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We read all your creative entries and have finally decided on the winners.
It's always difficult to choose our favorites from all your great entries for Tales of the Dead. After a great deal of deliberation, we've finally picked out the winners—you can read their entries right here. Don't worry if you weren't chosen this time—the Tales of the Dead will return!
A Cautionary Tale to Young Warriors Who Vainly Boast of Exploits and Other Sundry Lies Concerning the Killing of Werewolves.
By Oolou
Dedication
The one we serve, we hope to please,
Who distains sense and praises cheese,
Who incites all to stoics tease,
Accept this from your devotees.
The Tale
We met them on the road back east,
Two fellows with their brains well greased
With barrels from the brewers yeast,
And looking for a further feast.
With wine to share, we gladly stopped,
And soon our tales of old were swapped
Of battles fought and soldiers chopped,
And trophies took of fingers lopped.
But one boast made, that both did swear
Was true, struck me as most unfair.
My brother noticed my hard stare,
And nodding back, proposed a dare.
A wager made while drinking wine,
A bet to pass the evening time,
A jest to test the strength of spine,
To end with horrible punchline.
With first potato cleanly shot
Upon the head balanced a-top
Of funny victim one, the clot
Did cheer and drink another pot.
The second thought himself so brave,
Potato balanced, signal gave,
Then arrows thrice did hit this knave,
Thus pinioned to his oaken grave.
The first did blanch and cried “No more!"
For now he knew what lay in store,
And on his knees did he implore,
And grovel on the forest floor
We laughed at this pathetic loon,
Who earlier that afternoon,
Had boasted killing with a spoon
A score of werewolves at full moon
But now he whimpered at our feet,
And sadly soiled his breeches' seat,
And knowing he'd more to excrete,
He cried, “Mercy! I know I'm beat!"
“This game I do not want to play!"
“You've had your fun. Let me away!"
“I do not want to die today!"
And then the fool began to pray.
My brother then began to speak,
His voice quite soft but never meek,
“Pray tell me, how many this week
Have met thy spoon, thou mewling squeak?"
“My spoon?" answered the fool confused,
“That was a jest, I've never used
A spoon to kill!" …
T'was best to silence him in case
He later thought to give us chase.
The sword that lodged him to the place,
We left to mark the scene's disgrace.
So warriors, both young and old,
Take heed of this dire tale we've told,
Your lies may paint yourselves as bold,
But may result in corpses cold.
This One's Researching Ogres
By Nemilu
From: Jo'Ak'kharr
Travelling in Stormhaven
Expedition Day 26
Subject: This One's Researching Ogres
To: Arcane University
Mythical Archive
Attn. Myrtha Coldstone
Greetings Myrtha,
Jo'Ak'kharr hopes you're well and your work is flourishing. This one would like to once more thank you for your time collecting and sorting this one's reports. Thanks to your help as assistant, Khajiit is sure, the scientifically dissertation “This One's Researching Ogres" will be on everyone's lips.
Sincerely,
Jo'Ak'kharr
Expedition Day 26: Ogre ART?
Khajiit is still the shadow all the ogre's comment as “smells like cat around", yet they know not more. Lucky for this one, otherwise he wouldn't have survived this day, at least not with all paws still attached:
All began with a planned small nap on a rock close to an abandoned camp site, clearly above an ogre's eye level and out of ogre arms range (see Expedition Day 5 – Ogre Sizes). Just as Khajiit closed his eyes, there were thundering footsteps of at least two adult specimen obviously heading right at this one's location. Fearing of being noticed, this one followed well-known prey practice of feigning death.
They stopped right under the rock. Just as Jo'Ak'kharr thought his number is up, the deep and thundering voice of the ogre this one remembers as “GOHGUSCH" resounded.
Khajiit tried to transcribe their conversation as accurate as possible:
„THAR ONCE WERE,
BACK HUNDRED YEAR,
THEM BROTHERS MEETING,
SUCH HUMMIES SMALL,
QUENCHING THEIR HUNGER TALL."
Just for science Khajiit assumed a position to observe without being noticed: Both adults appeared to sit close to the camp, seemingly… pondering..
Then the other one started to talk:
“GOHGUSCH AND GAAG,
CAPTURED THEM PRAY,
PUT THEM AT THE TREE,
SO THEY WON'T GET FREE,
TOOK BOW, SWORD AND ARROW,
NOW THEY COULD PLAY!"
Then both started to grunt excessively – possibly laughing?
“A STONY POTATO RIGHT ON THE HEAD,
USED AS A TARGET TO TEST THEIR WIT,
HUNTER DROPPED DEAD,
JUST ONE ARROW HIT…"
GOHGUSCH paused for a moment and looked at his brethren before continuing: “WIT?"
He just pondered.
“JUS' FITS AN'WAY, GOGHUSCH. GAAG LIKES. ART IS FINE."
GOHGUSCH grumbled. Now it appeared to be GAAG's turn once again:
“AIMING GOT BETTER, NOT REALLY BAD,
THEN NOMOR' ARROWS THEM HAD,
QUICKLY NOCKING T'SWORD AND SEND'IT AWAY
TWO MORE HUMMIES DEAD DAT SAME DAY!“
Both nodded and “laughed" once more, while getting up and turning away:
“FINE ART TODAY. BUT GET TO GO… OTHER ART TO TELL OTHER BUDDY OF BIG BUDDY A'VENTURE," said GOHGUSCH.
“ART FINE. BUT EATING FIRST. SMELLS LIKE CAT, HUNGRY!" GAAG answered. Then they started trotting away.
A sketch of the location is on the backside. It also shows the two skeletons Jo'Ak'khar found while investigating the camp. A sketch of the location is on the backside. It also shows the two skeletons Jo'Ak'khar found while investigating the camp. Thinking back on the Ogre ART arches this one's back.
Proven thesis: Ogres poetize!
Do they have a greater comprehension on art than what we've assumed so far?
Laws of attraction
By Etmer_Fachronies
It was late. Outside, night had spread its quiet on the land. The moons' overbearing dignity reigned in the starry skies. In a small hamlet in the woods, no light shone. The few lanterns were long cold.
Everything was quiet. And yet, Sherry could not sleep. Tucked in, the young Breton woman gazed at the stars. Her mind was on the world, and war. On her elderly parents, asleep in the next room. On her older brother, gone with the Great King's army. She was wondering. She was lost.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The noise yanked her out of here reverie. It was soft, but definite. Insisting and evenly spaced. On the blinds. No doubt, someone was gently knocking at her blinds.
The pretty blonde tensed. Fearful, she crept near the opening, a scream already building up in her lungs.
— Sherry, you there? Whispered a voice she would have known anywhere.
— Arman, is that you? She asked.
A soft breath of laughter was the only answer she needed. Sherry nearly collapsed in relief.
— You dummy, you scared me half to death!
The wizard novice's head popped up between two mouldy panes.
— Come, her lover whispered. I want to show you something. Come on!
Her curiosity and herself aroused, Sherry pulled on a robe and crept out without a noise.
At that time of year, the baan'dari outpost was deserted. Half a league away from the village, that trading place was the perfect shrine for the lovers. Beneath the fronds of a century-old oak tree, Arman stuck his torch near a stall. From a busted crate, he pulled a potato.
— Look, he said.
— It's… a tater?
— Ha ha, almost, snickered the young mage. In fact, it's my latest spell. Catch!
And on this, he tossed her the potato. Surprisingly, the missile changed course in mid-air, and came to rest upon his head. The young girl burst out laughing.
— A flying potato?
— An attraction spell, smiled the novice. Potatoes are just my latest failed experiment. They don't rot, but you cannot eat them, they're…
A low growl sounded in the night. Another answered, even closer.
— Did you hear that?
Livid, Sherry felt a knot of fear in her stomach. Close to the torch, two hairy ogres came out of the dark. One held a sword in a clumsy hand.
— Run, Sherry, run! Yelled Arman.
The man grabbed an arbalest and fired. The bolts rained on the monsters but reversed course in mid-air and went back towards the shooter. The poor young man was nailed to the oak-tree with four bolts. Dumbstruck by the vision, the young woman watched without understanding the second creature rush her with sword raised. The rusted blade pierced her chest. She fell against the trunk, life pouring out of her.
For a second, she watched Arman, his face torn, a potato still stuck on his head. Then her head went limp, and she saw no more.
All of our winners will receive a $25 gift certificate to the Bethesda Store and a code to redeem a Bristlegut Piglet vanity pet in-game. Congratulations to our winners! Be sure to keep your eyes open for our next Tales of the Dead contest in the future.
