Viljo's Random Adventures

[Viljo]

ADVENTURE #1 - STORMCLOAKS

The ride down the road was quiet and tranquil, and Viljo was looking curiously at the device their hangers on were fiddling with while they rode alongside.

"So... it captures moving images?" he asked, slowly. The mage nodded quickly, while his assistant smacked the soul gem into place in the box. It glowed, and a flat, moving image was displayed on the silver lined plating on the side.

"It's my masterpiece!" the mage exclaimed. He was an exciteable little Breton man, balding, with no facial hair. Viljo wondered how anyone could take him seriously; he looked like an overgrown child. No beard, not even a moustache? It boggled his mind.

"There's a mage on the side of the road," one of the other Stormcloaks on patrol with said, pointing up ahead of them. Sure enough, there was a dark elf in black robes bent over a long stone table with candles and a dead body on it. It looked like he was chanting. They road up slowly, and the mage looked at them nervously.

"Uh, hello, captains," the dark elf said nervously.

"What about sound?" Viljo asked suddenly. The commander of the patrol turned to regard the larger man, but the Breton drooped considerably.

"Haven't been able to get it to record reliably."

"What is going on here, elf?" the commander said, deciding to ignore the byplay. The elf mage shifted.

"Nothing," he said. "I mean, none of this is mine."

The patrol dismounted, and moved as a group over to the table.

"I found it like this," the elf continued, while Viljo picked up a book on the table and opened it.

"Uh huh," the commander replied. "Here, then you won't mind if we clean it up then, will you?"

"No!" the elf shouted, sweating. "I mean, no, of course not."

"100 Necromantic Rituals for Wealth, Profit, and World Domination," Viljo read aloud. The elf twitched.

"World domination, eh?" the commander said. "Huh. Who would leave this laying around, I wonder? And what's your name?"

"No clue," the elf said, trembling while Viljo flipped through the pages. "Er, it's Dalban."

"'Make fun of me for being a dark elf, will they? Well, Dalban Armagrod won't take this laying down! Let's see them laugh while their fallen comrades chop them to pieces!'"

Viljo looked up at the elf, his eyes wide.

"Hey, the guy who left this book here has the same name as you!"

"Damn," the elf said as the others drew their weapons and closed in on him. He raised his arms and chanted, causing a couple of skeletons and the dead body on the table to get up. He then took off running.

"We got a runner!" one of the Stormcloaks shouted, while the others joined battle with the raised undead. Viljo continued to pore over the book while he idly punched a skeleton's skull off its shoulders.

"And people wonder why we give mages such a hard time," Viljo sighed, dropping the book and drawing his sword from his back.

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

"What was that sound?"

Shouting and footfalls, and each heading in his direction with alarming speed. Just because they were along a public road, there really oughtn't be such a fuss, should there? The dwarf stood from his hiding place in a bush alongside the road's edge, only to come face-to-face with four rather surly and well-armed stormcloaks. Shirtless, and with a face flushed pink with the result of one or more debaucheries, Wulthgar beamed a broad and jovial grin.

"By the Nine and well met my brother Nords!"

"Where goes the Dunmer, dwarf?"

Well, that wasn't a question asked of him every day. Wulthgar scratched at his unkempt hair idly.

"Where goes the..."

"Dark Elf!"

The helmed rabble were more than a little frustrated, and Wulthgar suddenly felt himself ensnared in a conundrum he wished no part of.

"Yes, well you see I know what a Dunmer is, but I'm afraid that I..."

"Afraid what, dwarf? And where is your clothes?"

Wulthgar's hands slapped across his chest in surprise, covering his nipples in some misplaced modesty. Right. No clothes.

"Well, the Dunmer...absconded with them. That brigand!"

[Viljo]

The commander sighed, putting a hand to his helmeted head, and gestured to the dwarf.

"How often do you see this?" the mage asked, watching the goings on with excitement.

"We don't see dwarves often," Viljo said, walking over past the bush while another grabbed the dwarf and lifted him up in all his naked glory. The commander and the last Stormcloak jogged off to keep the pressure on their errant necromancer. "I think actually this is the wrong setting. Did you get lost on the way to Middle Earth?"

He stopped by the bush and bent over, not really listening to little man's answer. Instead, he came up with half-sized breeches.

"That Dunmer didn't go far before he dropped your clothes," Viljo said. "Guess he realized you weren't his size."

He bent over again, but stopped this time, only lightly grabbing hold of the small man's fine, if a bit worn, tunic.

"The dark elf dropped a woman here too. A naked woman."

He tossed her the small shirt. "Here you go. Must be chilly laying there naked like that!"

He turned back to the group, which was staring at him. He blinked. "What?"

"Middle Earth?"

"Dude, way too meta."

"Yeah, way to go. We'll probably have dimension hopping lawyers any second now. Stick to the Lore, would ya? It's not like there's not enough of it."

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

The woman stood from her hiding place, standing to equal height with most of the Nords in Viljo's company. Her straw-colored hair was trussed into braids which hung past her rosy cheeks down across her broad exposed chest, which she covered to little success using Wulthgar's much smaller tunic.

"You said we wouldn't be caught here! If Papa found out.."

"And he shan't, my flower Brunhilda. For these good Nords respect the will of all of the Nine, Mara included. For I suspect each in turn holds a flame in their heart for a golden-haired Valkyrie in their own villages. So peace go before you good servants of Talos, and when the grisly work is done, may you find your own fair beauty and roll her in the mountain flowers as I well intend."

[Viljo]

"The mage got away," called the commander, stalking up in anger. "Let's manacle the dwarf and bring him back... Brunhilda?"

"Papa!" the naked maiden gasped. "I... uh..."

The other Stormcloak that had gone with the commander stopped, staring at the little man... dangling... where one of her compatriots still held him up.

"Tripod..." she murmured.

"Wow, this is pretty awkward, huh?" Viljo said. "Ha ha ha!"

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

"...and as I was saying," corrected Wulthgar with hasty improvisation, "rolling through a meadow can be a dangerous affair, as one is liable to attract ants into one's blouse. I was just in the midst of demonstrating to your comely large-boned daughter Brunhilda the most expedient means of extricating one's person from a demise most dread, when you..."

"You dwarven pervert, I'll kill you!" retorted Brunhilda's father as he drew his sword.

"Ah ah, you shan't wish to run me through in your moment of paternal rage. I daresay the fellow holding me aloft might not appreciate being skewered as collateral. But as I've been caught quite red-handed in plucking your sweetest rose on the meadow, I shall not retreat upon my fate, and only ask that I might speed my travels to Sovngarde with a drink to wet my throat before the deed is done."