Skixwolf "Kill Grey: Volume 1"

My story ends in sadness and pain, so those who have weak hearts, or are under sorrow spells must turn away from this page at once! 

After one vicious fight after another, drenched in a blood bath of pain and passion, my character, Sir Skixwolf as he is known, visited the Imperial City arena, to fight against the glorious orc warrior Gronak Gro-Malog! I walked up to Ysabel Andronicus, the Battle Matron. I didn't pay attention to what he was saying, he was now beneath me, so why should I listen to him; I could crush him with one slash of my slender sword! Anyway, after the "jester" as I call him, finished spitting out the rules, I was soon in front of the behemoth that was the Grey Prince... he seemed more green to me.

The battle began, the crowds roared, and I began to sing... The Eye of the Tiger... which was actually quite remarkable considering the song shouldn't have been invented -- or would never be invented in this immense world that I was now in; oh right, back to the fighting! So I took out my glorious two handed sword, ready to pounce on the Grey Prince and cut him into pieces, tiny cucumbers if you will (did I forget to mention Sir Skixwolf loved cucumbers? Must have!). The crowd cheered, and I choked. For after my first swing of my finely shined sword, it broke! I panicked, and began to run around the arena, making sure he couldn't hurt me. I was not ready for this, and forgot to save! What was I ever to do!?

The crowds continued to cheer, as if they enjoyed myself, covered in cowardice... another song I began to sing, that would never be invented in this world, and realised that I had more than just ONE weapon in my deadly arsenal. And at moments notice, I tossed my 2 handed sword aside, and relased from my back, a deadly axe! I screamed as I ran for Grey Prince, and was even more shocked to find him in front of me, cowering, confused of life, ready for me to strike him down... I really shouldn't have done that side quest...

I pondered for a moment, should I kill him? Or should he die a valiant death of an endless sword fight, ridden in constant parry's, and real-time weapon changing...    But then I realised it was 2:30am, and would no doubt pay for any more constant dilly-dadiling in the morning. So I did what any brave swordsman... or axesman in this case, would do. I sliced him! Huzzah! Huzzzaaaah! HUZZZZAAAAAAAAAH! The Grey Prince had died!

"LONG LIVE CHAMPION SIR SKIXWOLF!" the crowd began to chant, in my head at least... The crowds cheered, I cheered, overall, an amazing night of blood spill and with plenty of passion. After defeating the now ex-champion Grey Prince, I made my way around town, and as I flaunted my axe, flirted with a couple of elf woman (I like their ears ok!?), and met my adoring and cute fan. His name? Oh I forget, but it wasn't important! All that was important was that he was my fan! And what was more important was what was to happen next...

As I walked around the city some more, now flaunting my adorable fan, instead of my deadly axe, something, terrible, yes that would be the word, happened. I was tired of lugging around my axe, and gave it to my fan to hold... but there was an earthquake, an EARTH QUAKE I TELL YOU! Yes that is what happened! So, as I was handing my fan my axe, I accidently hit him! The guards came rushing to his defence, and I was locked in another deadly blood bath, this time trying to survive jail for another time... I refused to go back to that hell-hole! It was worse than the gates of oblivion! So I fought for days, (ok maybe 5 minutes), before the gaurd's finally overpowered me, I begged for my life, and to where I am now, Jail...

As I said at the beginning of my terrible tail, this story is not for weak hearts, as my presence that once warmed the hearts of those all over the lands, would be so cold, as I was now stuck in jail. What?! I didn't mean to hit the kid, he was my fan after all... OK! Maybe he was a little annoying, and really never did anything and ran away from danger but at least he had... erm... uh... OK FINE! I ADMIT IT I KILLED THE BOY! THERE! Phew... ok, so now how am I going to get out of this place?

...I still have to find this heir, Martin I think his name is? I was gonna' get to it! I swear! I got side tracked is all...

And that's my story of the great warrior, Sir Skixwolf! Hope you liked it :P 

GeeBee and Tomo

Born into a small Orc village in the northeast corner of the Empire, Ungrah was a picture in duality.  Named after the sound his mother made during delivery, he was raised solely in her care for the first twelve summers of his life.  He would never know his father, who was tragically killed in a gambling accident when he bet that he could catch an arrow in his teeth.  Blessed with his mother’s dignified features, and his father’s aforementioned intelligence, Ungrah took his first heavy, if uncertain, steps into the world.

In those early years under his mother’s loving care, Ungrah learned the ways of the village.  He acquired the magical skills known only to the women of the tribe, such as healing, protection, and the finer arts of defense.  While not always confident of the value these skills might provide him, he was careful not to upset his mother, who often made a habit of reminding him what it felt like to deliver an Orc into the world.

As he came of age, Ungrah was turned over to the less-than-gentle care of his uncle: Sodark.  While his uncle was a fearsome warrior, it was rumored that he could not sleep in his cave without a nightlight.  This dubious distinction led him to train himself, and his beloved nephew, to become the most powerful and dangerous Orcs in the village.  Now, more than twenty seasons after his (apparently unpleasant) entrance into the world, Ungrah has made the decision to leave his sleepy home to seek his fortune.

Blessed with the awesome fighting expertise provided by his insecure uncle, and the unique magical abilities offered by his overprotective mother, Ungrah now presents a surprisingly formidable obstacle to any adversary who might underestimate the vast array of skills in his arsenal.  Join us, gentle reader, as we embark with Ungrah on his noble quest to find happiness, and to establish once and for all that he is not, in fact, a Mama’s boy.

Sgt Buster

A bit of background:  Oblivion is my first video game RPG that I've actually played.  Sure, I've watched friends play Final Fantasy and Xenosaga, but they didn't catch me like the latest Elder Scrolls did.

Since I'm new to this RPG gaming, I'm actually on my third character. The first two were kinda "try-me-ies".  The very first one was a female Thief Wood Elf, named Joa.  The second was an Orc Fighter named Gruk.  Joa will always be number one in my heart, not the least of reasons being that I got her to look a fair bit like Liv Taylor.  She is awesome to play, but she is a real goody-two-shoes, which made for too many head aches playing a Thief.  Gruk is a real "smash and bash" kinda guy, which was fun in the arena, but ... not so much any where else.

Now Kheldor ... well, he's Red ... and a Wood Elf.  His skin is as red as can be.  His parents don't like to talk about it much, though Kheldor will confide any of an even dozen stories about his heritage, for the simple gift of a pint of ale and your gentle company.

As you can imagine he's a bit of an outcast from society, so he's had to learn a variety of skills to survive.  He's awesome at alchemy and shooting dinner with his bow.  He also picked up some magic skills along the way, but he'll never tell you where, at least in a straight forward kinda way.  He will tell you he's a Night Dancer class though, but only with a twinkle in his eye.

He prefers the rugged beauty of the northern slopes, so has spent a fair bit of time in the Bruma area.  He really likes the smithy in town - as in after hours “visits” to resupply his adventuring gear for the princely sum of "free".  The Smith was more than pleased to give up his own set of keys to the establishment, though he was sleeping at the time.  Kheldor always thought he'd be pleased passing along his keys at any rate.

Now the thing with Kheldor is that he loves exploring.  Cave here, Ruin there, its all good in his eyes.  With the various nasties that live in the underworld, any good adventurer will have a system for survival.

Kheldor's is a) load a poisoned bow b) shoot nasty c) repeat if possible d) draw poisoned sword, hit nasty many times and e) fireball nasty to a crispy critter f) raid all the treasure chests!!  Fair words for any new adventurer to take to heart.

Get a few pints into Kheldor and his favourite story will soon flow.

Seems there were three brothers that had slighted him one day.  Being a Night Dancer, he did the honourable thing and waited for the neighbourhood to sleep before exacting his revenge.  Carefully, quietly, he broke 5, 10, 20 lockpicks trying to enter their house.  Finally, the door creaked open.  The brothers' house was more like a mansion, but he had time ... and a potion of Night Eye.  Up and up went Kheldor, to the sleeping area, where three doors hid three brothers' bedrooms.  Another lock, another stab at the tumblers and he was next to the eldest brother, poisoned dagger drawn.  A heart beat, a breath and cold steel plunges into a warm neck.  A gasp, a twitch, and one portion of revenge is served well done.

There is still work to be done, so with a clenched jaw and a determined gaze, Kheldor reaches the second door.  This tumbler is different, older, rusted.  Grating steel awakens the brothers, who burst forth to demand the intruder leave.  The best thief knows when to run away, and that’s what our hero does ... until the next night.