. Don't even think about following us through the very helpfully linear dungeon that follows. Because that would be very wrong. So wrong that we wouldn't even put a bounty on your head for the jailbreak." While he spoke, the woman pressed a heretofore mundane brick, opening a secret door next to Hero, who watched on in silence. It would seem that this was far from just another brick in the wall.

As they headed onward, Hero knew that a destiny far greater than any he had ever imagined awaited him. Mainly because the Emperor (Mr. Frownyface, with the snazzy clothes) had told him so, point-blank. There was something familiar about his voice, as if Hero Guy had seen the Emperor somewhere no man had ever gone before. Shaking off this eerie thought, Hero dropped into a crouch which would be really ineffectual for sneaking past anything besides a blind monk, and began following the royal party.




Cow Face -> RE: The Elder Scrolls IV.IV: Oblivious (3/16/2010 10:33:37)

Chapter Two: It Was So

By observing casual conversation between the members of the royal party, Hero had managed to figure out their names. The angry one was Glandboy, the Redguard was Borus, Mr. Frownyface was Emperor Urinal Septic, and the woman was dead meat. Not her name, mind you; as seemingly the only one who knew the secrets of this conveniently-placed escape route, she had to die. Which didn't take long at all, really.

The first hint that Hero received that something was wrong was when the royal party drew their weapons and began fighting with a group of armored warriors. Something, he knew, is going on here. This astute observation was only reinforced after he heard the guard captain (the dead-meat woman) let out a scream of death. Something's definitely going on here, mused Hero, who had had the good sense to stay back during the skirmish.

Borus and Emperor Septic seemed worried. Apparently, things were not going as planned. Typically, being attacked by would-be assassins means that not everything is going as planned. While Hero picked up the Captain's weapons- this wasn't an action movie; picking up better weapons than you had was allowed- the guard told him once again to stay put. Because no prisoner would ever try to effect an escape through a hidden tunnel known only to the Emperor.

Suddenly, a section of wall crumbled to dust! Drawing his newly-gained katana, Hero Guy tensed for the attack. His breath was slow, measured… His every move would be important here. What fiendish beast would have the power to smash through brick masonry? What could be waiting on the other side? His question was answered when a rat launched itself at his throat; its sharp teeth gnashing as it roared out a challenge to him. Ducking to the side, Hero smacked it with his blade. "Rats!" he shouted. "Why does it always have to be rats in these games? I'm so sick of fighting rats!" After a succession of blows (apparently, Hero was such a n00b that he couldn't even kill a rat with one blow from a sword), his foe lay vanquished, its delectable rat meat neatly removed from the bone, for alchemical purposes. Monsters here were very considerate when they died.

However, this was not the only challenge that Hero would face. For two more rats awaited him, their beady eyes glaring at him with the intensity of Hell-spawn. It was as though they had been sent from the bowels of Oblivious itself. One leapt at him, its attacks surprisingly identical to the rat which he had so lately killed. This time, he was struck, staggered by the blow. It did not take long, though, before both attackers were defeated. Those rats were quite a challenge. Hero knew that this meant he was in serious need of a strategy guide, yet he pressed on regardless.

As he explored the small room in which he found himself, Hero found that he was not the first to venture here. Luckily, whomever had been here before had not realized that there was a door just a few feet away, nor that the Goblin he had slew held the key for said door, and had decided just to die, instead. After leaving behind all of his belongings in the chests and crates nearby. Hero soon made use of the gold, lockpicks and armor left behind. Who knew when a bit of B&E would be necessary?

Upon picking up a bow and a quiver of arrows, he heard a strange voice in his ear. Its haunting advice still rings in his mind: "Now you're ready to practice with your bow. The bucket near the well will make a good target. To draw and aim, push L-Button. Release it when you're ready to fire."

Eyes widening, Hero stammered, "Who are you? What manner of creature are you? Are… are you a god?"

"Yes," replied the whisper in his ear. "Well. More or less. I'm a game designer. So, as far as you're concerned, I might as well be a god. Not one of the Nine, though. Nor a Maidric god. What's that, Bill? Oh, sorry, I think I'm breaking the fourth wall again. Gotta break that habit. 'Bye! Have fun saving the universe!"

It was a sign. Hero drew his bow back to his ear, after nocking an arrow. His arm was steady with resolve; even the Gods were watching over his adventure. "I shall lay this bucket to rest, in the name… of Bill!" he breathed, releasing the arrow. It struck its target, and he made a silent prayer of thanks to Bill and that other god. Still, his calling was to the blade, not the bow, so he stashed it in the corpse of the nearby Goblin. And stole its key, using this to open the nearby door.

Another rat. He couldn't risk a head-on assault, not yet. His Restoration skill was still only five, and the armor he was wearing reduced his magic effectiveness. Still, might that be the answer? How else had he escaped by being placed in a very coincidentally placed cell? Magic! Remembering the hours of studying he had underwent in his cell, despite the fact that the book was only six pages long, he pushed his hand forward. The skin prickled with heat as he launched a fireball at the unsuspecting rat. Singed fur wafted its way to his nostrils. It was the smell of victory. Victory, it would seem, can make you rather nauseous.

Chest! Someone had been very thoughtful, to leave these chests behind, filling them up with useful things. In this case, an iron cuirass and greaves; while they were rusty, they were still in full repair. Perhaps if the dead adventurer had put this on instead of that leather armor, he might have survived. Hero made sure to do that now.

He made his way through the room, only to be met by two more rats. Yet, all was not well, for they fled past him, terror in their eyes. Like dolls' eyes they were: black, dead eyes. And when they bit you- wait, wrong game. Quickly, before they could escape to ambush him from behind, he disposed of them with two strikes each. Then came the true enemy. He had never seen anything like it before, except maybe when playing Resident Evil or Left 4 Dead. This was a zombie, a walking cadaver, a decomposing body, an undead horror, a lost soul, a shade, an ex-person, dead on its feet, dead tired, and it had a bone to pick with Hero. It smelled awful.

Was this a miniboss? Hero could not help but wonder as he mercilessly assaulted it. (Swordsmanship in those days was easy- just swing it to the left, then swing it to the right, put your hands on your hips, and you know the rest.) It had been busy with another rat, which promptly attacked Hero Guy once the latter had killed the former former. Uh, the zombie. While he cleaned off his blade, a distant, rapid drumbeat sounded; he knew that his skill in Blade had increased.

Pushed on by adrenaline, he raised his sword high into the air, charging forward again to kill the rats which waited ahead. He made a power attack, letting out a generic shout of anger as he sliced into the rat, killing it in one blow. Who else, besides a hero, could kill a rat with a military-grade weapon?

He soon came to an overlook, beyond which lay an iron shield, and some fruit. Fruit in Thumbnail never rotted, nor could it ever get dusty, so people never washed it. E. coli contamination followed by dysentery was an everyday occurrence. When he jumped down to retrieve it, though, he saw the telltale head of his adversary poke out from around the corner. Time was precious little. He ran forward, picking up the shield, and using it to block the next attack. However, his n00bery ran deep; rather than the rat, he was staggered by the block. Despite this awful mistake, he recovered, killing the rat with yet another powerful blow. His fatigue was getting low; best eat the food. Sadly, it, too, tasted like victory.

Besides the skull and bones in the pile, a rusty iron helm lay upon the pile. He placed this on his head, feeling like a true knight. Then promptly removed it, wiping the dried brain out of his hair. After cleaning out the helmet, he placed it back upon his head, feeling like a true knight.

A strange feeling overcame him as he examined the surrounding area. In the back of his mind, a slow drumbeat sounded, ever gaining speed. Selecting one from the pile, he lifted a femur high into the air, brining it down viciously upon an arm-bone. Following this, it came down upon a skull, then various other pieces of the disassembled skeleton. The drum had now reached a climax. And then, Hero Guy realized that there wasn't a large, black stone structure nearby, and went back to his quest.

He headed on through the caverns; at this point, they were rather nondescript. A mushroom here, a corpse there, maybe a bit of beer or a cheese wedge… The usual array. Yet before long, he came across something strange, and insidious. Several strands of human skulls were hanging from the ceiling, over an eternally blazing campfire. Did this mean that some vicious, man-eating creatures lurked beyond the nearby door? Did it mean that a necromancer had taken up residence within? Did it mean that Martha Stewart's tastes in home décor had changed radically? Only time would tell.

He entered the next room cautiously. This part of the cave complex was called the "Natural Caverns"; Hero knew this, as someone had taken the time to label it very clearly. Nor was this the only sign. Below that, a cartoon drawing of a Goblin had been etched into the wood: it had Xs for eyes, and a crouching adventurer had stuck a knife in its back. It obviously stood for something… Fortunately, a Post-It note had been placed still lower, noting that there was a Goblin ahead which Hero could sneak past.

Dropping into his incredibly ineffectual crouch, Hero slowly advanced. A clank alerted him to the fact that his heavy armor would reduce the already pointless stance he had taken. Er, not all of his armor; rather, just the boots. A full set of iron plate armor wouldn't reduce his sneaking ability as long as he went barefoot. Sure enough, there was the Goblin. Hero walked on the balls of his toes, slowly advancing toward it. A loud mrowr! indicated that he had stepped on a cat. Sweat burst from his face, trickling down into his cuirass and greaves. Still the Goblin did not notice; still Hero progressed. Clang! Pots fell down all about him. Which wouldn't have been so bad, had he not stepped in one and fallen into the springboard, launching him forward into the Goblin. Luckily for Hero, his blade caught the foul beast in the back, killing it instantly.

His Sneak skill had increased.

Walking beyond where he had slain the last Goblin, he found himself staring at another. A rope extended across the cave opening in front of its feet; he cast a fireball at this to burn it away, springing the apparent trap and hopefully killing the Goblin. How silly of him, to forget that rope doesn't burn in the realm of Pickledill! Alerted to his presence, the Goblin rushed him. It also happened to run right into the volley of flame he launched at it. Maybe being a Knight wasn't the best idea. Still, it was honorable, so he decided that he must continue on this path.

Up ahead was another Goblin trap, but there were no Goblins about on whom to spring it. As such, Hero calmly walked past the pile of lumber, into the next chamber, which was filled with Goblins. Bravely, he charged forward, until they were all giving chase. Like the bards have written of him in years since, his battlecry still rings in the ears of memory. "Mommy-y-y!"

His brilliant gambit had succeeded! They were led back up the path, where Hero deftly stumbled into the stacked logs, knocking them into and killing the Goblins below. It was a gruesome scene, but a necessary one. Had he attempted to face them all at once, he might have been srs pwn3d. From here, he re-entered the outer chamber, looting it. Among the first items that he grabbed was a repair hammer, which he utilized to repair his weapon before the flimsy balsa wood shaft broke. He swore under his breath. "Cheap do-it-yourself kits!" Hero couldn't wait until he was accepted as a Master of Armorer, and could be trusted with a real hammer.

He continued still on until a break in the wall showed to him a more well-constructed section; obviously, he had passed some sort of test, and was now allowed back in the presence of the royal party. Indeed, he could already hear them conversing:

"We should find a defensible spot and protect the Emperor until help arrives," insisted Glandboy. There was a definite tone to Borus' response. "We need to get the Emperor out of here. Otherwise, the plot will never get advanced beyond this initial character generation and tutorial." The wisdom of his words was heeded- not that it mattered. For at that precise moment, a black sphere rolled out in front of them. Its fuse was nearly gone. Was this the end for the Emperor? Closer… Closer… the fuse was nearly gone now. Its last inch fizzed away.

"Why no boom!?" This shout came from a short man, clad in black. Next to him was a woman, looking equally confused. Before they could recover from their failed assault, however, a moose and a squirrel tackled them, beating them senseless in the name of the Emperor. Deciding that this was as good a time as any to join in, Hero Guy leapt from his vantage point, sword drawn, ready to fight. He was met with hostility from Glandboy, who feared that he might be working with the rather inept assassins. However, Emperor Septic stayed his hand. Approaching Hero Guy, he asked under what sign Hero had been born. Hero replied that he was a Capricorn, but the Emperor just sighed and shook his head. The party moved on.

Around the next bend, more of the red-robed assassins emerged from the shadows, to do battle with the noble defenders of the crown. It was a heated battle, full of blood and fury. Metal clashed against metal; sparks flew; the Emperor's robes caught on fire. At the very height of it all, right as the Emperor parried a powerful blow from his adversary, an oddly dressed Redguard emerged, seemingly from nowhere. He held something to his mouth and proclaimed, "Yo, Mystic Dawn. I'm happy for ya, and I'mma let you finish, but Eagle Eye had the best fictional assassination attempt of all time. OF ALL-" His speech was cut off as the royal party and assassins joined forces to strike him down, before resuming their battle.

Finally, they had come to an area which Glandboy declared was almost to the sewers. As he approached the iron barred gate, however, he screamed with rage. "It's a trap!" They were forced to look into a side passage, which ended up a dead end. The indecision sparking from this did not take long, however. A squeaky gate behind them announced the arrival of more assassins from behind; Borus and Glandboy ran out to face them, commanding Hero to stay behind.

As his warriors hurried on, Emperor Septic turned to face Hero. "My time grows short," he intoned. "I will have precious little in which to tell you all that you must know. Take this amulet. Deliver it to Jeffery, the Grandmaster of the Blangz."

"No!" protested Hero. "Why must you die? I mean, you look like you're over nine-thousand years old, but you've still got your youth!"

Emperor Septic paused, placing a hand on Hero's shoulders. "You see, Hero, I am Patrick Stewart. Do you really think that the designers are willing to pay me to portray a role that lasts throughout most of the game? No. My time is up, I am afraid."

"One last thing before you go, my liege…"

"Yes?"

"Would you please say 'make it so?' For me?"

The old emperor's shoulders sagged. "Really?" he sighed. "I'm the best voice actor in this entire game, I'm the Emperor, for crying out loud- and you want me to say 'make it so?' Oh, very well. Make it so. Are you happy now?" Seeing that Hero was, he allowed the assassin to come out from behind the wall and stab him.

This assassin stood over the fresh corpse of the Emperor, throwing back his hood. Spiked blonde hair covered his head, over an outlandish device extending across his mouth. "Hi, I'm Vince, here with the SliceKill! As you can see from our product demonstration, this little beauty-" he motioned to the dagger- "will really do the job! It can be yours right now, for the low price of $19.95, plus $40 shipping and handling!"

Hero's jaw went slack. "You just murdered the Emperor! What are you standing around trying to sell me things for?"

"But wait, there's more! If you order now, you'll also receive our newest product, the TotalSham, to clean up all of that messy blood! Every time you use it, you'll say, 'This is a Total Sham!' It's a super-absorbent towel that will soak up twenty-thousand times its weight in any substance! It's made in Orcrest, and you know those Orcs, they always make great stuff. All this and more could be yours if you act now! So tell me- do you have $19.95 on you?"

Hero stammered, "A-all I have is eighty-six gold. I mean, I have some pretty neat pottery here I could give you, and some gems, but-"

Vince cut him off. "Only eighty-six gold?" he asked, twitching an eye. Hero began to respond, but Vince merely lifted his SliceKill. "Stranger, you chose a bad day to take up with the cause of the Septics!" As he raised it above Hero's head, Borus' blade came down into him, forcing him away. Hero was saved. But the Emperor was not so lucky.

Hero explained that the Emperor really had just given him this amazingly priceless amulet. He totally hadn't stolen it off the body. No way. Borus believed him, and sent him on his way through the sewers, eventually to emerge a free man.

This was a simpler, happier time.




Cow Face -> RE: The Elder Scrolls IV.IV: Oblivious (4/20/2010 11:29:06)

Chapter Three: "The... 'Blangz?'"

Hero stepped out from the sewer entrance, replacing the grate behind him. Everything seemed so lively, after his long minutes of imprisonment. His chest swelled as he took in the fragrant air, mingled with the smell of the refuse on his armor. "It's a good day to be a level one," he smiled, observing his surroundings. An angry mudcrab on the beach; some alchemical fungi growing upon a tree; a mysterious figure approaching from the east; the soft lap of the water against- hey, wait a minute, what was that? Hero whirled to face this newcomer, who wore a sopping wet business suit. "By the Nine!" he exclaimed, clutching his chest. "Who are you?"

The newcomer straightened his tie, hefting his briefcase; Hero Guy had a vague feeling of déjà vu. He then realized that this wasn't the proper dystopian setting to be unsettled by such a man, and let the stranger speak. With a cheery wave, the man opened his briefcase, taking out a piece of paper. "I believe that your name is Squeeble von… ahem. Forgive me. I believe your name is 'Hero Guy?'" He raised an eyebrow at the moniker. Receiving a nod, he continued. "As for your question, it may be answered quickly. My name is Todd Howard; mean anything to you?"

Hero thought hard, until he nearly fell asleep. "Can't say that it does," he finally decided. "Who are you?" he once more inquired.

"I'm the executive producer of The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion," explained Mr. Howard, smiling and extending a hand, which Hero tentatively shook. The latter stuttered, "Pleased to meet you, sir, but… what's that? And what does it have to do with me?"

"It has everything to do with you, my good… good-guy. For, you see, in this fan-fiction parody, the Emperor, who has been grossly misnamed, failed to tell you exactly what to do. This presents major plotholes, which the lazy bum of a parody writer didn't bother trying to fix. So, I'm here to tell you where you need to go, and what you need to do." His smile had become quite genial.

Hero Guy shook his head, trying to take in too much at once. "Hold up. I'm very confused; what's an 'executive producer?' And a 'parody?' What's going on?"

"Okay, we'll slow it down. I'm involved in game design, does that make any sense?"

"Yes!" beamed Hero. "So, you're a god?"

"…Sure… we'll put it that way. I'm a god, and I'm here to fix up your universe. As for what a parody is, your entire world is a work of fiction. None of it exists. Your actions are being dictated by some sort of demented fanboy, who has turned his energies to satirizing that which he enjoys. You're merely a pawn in his plan. In this universe-" he paused for dramatic effect- "he controls all."

Hero had been quietly whimpering all through this explanation, his eyes gradually widening as he realized just how insignificant he was in the grand scheme of things. Granted, most of the words made no sense to him, but it sounded insidious. Quietly, he asked, "I-is there anything I can do?"

"Yes!" affirmed Mr. Howard. "You can go to Whinin Priory, and seek out Jau- er- Jeffrey, the Grandmaster of the Blades. They're a secret organization dedicated to protecting the Emperor. You got a sample of their work back in the character generation dungeon." A sidelong glance lent inflection to the last remark, and Hero shuddered appropriately. Reassuringly, Howard noted, "They're usually far more competent than that. What happened was what had to happen, for if it hadn't happened, you wouldn't have happened upon the happenings which led to your escape. You're going to be a true hero guy, soon! Now, away with you!" He gave Hero an encouraging slap on the back, waving cheerily as he waded back off into the lake. Hero stared after him, then checked his map. Sure enough, Mr. Howard had given him a fast-travel marker to Whinin, so that he could instantly "zap" to that location, despite having never physically been there. Gods were so very useful.

After a brief loading screen, Hero found himself outside the chapel of Whinin Priory. One of the wells of Pickledill, which with rare exception could not be opened, was directly in front of him; various flora grew about it. A butterfly or two, one of the few creatures that couldn't be killed, flapped about. The smell of sheep permeated the air. Hero smiled, and entered the chapel.

Once inside, Hero was greeted by a stony-faced monk. That is, if having the cause of your venture demanded of you counts as being greeted. He informed the monk that he wished to see Jeffrey.

"No, you don't," the monk informed him. When he protested that he truly did, the monk corrected him. "You might think that you want to see him. But really, you don't. I speak the truth. These aren't the monks you're looking for. I speak in total seriousness. Flee now, if you value your ears. Friend, I am a devout servant of the Nine; I am trying to protect you. Leave now, before Jeffery hears y-"

"Yo!" came a voice from upstairs. "Mah main man, what up down in the hizzowz? Just chillin', or do we have… visitorage?" This jovial, ungrammatical voice caused the monk to slowly shake his head, sighing heavily. "Alright; you might as well go and talk to him, now. Don't say I didn't warn you." With that, he stepped aside, allowing Hero to pass into the upper level. Here, he saw only a middle-aged monk, sitting calmly behind a desk. Hero bowed, and started to introduce himself, but was quickly interrupted by the monk, who raised his fist into the air. "I offer mos' def greetitudes to you, mah brutha," he grinned, his hand contorting into a variety of alien gestures. "And might I ask you what brings you to this most humble crib?"

Hero saw no crib about him, nor did he understand how the greeting could be deaf, but thought it was a reasonable question nonetheless. "I'm on a mission from a god," he started off. It seemed like a good way to introduce himself to a man of the cloth. "I've been sent to deliver the Amulet of Kings to Jeffrey, the Grandmaster of the Blades."

"Dat is indeed the puhson you be speakin' to," affirmed Jeffrey, "but you be pronouncin' some things with great wrongosity. Ah am Jeffrey, the Grandmeister of the Blangz. But we the same puhson."

"I… what? Okay." Hero was mightily confused, and he felt that his ears had been somehow offended. "I came with the Amulet of Kings, it's right here…"

"You mean…" Jeffrey raised his eyebrows, "the Amulet of Blings?"

"No, I think it's the Amulet of Kings." Hero's tone oozed patience.

Jeffrey shook his head, leaning in conspiratorially toward Hero. In an undertone, as though explaining a great secret, he muttered, "Yo, man, it is the Amulet of Kings, but we call it the Amulet… of Blings!" He sat back, with a very satisfied smile.

"Right, you do that. I've come with the Amulet of Kings, for Jeffrey, the Grandmaster of the Blades." Jeffrey opened his mouth to protest, but Hero spoke before he could. "And here it is now tell me what to do because I'm really confused please." This was one rapid sentence. Jeffrey looked miffed, but responded. "Well. In mah position of much authoritay, as Grandmeister of the Blangz, I can tell yew that you be searchin' fo' Marvin, the illegible- er, illegalable- er, ill-ligament- the not-quite-a-son of the Emperor. He may be found in the Chapel of Kvetch, east of heyuh." From here, he stood abruptly, slamming the desk into Hero's shins. With a long series of odd faces and stranger gestures, he began bobbing his entire body up and down, exclaiming, "East side! West side! We be on tha west side, while Kvetch be on the east side! If you gonna look at a compass, you find that to be true! Like, you know, east is on tha right side of it whereas tha left side is west!" He then realized that his rap lacked meter, rhyme and intelligence, and sat down again, looking sheepish. "Uh, right. Go west, young man. I mean, east. Ask for Abbot Costello." Hero Guy gave him a long look, then slowly nodded, thanking him for his help. He exited the chapel, while the monk below called after him something about a horse.

Behind him was the chapel, which he had no interest in re-visiting; behind that was the city of Charall. Hero had to get to Kvetch, so he began walking down the path the other way. His iron-clad feet clanged softly with each step, a trail of rust behind him. He had not gone long, though, before a rustle in the bushes announced company. The bandit, a Chatjiit male, had obviously been waiting for just such an opportunity; his legs pumped as he ran over to Hero, who quickly drew his sword. The bandit stopped at some distance, beckoning Hero closer. The latter cautiously approached, and the bandit opened his breastplate, displaying a collection of bottles. "Hey, buddy, want to buy some Skooma? Good stuff, good stuff, and I got it real cheap," the bandit hissed. "This stuff'll blow your mind; it'll rock your stockings; it'll tear your trousers; it'll slap your mother and call her Susie, no matter what her name is; it'll make you speak in huge, run-on sentences; it'll make you drastically overuse semicolons; it'll make you extremely repetitious in your manner of speaking; it'll bore others to tears while you extol the merits of things you want to sell; it'll turn your tongue green, your teeth blue, and your hair chartreuse. It'll make you fly, man!"

Hero thought that this sounded really dangerous, and his conscience told him not to buy it. But every time he started to say no, the Chatjiit would inform him that all the cool heroes were doing it. He tried again to protest, but sure enough, the bandit told him, "Man, the Emperor used this stuff when he was your age! I'll bet that was back in Stardate 3003.54, or something!" Finally, Hero was convinced. He handed over some money to the bandit, and received a small bottle in return.

*** AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM HERO GUY ***

"Hi, kids! What you just saw wasn't real, but situations like it happen every day near you. It could happen to your best friend, your uncle, your niece, your dog, your third cousin twice removed, to whom you never speak but who seems to be a really cool guy. Taking skooma is bad, and it will mess with your mind in terrible ways. Every time you take skooma, the Nine Divines smite an innocent puppy. And then, vicious gnomes will take up residence in your attic and/or basement, and play raucous music day and night while eating the stuffing in your pillows and stealing one stocking from each pair on your clothesline. Skooma is a real danger, and it's a danger now. Kids, this is very important; are you listening? If a Chatjiit ever offers you some skooma, no matter what he says, just say 'Nay.' Then, punch him in the face and slap him with a battleaxe. Isn't that right, Mr. 'Skooma-Dealer?' (Please note that this isn't a real skooma dealer.)"

"That's right, Mr. Guy. Skooma dealers are lonely, mean people who need to be taught a lesson. Despite being a Chatjiit myself, I have to admit that what Mr. Guy here suggests is actually a good idea."

"Thanks, Ted. But you know, it's not just skooma dealers who deserve a good beating. If you think about it, pretty much every Chatjiit looks pretty shifty. I think they all need to get a little visit from Mr. Axe. Isn't that right, Ted?"

"What? Hold on, I didn't say that! Back off! I- ow! Oof! Zomguh!"

No Chatjiit were hurt in the making of this public service announcement. Except for that one. But, you know, he deserved it. This message sponsored by the Society For A Skooma- And Chatjiit-Free Society. We now return you to your regularly-scheduled parody, already in progress.




Cow Face -> RE: The Elder Scrolls IV.IV: Oblivious (5/4/2010 18:20:02)

Chapter Four: The Sack Of Kvetch, OR How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Maidric Siege Crawler

Hero stood on the verge of the city limits of Kvetch. "Population: A Lot Less Than Usual," he read. "Huhn. At least I'm here." He had made several wrong turns along the way, accidentally visiting some charming places like Raccoon City and Ravenholm. The citizens were nice enough, but they weren't really lively. Unfortunately, Kvetch seemed even worse- it was on fire! And not in the "The roof! The roof! The roof is on fire!" sort of way, like you crazy kids like to dance to, but in a "By the Nine, we're all going to die, the roof is on fire!" sort of way.

A refugee ran out from the small camp, grabbing him and shaking him until he felt as though he were in some fifties science fiction novel. "Get out!" he cried into Hero's face. "The city's over-run! They came out of nowhere- I was one of the lucky ones! Those terrible eyes, those terrible feather dusters! They kept offering me free trials of Pickledill On-Line! It was horrible! Run for your life; I'm getting out of here!" Before Hero could stop him, he ran off into the hills, whereupon he was tackled, mauled and eaten by a mountain lion. "And that," muttered Hero, "is why you leave the fleeing to the professionals." Disgusted with the foolish person, he stormed off into the encampment.

"Welcome to Septicville," growled a refugee. "We call it that in honor of our great leader, Emperor Septic, who doesn't do a thing to help the poor! Our town gets massacred, and he's off traipsing through sewers with some convict! Meanwhile, this is what we're driven to! They're keeping us down."

Hero blinked. "You do realize that Emperor Septic is dead, don’t you? He died down in the sewers just a bit earlier." The angry refugee threw her hands into the air with a galled noise. "Isn't that just the way?" she demanded. "Lucky stiffs, getting to go off and die while we have to stick around here! I tell you, the rich are getting more decadent by the second. It's got to be stopped!" She tramped off, leaving Hero alone and confused. Suddenly, his anger about the man who ran away seemed… a lot more intelligent, actually. But that was beside the point. He had to figure out what had happened.

As he made his way up the large hill that led to the city proper, the sky began growing red. This meant either that he was about to encounter some great gate into the hideous realm of Oblivious, or that the Brawling Bretons football team had finally beaten the Orcrest Behemoths. Hero decided that the former was more likely.

Upon reaching the top of the hill, he found that a small squadron of the town guard had gathered behind a makeshift barricade. They seemed battered and worn, their faces wearing expressions of the hunted. It looked as though they had aged years in what must have been mere hours, their minds and bodies both under the constant stress of battle. One had grown a long, white beard all the way to his knees. And he looked to be a boy of only twelve years. It had been a hard fight indeed.

A blazing structure had burst from the ground, extending toward the sky in an arch. Wavering flames flicked in and out of it; it looked rather like a gateway to the underworld. And above it, written in fiery letters, were the words: "Thise Invasion Is Brovght To Thee By the Lettre…" Hero looked from it to the encampment below, to the city behind it, and back to the gate. "One of these things," he muttered, "is not like the others. One of these things… one of these things just doesn’t belong." His thoughtful frown turned to a face of fear not unlike a wondering cat, as he saw vicious monsters begin to pour out of the gate. They wore a strange sort of motley, and carried bags of the-Nine-know-what on their back. Scraggly hair had sprouted along their jawlines. But strangest of all, not a one was over four feet tall. One of the guard cursed under his breath. "Stunted Tramps! I should have known. These Maidra are throwing everything they've got at us."

As one, the guard began charging forward, brandishing their weapons and shouting their war cries. "For Kvetch!" "For Kvetch and the Empire!" "For Kvetch and the Empire and the people!" "For A Fistful of Dollars!" "For the love of battles, man, that's some good coffee!" "Blue monkeys taste like crumpets!" "What?" "…For Kvetch!" The Tramps, too, began screaming as they rushed the guard. "We represent the Lollipop Guild!" "Alms, alms for the poor!" "Hey, man, can you spare a soul?"

The guards made short work of the Tramps, bravely throwing rocks and sticks at them until the demons fled back into the gate. "Good fight, men," said the captain of the guard, the only one without a helmet. Which, if you think about it, is rather backward. I mean, does he not need the extra protection, or something? You'd think the guard would want to protect their best. Oh, um, right, back to being an impartial narrator.

Hero approached the captain, who almost attacked him, due to his awful armor. "Sorry, citizen, you're going to need to get back to the encampment. We can't afford to have any more soldiers who lack adequate protection. My men and I fit that bill perfectly. But, after all, you go into war with the army you have, not the army you want to have."

"Sir, I want to help you," replied Hero Guy, stoutly. "I've a good blade arm; I killed countless rats, single-handedly. Big old rats, with beady eyes and yellow teeth that gnash and go all 'Grar, rawr, I'm a-gonna eat you!'"

The captain nodded, impressed. "That sounds dangerous. But if you really want to help, I guess we can always use some idiot for cannon fodder. You could be the idiot we need. Citizen, are you the idiot we've been waiting for?"

"I am the idiot you're looking for," affirmed Hero. "What do you need me to do?"

"It's a dangerous mission. We need you to go behind enemy lines, alone, with only what armor you've got, against countless Maidra, uphill both ways, drenched in molasses, across crumbling bridges, over the river and through the woods, to the fortress of Oblivious you'll go. There's a good chance you'll get really big boo-boos."

Hero grinned. "I can handle boo-boos, sir. I've got the basic adventurer spell, Heal Minor Boo-Boos." He decided not to mention that his Restoration skill was only six, so it was about the equivalent of putting a Band-Aid on it. The captain gave him a slap on the back, and he ran through the gate into Oblivious.

He emerged onto a hellish landscape; blackened grass and lava were everywhere. It looked as though a crazed landscaper had married a loony interior designer, gotten uproariously drunk, maybe downed a bottle of skooma or two, beaten each other half-senseless, and then painted the scenery. And the only color they had was red. Worse still, it was a gated community. Several Stunted Tramps had gathered together outside the gate, playing a dice game and chatting. Hero approached these, weapon drawn.

"Excuse me," he began, "might you know how to shut down this… gate? I really need to, because there's a lot of people depending on me."

One of the Tramps drew up to his full height, which didn't take a lot of drawing, and turned to his fellows. Their eyes narrowed as they looked at him, then they each joined hands. Menacingly, they took a step forward. Hero Guy, too, stepped forward, dropping into a crouch and snapping. They took another step; as did he. Finally, when they were within feet of each other, the Tramps spoke. "Follow the crimson-blood road!" they exclaimed. Hero blinked, and they repeated themselves, singing in countertenor voices. "Follow the crimson-blood road! Follow the, follow the, follow the, follow the, follow the crimson-blood road!" They pointed at a trail of blood which was strewn across the ground.

"Oh." Hero scratched his helmet. "Um, thanks very much. That… that was surprisingly helpful. And surprisingly musical." But it was no use; they had already turned away. Their ears were deaf to his thanks- it was almost as if they were…

Oblivious.

Hero began following the trail, occasionally stopping to rub his feet; the soles of his boots had already rusted away to nothing. As he walked on, he took a moment to observe his surroundings more closely. "Interesting architecture. The bones of some unidentifiable creature really go nicely with the flesh sacks. I like the placement of the lava around the castle; very artistic. Hmm, and the severely wounded knight over by that plant looks very nice, especially with the accent of-" He stopped, then rushed forward to assist the unknown soldier.

"Come no closer!" the man in question rasped. "This plant-" he gestured weakly at a vine which laid near him- "is deadly. I tried to fight it, but to no avail. With every swing, it merely struck me over and over again. It's relentless, I tell you. But it can't end like this. I could have been somebody, you know? I could've been a contender." He looked about to give in to fatigue.

"No!" cried Hero, rushing forward to drag him from the vine's reach. "You can't die on me! You've still got at least ten health points left!" Quickly, he utilized his skill with first-aid to administer a potion to the soldier, who already looked better, and gave Hero his thanks. Hero waved it away. "All part of the job of being an RPG hero. But now, what happened to you?"

"My company was ambushed by a group of Maidra. It was awful. Those feather dusters, bearing down on us, beating…" He shuddered. "Our commanding officer was dragged away to the tower. Those Maidra are-"

"Wait," Hero interrupted. "Maidra? Maid-ra? Maids?" A slow smile spread across his face.

The soldier's face contorted into a guarded look. "Yes?" he judiciously affirmed. "But they're not the kind of maids you'd like. They're fat and ugly."

"Fat and ugly?" Hero was crestfallen. "I'll bet they're mean, too, huh?"

"Yes. Very mean. And fat and ugly. And they don't speak your language. Or anyone's, for that matter. So no matter how much you might want to, you can't talk to them at all. And they're fat and mean and ugly."

Hero scowled. "Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings, aren't you? You crushed my hopes then danced on their grave! I don't know if I want to save the world, if there aren't any maids. Any good maids, that is." He pouted, crossing his arms and turning away. The soldier sighed, tapping him on the back. "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings," he grudgingly said. "I'm sure there'll be plenty of maids at the end of your quest, and not a one of them ugly."

"You're just saying that," scoffed Hero.

"Yes. But it's well-intended!" Hero showed signs of relenting, and the soldier pleaded, "Now, will you please go save the world?"

"Well…" Hero gave in. "Alright. To the tower!" Strengthened by the thought of maids, Hero charged onward, leaving the soldier to stare after him. "Heroes these days," he snorted. "So spoiled. When I was a hero, I didn't get promises of maids at the end of my quest. I had to content myself with a packet of gold and a slightly less rusty iron blade. Bah." He turned on his heel, marching off toward the gate back to Kvetch.
***

It had been a long, harrowing journey to the tower. Hero had leaped over broken bridges that spanned rivers of lava, traversed minefields, battled countless Tramps, and avoided sniffing the flowers along the way. Now, weary, his armor in shambles, he gazed up at the foreboding door which granted access into the huge tower. Swallowing his fears, he forced the gates open, and strode in.

It was the most hideous thing he had ever seen. Everywhere, grotesque figures hung from the walls, strung up before a giant column of flame. Their faces were misshapen, dripping as if plastic melting away before a flame. Something about that simile, though, was accurate, Hero realized. Stepping forward to look one in the face, he suddenly recoiled, aghast. "By the Nine! It's Joan Rivers!" Whirling around, he turned to face the others. Everywhere, celebrities were hung, still alive, their layers of plastic surgery melting away in the heat. Suddenly, a voice behind him groaned, "That… that's hot." Hero couldn't bear to face it; he recognized the voice too well. Clamping a hand to his mouth, he ran from the room, into the next chamber.

First came the sound. It began distantly, barely audible. Something about it was familiar, but Hero couldn’t quite make out the words. Cautiously, he crept forward, to see what awaited him. With every step, his trepidation increased, as the droning grew steadily louder. A flash of light. Searing pain. He fell to the ground, clutching at his ears. "Make it stop," he rasped out. "Please, make it stop." He felt sure that his ears and eyes were by now bleeding, as he looked up to stare at the screen. Endlessly, the same words were being displayed, exactly in time with the music. They were nearly burnt into Hero's eyes by the time he escaped. For years later, the memory would still haunt him.
"It's a small world after all; it's a small world after all; it's a small world after all…"

Hero burst through the door to find himself back in the main chamber of the tower. He had ascended two floors; he could tell by the height of the column. Looking up, he judged that there were about two floors to the top; not a long journey, yet it could be a harrowing one. Trying to prepare for the ascent, he first looked about for something which might assist with his journey. A strange sack was nearby; it was red, and almost pulsing. He gulped, and reached down inside. Something papery brushed against his fingers, which he drew out of it. It read:

THE PUNISHED
Attn. Maidra - No more interior designers STOP Enough as is STOP Complain of bones STOP Place in bags, like this STOP - Mgmt


This was truly sickening. In this day and age, the Maidra were still using telegrams? They'd perfected teleportation; they could easily use some sort of more instantaneous messaging. Of course, the people of Pickledill didn't have such a thing, either… Perhaps some day, someone would invent a service by which messages could instantly be relayed to anyone, anywhere! No, decided Hero, it'd never catch on. He gave up on the thought, and continued his ascent.

The membrane-like door slid open slowly and quietly. Hero crouched, inching forward. Strains of conversation were tickling at his ears, just within earshot. It seemed that he had come in on the tail end of a conversation: "…so I said that if he was going to act that way, he could wash his own sheets! I'll tell you now, there won't be a mint on his pillow after my rounds!" Sinister cackling followed this comment, followed by a half-nervous query in another voice. "That's great, but did you really say that to Master Cameron? It seems like he'd smite you or something." The reply came with offended briskness. "Well. Um. That's not important. Like I was saying-"

Hero had heard enough; surely, this could be nothing other than a small group, perhaps only two, of Maidra. Rising, he broke into a sprint, leaping into the air and slashing down at the larger of the two. "Die, fiend!" he cried, plunging his sword into the monster's back. It crumpled in a pile of clothing. The other one stared at Hero in bewilderment and anger. "What was that?" it cried, pointing at its erstwhile companion. "You homicidal psycho, you just killed Terrence!" It pulled a cell phone out of the folds of its uniform. "Hello? Police? I'd like to report an assault. Hello? Are you- no, an assault. With a deadly weap- come on. Hello? Can you hear me now? Wai-" It hurled the instrument to the ground, exclaiming, "I hate Sprinter service!"

The given pause was all which Hero needed to develop a plan. Quickly, he sprang into action, swinging his sword up at the beast, distracted by its phone call. He made a deft uppercut, striking the phone and flinging it back up at the monster. With a dull thud, it met its mark, bowling the creature over with a blow to the forehead. The Maidra fell, unconscious, and Hero stepped over it, running on to the next level.
***

Holding his map up to the directory, Hero tried to figure out where he was. "Okay, so I ran through the Foyer of Fallen Stars… Fought through the Theatre of Eternal Torment… Made it past the Restroom of Suffering… Waited in the Lobby of Endless Boredom… I should be in the Sanctum of Lost Sanity, but I seem to be in the Laundry Room of Death. Maybe I took a wrong turn at the Stairway to What Is Certainly Not Heaven, or else in the Hall of Snarky Insults." Tilting his head, he starting plotting a new route. "I'll make my way through the Laundry Room, then work past the Foyer of General Unpleasantness, and then get to the Dormitory of Rainbows, from which I can reach the Sanctum." It would be a very long path indeed, and a dangerous one. However, serendipity chose that moment to strike; he realized that there was a much simpler route. Slapping his forehead, Hero exclaimed, "Or I could just take the Elevator of Mind-Numbing Insipidity right to the Sanctum!" He quickly strode into the elevator, pressing the "Sa" button. One lone Tramp tried to stick his foot in the door, but Hero stomped on it, and the foot retracted.

The ride began simply enough. The Girl From Ipanema was playing, and Hero didn't mind. Yet, it started to move more slowly, and other songs started up. Bubblegum rock started blaring from the speakers, wearing away at Hero's willpower. Indeed, when he looked to the top-right corners of his eyes, a Status Effect had begun, damaging his Willpower by one point every five seconds. He almost didn't make it; by the time the ride was finished, he was clinging onto the rail and quivering. Eventually, though, the doors opened, and Hero forced his muscles to unclench, lurching out of the elevator. From now on, he decided, he would take the Foyer and Dormitory.

Emerging onto the Sanctum of Lost Sanity was an interesting experience. First, of course, was the relief from exiting the Elevator; that was immeasurable. But then, there was the added bonus of knowing that his quest was nearly finished. Indeed, he had just received a mysterious message in his journal that he should go forth and claim the Vigil Stone. He took a moment to look about, observing the two identical staircases leading up to a loft of sorts. From here, the top of the column of flame could be reached. Something was atop it, but Hero couldn’t quite figure out what. He charged forward, his Willpower restored, and prepared to conquer.

Seven Maidra had gathered together, from Stunted Tramps to the Maidra themselves. They were formed into a sort of bracket, and one more armored Maidra crouched in front of the rest. Hero could hear them calling out, "Alright, I want number twenty-two to go around the back, and try to tackle him. Meanwhile, numbers thirty and forty-five will charge from both sides and block. Eleven, I want you to use that distraction to break through and score. Got it?" After an exclamation, perhaps a war cry, they charged at the poor, bewildered Hero.

It was a harrowing experience. The Maidra surged about him, jumping at his ankles. To avoid several Stunted Tramps, he had to lift his knees nearly to his chest, running forward all the while. Next, he dodged side-to-side to avoid being tackled by a Cloddfear, a dinosaur-like demon. Finally, he burst through two Maidra who had linked arms, ran up the staircase and claimed the Vigil Stone, plucking it from its fiery cradle.

"Yes!" he exulted, holding it high above his head. Then, "Ow!" as it heated up his metal gauntlets. He barely had time to notice, though, for the world began to crumble about him…




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