Spoopy Scary
ButtsnBalls
NarilGuest appearance by @Gcold
Morning, Black Seed 18
Black Wastes, High Rock
Oren woke to a knock at the door.
“Yes?”
“Uh, you wanted me to wake you up at this time, sir.”
“Eight already?”
“Yes sir.”
“Mhm.”
The wooden frame of the king-sized bed groaned and creaked underneath as Oren rolled to the side of the bed, only stopping its anguished screaming once Oren put his feet on the ground. Oren had perhaps been its harshest trial as of yet – while he’d heard of cousins having to deal with Orcs making love atop them near the Wrothgarian mountains, the town of Black Wastes wasn’t, despite its name, a place where folks of such savage repute would visit, let alone try copulating in. A freak accident, the bed hoped. Oren was a freak accident the likes of which it would not have to bear again.
Oren himself was not exactly satisfied with the bed’s performance, its constant creaking and less than ideal size proving challenges before him as he attempted to fall asleep. Then again, the town was just not up to his standards in general – the innkeeper’s cooking wasn’t really what it was hyped to be by the townsfolk, his tea too bitter, his duck too dry, his stew too watery, and while the weather was a welcome change from the aridness of the Alik’r desert, it still did not have the refreshing quality of coastal cities. Ah, how he longed for Sentinel…
He got up from bed, got dressed, grabbed his belongings and left the room.
The moment he closed the door, he came face to face (well, face to chest) with the innkeeper, a small man by the name of Regnier. Rubbing his palms against his apron to wipe the sweat off, the man took a breath before speaking.
“Um, I normally don’t bother customers as they are leaving the room, but since you seem to be in a hurry and because of the, um, expenses yesterday, I was thinking perhaps we would have a chat…”
“Naturally. What do I owe you?”
Regnier breathed out a sigh of relief.
“Uh, with the nightly fee of 20 Septims, and the food expenses amounting to about 120, you would have to pay about 140 Septims, sir.”
Oren pouted for a moment, which seemed to scare Regnier.
“I don’t have that kind of money. Did you charge me for the single room, or the couples’ room? You said it would be okay if I took the couples’ room because I don’t fit the other beds.”
“I, well, I’ve already done that…”
“Oh.”
Oren rubbed his chin in contemplation, his face coming to a scowl. Regnier’s hands clenched into trembling fists, but before his fears of the Redguard having breakfast with his limbs came to be, Oren raised a finger in enthusiasm.
“I have an idea.”
The gathering in the backyard was composed mostly of children, and mothers nagged into submission by their children – despite the limited clientele, the number of viewers who had been persuaded into paying the 5 Septim entry fee numbered well over thirty. Regnier had done no more than buying the kids’ attention with promise of free sweets being distributed after the event, not an empty promise, considering the amount of dried lemon peels he had gathering dust in his basement. Of course, Oren’s marketing campaign was a bit more in-your-face, with him carrying a fully matured ox on his back. Had this advertisement been for a more sophisticated endeavor, it could’ve been called tasteless, but since when were strongmen shows about nuance?
Oren walked towards center stage with a practiced swagger, with a boulder on his back instead of an ox, and after placing the boulder on the ground, began the show by bringing his hands together with a loud clap. Perhaps it was an insult towards the Iron Palm, making a show of its sacred salute, but he preferred not to think about that too much. The children cheered; the adults seemed curious, and Oren knew this was the time to start. He grasped onto the rock as if clasping his fingers into sackcloth, and then, slowly began rotating around his own axis, dragging the boulder in circles around him. What began as an odd performance proceeded to pick up the pace quick, however.
At a certain point, Oren actually pulled the boulder off the ground, and began whirling around himself like an intoxicated dervish, steadily getting faster and faster, and at the moment his whirling reached its top speed, Oren pulled his arm up and let the boulder fly into the air, far enough that the onlookers had to raise their heads to see where it had gone. Taking a few steps back as a precaution, Oren silently began counting, and at the count of three, the boulder came crashing down into the ground with a loud bang right where Oren had been, shattering to pieces underneath its own weight. While the shockwave sent the already dizzied Redguard down on his rear end, and the amount of dust raised by the slam kept him from seeing anything, he could faintly hear thunderous applause – shaking his head a bit, his vision cleared enough to let him see the onlookers clapping with amazement, and a resourceful Regnier walking by them to collect tips.
“Nice,” he thought to himself, a touch of pride beating within his heart, and promptly fell to his side for a quick nap.
Gustav had watched the whole performance, because he still had an hour to kill before the caravan departed, and he was impressed.
Sadri had watched it too, because Gustav had dragged him along.
“Can't say I was expecting such a gargantuan man.” Gustav noted to Sadri. “Our next opposition wouldn't either, for this Redguard could have stood toe to toe against the Kamal. Failing that, he would be an excellent laborer. And failing labor, he would make a fine arrow sponge.”
“Well, Quartermaster Beleth,” Gustav decided, “your first duty as a company officer will be recruiting this strongman. Make him an offer he can't refuse.”
“You mean an actual offer, or like, an offer you can’t refuse-” Sadri tried to ask, but before he could finish his sentence, he found that his employer had disappeared. He admired the man’s proficiency at being able to disappear whenever he wanted to, but that didn’t make said proficiency any less annoying. “Oh well,” he thought. “I suppose it’s part of the job now. Make of the orders what you will, make the right choice.” Was it a good idea, still being part of this inauspicious crew, with nearly every single one of his fellow veterans dead or gone? “Best not think of it, Beleth. Best not think of it.”
The old Dunmer walked past the dispersing crowd to the midst of the so-called ‘show ring’. For all intents and purposes, he was now in the lion’s den – mess it up and you’ll make a fool of yourself in front of your employer, and that’s at best. Given the size of the absolute unit napping on the ground right in front of him, and given the show he just witnessed, it was not unreasonable to believe that a potential mishap could lead to yet another near-death experience. Or perhaps beyond that? Despite all the dejection inside him, left over from the years, he didn’t want to find out anytime soon. At the very least, not like this. Not so… trivial.
“Hey,” Sadri spoke out, his shadow cast over the Redguard’s face. “Nice show you’ve put on there.”
“Hm?” A groggy Oren grunted, his eyes blinking repeatedly.
“Do you lie down right after the show on purpose, or is it just a heat of the moment thing?”
Oren was not particularly amused with this attempt at camaraderie.
“What’s it to you?”
“Just want to know how much of it is planned, is all,” Sadri replied, having decided to play it unapologetic. “A man dedicated to his craft is one thing; a freak of nature is another.”
Sadri was hitting all the wrong buttons. Oren pushed himself up from the ground with the side of his hand as if he weighed a tenth of what he did, standing to tower over Sadri. “You have a problem with me, ash skin?” He asked, his voice deeper than usual.
The Dunmer knew he had to stay his ground to not fuck things up. “Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it, Sadri? Play it bold.” He looked up at Oren’s face, seemingly nonplussed. He convinced himself that his courage was not without reason – he’d recently outlived a Sload of legend on the battlefield, and survived a cabal of vampires days ago. If Sadri had reason to fear this Redguard, then the Redguard had reason to fear him, gods be damned.
“The former’s more useful than the latter in my craft, you see. A mer like me has to stay on the lookout for candidates. For strong folks. Dependable folks.”
“Huh.” Oren’s brows rose. “What sort of craft are we speaking of here?”
The Dunmer smiled. “Oh, I’m sure you know. Being a force multiplier for folks who pay. And folks are paying big these days… After all, it’s either their coin or their lives. There’s plenty of trouble coming from the East that don’t take money for an answer.”
“I’ve heard. More trouble than I can handle.”
Sadri chuckled. “You ever see yourself in the mirror, mate?”
Oren’s burrows furrowed, his eyes glinting with malice. “You’ve something to say about it?”
“Yeah, I do. We could use a guy like you. I’ve only one arm and more holes in me than a slice of Eidar, yet I can take them in single combat. It’s not like we’re sitting your ass on a catapult and throwing you at them. You’ll get yourself some fine payment, too. After all, our headman wants you as a bodyguard.”
Oren raised his head, and began rubbing his chin. His eyes went down to meet Sadri’s.
“A bodyguard, eh?”
Morning, Black Seed 18
Black Wastes, High Rock
Oren woke to a knock at the door.
“Yes?”
“Uh, you wanted me to wake you up at this time, sir.”
“Eight already?”
“Yes sir.”
“Mhm.”
The wooden frame of the king-sized bed groaned and creaked underneath as Oren rolled to the side of the bed, only stopping its anguished screaming once Oren put his feet on the ground. Oren had perhaps been its harshest trial as of yet – while he’d heard of cousins having to deal with Orcs making love atop them near the Wrothgarian mountains, the town of Black Wastes wasn’t, despite its name, a place where folks of such savage repute would visit, let alone try copulating in. A freak accident, the bed hoped. Oren was a freak accident the likes of which it would not have to bear again.
Oren himself was not exactly satisfied with the bed’s performance, its constant creaking and less than ideal size proving challenges before him as he attempted to fall asleep. Then again, the town was just not up to his standards in general – the innkeeper’s cooking wasn’t really what it was hyped to be by the townsfolk, his tea too bitter, his duck too dry, his stew too watery, and while the weather was a welcome change from the aridness of the Alik’r desert, it still did not have the refreshing quality of coastal cities. Ah, how he longed for Sentinel…
He got up from bed, got dressed, grabbed his belongings and left the room.
The moment he closed the door, he came face to face (well, face to chest) with the innkeeper, a small man by the name of Regnier. Rubbing his palms against his apron to wipe the sweat off, the man took a breath before speaking.
“Um, I normally don’t bother customers as they are leaving the room, but since you seem to be in a hurry and because of the, um, expenses yesterday, I was thinking perhaps we would have a chat…”
“Naturally. What do I owe you?”
Regnier breathed out a sigh of relief.
“Uh, with the nightly fee of 20 Septims, and the food expenses amounting to about 120, you would have to pay about 140 Septims, sir.”
Oren pouted for a moment, which seemed to scare Regnier.
“I don’t have that kind of money. Did you charge me for the single room, or the couples’ room? You said it would be okay if I took the couples’ room because I don’t fit the other beds.”
“I, well, I’ve already done that…”
“Oh.”
Oren rubbed his chin in contemplation, his face coming to a scowl. Regnier’s hands clenched into trembling fists, but before his fears of the Redguard having breakfast with his limbs came to be, Oren raised a finger in enthusiasm.
“I have an idea.”
The gathering in the backyard was composed mostly of children, and mothers nagged into submission by their children – despite the limited clientele, the number of viewers who had been persuaded into paying the 5 Septim entry fee numbered well over thirty. Regnier had done no more than buying the kids’ attention with promise of free sweets being distributed after the event, not an empty promise, considering the amount of dried lemon peels he had gathering dust in his basement. Of course, Oren’s marketing campaign was a bit more in-your-face, with him carrying a fully matured ox on his back. Had this advertisement been for a more sophisticated endeavor, it could’ve been called tasteless, but since when were strongmen shows about nuance?
Oren walked towards center stage with a practiced swagger, with a boulder on his back instead of an ox, and after placing the boulder on the ground, began the show by bringing his hands together with a loud clap. Perhaps it was an insult towards the Iron Palm, making a show of its sacred salute, but he preferred not to think about that too much. The children cheered; the adults seemed curious, and Oren knew this was the time to start. He grasped onto the rock as if clasping his fingers into sackcloth, and then, slowly began rotating around his own axis, dragging the boulder in circles around him. What began as an odd performance proceeded to pick up the pace quick, however.
At a certain point, Oren actually pulled the boulder off the ground, and began whirling around himself like an intoxicated dervish, steadily getting faster and faster, and at the moment his whirling reached its top speed, Oren pulled his arm up and let the boulder fly into the air, far enough that the onlookers had to raise their heads to see where it had gone. Taking a few steps back as a precaution, Oren silently began counting, and at the count of three, the boulder came crashing down into the ground with a loud bang right where Oren had been, shattering to pieces underneath its own weight. While the shockwave sent the already dizzied Redguard down on his rear end, and the amount of dust raised by the slam kept him from seeing anything, he could faintly hear thunderous applause – shaking his head a bit, his vision cleared enough to let him see the onlookers clapping with amazement, and a resourceful Regnier walking by them to collect tips.
“Nice,” he thought to himself, a touch of pride beating within his heart, and promptly fell to his side for a quick nap.
Gustav had watched the whole performance, because he still had an hour to kill before the caravan departed, and he was impressed.
Sadri had watched it too, because Gustav had dragged him along.
“Can't say I was expecting such a gargantuan man.” Gustav noted to Sadri. “Our next opposition wouldn't either, for this Redguard could have stood toe to toe against the Kamal. Failing that, he would be an excellent laborer. And failing labor, he would make a fine arrow sponge.”
“Well, Quartermaster Beleth,” Gustav decided, “your first duty as a company officer will be recruiting this strongman. Make him an offer he can't refuse.”
“You mean an actual offer, or like, an offer you can’t refuse-” Sadri tried to ask, but before he could finish his sentence, he found that his employer had disappeared. He admired the man’s proficiency at being able to disappear whenever he wanted to, but that didn’t make said proficiency any less annoying. “Oh well,” he thought. “I suppose it’s part of the job now. Make of the orders what you will, make the right choice.” Was it a good idea, still being part of this inauspicious crew, with nearly every single one of his fellow veterans dead or gone? “Best not think of it, Beleth. Best not think of it.”
The old Dunmer walked past the dispersing crowd to the midst of the so-called ‘show ring’. For all intents and purposes, he was now in the lion’s den – mess it up and you’ll make a fool of yourself in front of your employer, and that’s at best. Given the size of the absolute unit napping on the ground right in front of him, and given the show he just witnessed, it was not unreasonable to believe that a potential mishap could lead to yet another near-death experience. Or perhaps beyond that? Despite all the dejection inside him, left over from the years, he didn’t want to find out anytime soon. At the very least, not like this. Not so… trivial.
“Hey,” Sadri spoke out, his shadow cast over the Redguard’s face. “Nice show you’ve put on there.”
“Hm?” A groggy Oren grunted, his eyes blinking repeatedly.
“Do you lie down right after the show on purpose, or is it just a heat of the moment thing?”
Oren was not particularly amused with this attempt at camaraderie.
“What’s it to you?”
“Just want to know how much of it is planned, is all,” Sadri replied, having decided to play it unapologetic. “A man dedicated to his craft is one thing; a freak of nature is another.”
Sadri was hitting all the wrong buttons. Oren pushed himself up from the ground with the side of his hand as if he weighed a tenth of what he did, standing to tower over Sadri. “You have a problem with me, ash skin?” He asked, his voice deeper than usual.
The Dunmer knew he had to stay his ground to not fuck things up. “Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it, Sadri? Play it bold.” He looked up at Oren’s face, seemingly nonplussed. He convinced himself that his courage was not without reason – he’d recently outlived a Sload of legend on the battlefield, and survived a cabal of vampires days ago. If Sadri had reason to fear this Redguard, then the Redguard had reason to fear him, gods be damned.
“The former’s more useful than the latter in my craft, you see. A mer like me has to stay on the lookout for candidates. For strong folks. Dependable folks.”
“Huh.” Oren’s brows rose. “What sort of craft are we speaking of here?”
The Dunmer smiled. “Oh, I’m sure you know. Being a force multiplier for folks who pay. And folks are paying big these days… After all, it’s either their coin or their lives. There’s plenty of trouble coming from the East that don’t take money for an answer.”
“I’ve heard. More trouble than I can handle.”
Sadri chuckled. “You ever see yourself in the mirror, mate?”
Oren’s burrows furrowed, his eyes glinting with malice. “You’ve something to say about it?”
“Yeah, I do. We could use a guy like you. I’ve only one arm and more holes in me than a slice of Eidar, yet I can take them in single combat. It’s not like we’re sitting your ass on a catapult and throwing you at them. You’ll get yourself some fine payment, too. After all, our headman wants you as a bodyguard.”
Oren raised his head, and began rubbing his chin. His eyes went down to meet Sadri’s.
“A bodyguard, eh?”
