The man laughed a bit. "Thats true, but still you are a murderer, and I, I am Lucien Lachance, a speaker for the Dark Brotherhood, and a member of the Black Hand, and we would like to offer you a place amongst us".

I looked down at my hand for a moment, feeling rage mount up in me, but I concealed it as giddyness, "Yes..." I said as I rose up from the floor, and sheathed the dagger, with a swift movement I rammed my knee into his groin, and was pleased to hear him whimper in pain, as he dropped to the floor cluthing his lower areas..."YOU BROKE MY FINGERNAIL...NEVER BREAK A WOMAN'S FINGERNAIL" I yelled at him, and delivered another kick and was pleased to hear him whimper again 'poor bugger propably never been this humiliated before'I thought with a smirk.

So”, a dark creepy voice awoke me, and true enough there stood Lucien Lachance, whom had now added what looked like metal plating in the crotch area of his black robe.

Edward saw what it was that had assailed him. It – he – was the prostitute, Claude Maric, lying atop him, his face mere inches from his own.

“Ahhhhh!” Edward screeched again, fighting in vain to free himself from his assailant. To his horror, he found his hands bound. His eyes widened in renewed mortification. Clearly, this too was the work of the prostitute – to render him powerless to escape his vile attentions.

Edward began to thrash this way and that, trying to force his assailant off him, all the while screeching in horror. Maric spoke something in a muffled tone, and shielded his face from the Imperial's blows, as he rolled away from him.

***

Edward, partially bound, was wielding a small dagger, and Maric, a rope tied round his hands and another around his feet, was still managing to pummel him with what looked to be a severed arm.

***
He managed to beat Edward again and again with it – a splatting stroke on the head here, on the arm there, on the face again. The Imperial, for his part, was cursing and lunging rather hopelessly with his dagger, either tripping on the other man's ropes or being rebuffed by his macabre fleshy weapon each time.

***

“This blithering coward drew a knife on me!” Maric shouted. “I tried to get him to escape, but he...”

“Liar!” Edward shot back. “I woke up to this sick son of a Breton trying to kiss me!”

“Kiss you?” the Breton blanched. “I'd sooner chew on that maggot-infested arm than touch my mouth to yours, you putrid animal!”

“A likely story!” the Imperial sneered. “You spotted your chance, now that Umbaccano is dead, and tried to take it. And if you weren't interested in kissing me – and worse – what were you doing on top of me like that? And with your mouth right above mine -”

“Ye gods!” Claude recoiled, seeming to go green at the very suggestion. “You are as dense as you are disgusting! I fell off the table, trying to wake your stupid -”

“So you randomly go around kissing people after you fall?” Edward snorted.

“How could I kiss you?! I was gagged!”

“That didn't stop you from trying!”

“That's it!” Maric shouted, reaching for the weapon he'd dropped. “I'm going to do what I should have done a long time ago...”

“Not if I finish you first,” Edward snarled, retrieving his dagger. “I'll show you what I think of your 'attentions'... ”

******

The Breton rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, of course...how could I forget the whole 'kissing episode.'”

“Exactly!”

“You're pathetic,” Maric sighed, his lip upturned in disgust.

Edward stared in astonishment at him. “Coming from someone who ties people up so that -”

“I didn't tie you up, you moron!” the Breton interrupted. “I told you – the Necromancers tied both of us up! I was trying to wake you up so you could escape before they came back.”

Edward rolled his eyes. “I'm sure you were.”

The expression of disgust had returned to the Breton's face. “I can't stand you...why the hell would I want to...to...to...” His face contorted with mortification at the idea, he trailed off, as if at a loss for words, so reprehensible was the idea to his mind of any form of physical contact with Edward.

The Imperial loosed a short, sarcastic laugh. “Nice try, Maric...but no one believes you.”

Jerric eased his arm out from under the frizzy head. He hoped that the wrinkled back belonged to a female. His nose told him that she used perfume instead of soap. He stuffed himself into his trousers and carefully gathered up his clothes. While he was searching for his other sock he heard a snorting cough and froze. He kept his eyes averted. There are some things I am better off not knowing, he decided. He picked up his boots and fled.

***

"She didn't have any teeth in the front," Velwyn explained. "She thought you would like that."

Maglir filled his goblet. “What happened to you, sit on a minotaur horn?”

“Servilla the Serpent.”

And then he says to me, 'well a hole's a hole after all!', as if I'm not going to care!"

***

"I can't believe I let you talk me into doing this," Dynari said, adjusting the plunging neckline of the cropped top that she wore.

"Talk you into doing this?" Methredhel laughed. "Pretending to be prostitutes was your idea."


***

Methredhel could feel the Imperial's hips grinding against her back. "Five drakes apiece, and we'll open an Oblivion Gate between your legs!"

Hmmmm should I cut and paste 95% of Maxical's antics?

Though out of everything I read so far, her comparison about Gils' manhood to a turtle made me cry from laughing so hard. Hell I still laugh about it

Of course there's this gem from Jerric's Story by my favorite thing for breakfast Grits:

Did you bring breakfast?" The orc hungrily eyed the mare beneath me.

I had already had one bath- and it wasn’t even Sundas.

Finally the axe blade shattered, leaving him with half a shaft in his two fists.

***

The big Orc had little else of value, so I left him with his shattered axe.

"Give me your gold." His tone was cruel, as yellow eyes hungrily sized me up. I could clearly see the huge axe on his back now as he stood by my left knee. My mind raced as I conjured all sorts of horrible images, and I wasn't sure at all that surrendering my gold would end his demands. My most precious possession was between my legs after all. I mean, Superian could fetch a price that far exceeded all the gold I carried.

Hee! What a fun thread! Bless you, mALX for coming up with the idea!

Here's one from my own story (Episode 9) that caused Mrs Acadian to spew her diet coke. I was rather surprised when no one cued on it when posted:

He was pretty clean too. Bacchus may have been a hot piece of beefcake, but damn he got musky quick and sadly, he was not friends with the bath. Another thing, Wrothken was always around and not only brought food home, but cooked it too.

***

Kalila began screaming in terror.

"W-what's wrong?"

*

"He's...deformed!" She cried out.

"Dearie, what are you talking about?"

He heard mumbling and then Bernice's laughter. "Oh, sweetie, that's not deformed. All men have that."

"It's repulsive!" She made a gagging noise. "I never want to see anything like it again!" The patrons chuckled a little.

*
"Great..." Wrothken said. "Still doesn't help that the whole town thinks I've got some sort of deformity lurking in my pants."

"I know, I know. Just give it time, and it'll blow over.

WHAT???

The Deformity will BLOW OVER???

He did not answer, but stopped his circling long enough to pick up a small portrait from the fireplace mantle. He handed it to me with a pleading look in his brown eyes and panted, "Tymvaul." I glanced at the portrait and saw a younger version of the man who had now resumed his loping circuit of the room. Before I could ask any more questions, he darted outside with a series of sharp, wordless exclamations and a glance over his shoulder to see if I was following. When I stepped out the door, he raced around the side of the house, heading west. Again I followed, only to find him pacing back and forth beside a well. The structure was capped by a trapdoor secured with a stout padlock. Lassnr looked from the well to the portrait in my hands and shook his head spasmodically, uttering another series of sharp, wordless yelps. In between, I made out the words "Tymvaul" and "well."

***

"And you are trying to tell me something about Tymvaul?" He nodded more vigorously, adding another yelp for good measure.

Yes, of course," Henantier said. He stepped closer to her, but with his head still turned so not to see her. Reaching out with one hand, he nearly punched her in the face by accident.

Looking down, his hands reached out to take the amulet from between her breasts. Teresa saw his face turn a bright shade of crimson then, and he seemed to pause for several moments, just staring down at her chest.

"Umm, Henantier?" Teresa cleared her throat.

Another Treydog, from "Blood On The Moon"

Tymvaul In The Well




I was in hysterics reading it, this one never gets old !!!


*

That is funny...reminds me of a Super Bowl commercial

“Well, ya’ see, frien’, people have always been comin’ up to me an’ asking ‘Didn’ I see you in Cheydinhal? Didn’t I see you in Deychinhal?’” He continued raving, seeming not to even register I had said anything, “Well, I’m sick o’ it… an’ tired. Tired an’ sick….”

He chose this moment to vomit all over the paving stones.

“…Well, maybe jus’ tired now,” He continued, “Anyways, come over here, got job for ya’.”

May I submit our introduction to Reynald Jemane in Chapter 2-3 of Thomas Kaira’s Light Through Darkness:



Love this thread, mALX!!

May I submit our introduction to Reynald Jemane in Chapter 2-3 of Thomas Kaira’s Light Through Darkness:



Love this thread, mALX!!

I was flapping my arms like an insane bird, I was laughing so hard!

I loved this thread so much! It didn't last long, lol.

Carnius left the palace by the Crucible Gate, stepping down the steps into the dank and labyrinthine city below. He traversed the streams of sewage that trickled down its lanes, squinting through the gloom and fog that still covered the streets from the now-abated storm. There were a few more figures on the streets now that the rain was gone, emerging from the crumbling and corpse-like buildings, and one or two lounging on the bridges, balconies and overhangs that shadowed the roadways.

Carnius stopped at one point to stare at three corpses hanging from a walkway over a street, blackened with rot, rain still dripping from their bloated toes. People were passing under them without comment, as if bodies being left on display in nooses above the road was nothing abnormal. Considering that this was Crucible, perhaps that was the case.

“Wanna stick, mister?” a wrinkled Bosmer who had appeared at Carnius’ elbow asked. “Good sticks, not a leaf on ‘em, great for pokin’ bodies! Just one coin!”

“I’m fine,” Carnius said.

“You sure? They’re the best sticks in all Crucible,” the Bosmer insisted.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Carnius said. “Actually, I do have a question.”

“Is it about sticks? I know a lot about sticks. I’m an expert on sticks, y’know.”

“No, not about sticks.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll see what I can help you with.”

“You know any good inns in Crucible?” Carnius asked.

“Well, I suppose there’s Sickly Bernice’s Taphouse,” the Bosmer said. “I gave her a good stick a while back, to help her walk. Very grateful for it, an excellent stick, she said.”

“Where’s that?” Carnius asked.

“Oh, just near the main gate,” the Bosmer said. “You sure I can’t interest you in a stick? Be good for prodding one of those bodies, and they’re nice and rotten now; poke ‘em hard enough and the neck might go, and then splat! That’s always funny.”

“No thanks,” Carnius said.

“Fine, fine,” the Bosmer said, rolling his eyes. “Nobody has time for sticks any more.”

He turned and shuffled away, muttering about the state of sticks, and Carnius headed on.

"Hey, I'm not trying to bust your balls or anything," the Colovian finally said apologetically. "You aren't the first elf I've met. I know you all float your boats into either port. I've just never heard of anyone ever managing to dock at the vice-commander's quay."

That wasn't even intended to be that funny. Huh...

Jerric began to walk backward toward the Castle Gate. “Do your exercise,” he said, pointing at Darnand.

“If I think of it,” Darnand replied, smiling to himself. He turned and started toward the guild hall again.

“Keep doing it, every day,” Jerric said earnestly, raising his voice as the distance increased.

“Perhaps I will forget how,” Darnand called over his shoulder. He relished the rare opportunity to tease Jerric.

“Darnand!” he heard Jerric shout behind him a moment later. He turned and looked at him down the busy street. “Just keep doing it like I showed you in prison!” Jerric made a motion that indicated pushups. From the looks on the faces around him, Darnand suspected that the gesture was being widely misinterpreted.

Jerric gave Darnand a cheery grin and a Nord-sized wave. Every head in the street swiveled around to look back at Darnand. As he made his way through the interested crowd, Darnand tried to console himself with the thought that at least today was not a market day.

Drunken bodies lay on the wooden floor of the inn, most of them half clothed, and the rest were fully nude. I saw parts of people I had known for years that I had never thought of, and never wanted to think of again. I saw Lydia propped in a corner, half-clothed with a vacant glazed look on her face. She had a man and a woman on either side of her, both of them in different states of undress.

I could feel the revulsion travel up my throat at the site of the townsfolk. Onmund came out behind me. Most of the revelry had died down, but a few stragglers kept up the festivities, drinking, belching, and romancing. Sam included. The first thing I noticed was that he was fully nude. The second...

"Dear gods, how do you walk with that?!"

I clamped my hand over my mouth and turned bright red, embarrassed at my outburst. I heard Onmund choke behind me, and turned around to face him. I felt hot embarrassment rush into my face as Onmund's face turned green. The image of Sam's not-so-little "Sam" looking freely about would haunt me for the rest of my natural life.

"Please put that away. I can't... how am I supposed to yell at you with that looking at me?"

Sam laughed behind me, and Onmund huffed.

"What do you feed that thing, anyways?" Onmund shot.

"Kayla!" Sam called. "Look! It's as flexible as a Khajiit's tale!"

I buried my head in Onmund's robe, fighting the urge to look and to laugh from embarrassment. I never thought of myself as a prude, but I'm no voyeur. The sight of others naked usually didn't bother me, unless they were... well...

Onmund got angry. He planted his hands on my shoulders. "Stop taunting my WIFE, Sam!"

I heard Sam laugh behind me. "Oh, you can indulge in adultery, but your wife can't appreciate another man?"

Onmund growled.

"Just conjure yourself a loincloth... if you can find one with enough cloth!" I shouted into Onmund's robe. I felt a shudder of magick, and cautiously turned around. Sam was fully clothed in the unassuming black mage robes he had on when we met earlier that evening. He had the same easy grin on his face, and his eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Aw, what's the matter, elf? A little prudish, are we? Lydia was right, you do need some more fun."

"Come on, Onmund, we're leaving." I grabbed Onmund's arm and started to pull him along. Sam chuckled as we passed him.

"You don't have to leave. I can loosen you up really well." He put an arm on my shoulder. I let go of Onmund and aimed a punch straight at Sam's mouth. I struck air. I stumbled forward and noticed my complete lack of clothing.

"Nice tattoo." Sam quipped from behind me. I covered myself frantically with my hands and looked incredulously at him.

"Give me back my clothing! You sore-sucking festering piece of-"

Sam chuckled. "Been too busy to groom?"

"Shut-"

"I see you're getting a bit soft in the midsection."

"Vile scamp fu-"

"Calm down, those things could cut glass!"

Onmund stared at me.

"ONMUND! Cover me up!"

Onmund snapped back into reality. He quickly rushed over and wrapped his arms around me. Sam was bent over, howling with laughter. I shot him the most venomous look I could while clinging to Onmund.

"I'm going to kill you!"

"Unlikely." Sam straightened up and wiped tears from his eyes. I began to pull Onmund along, inching towards the door. Sam shrugged.

"I think I've had enough fun for tonight." He waggled his eyebrows devilishly.

And with that, Sam vanished in a shimmer of magick.

I MADE THE LIST XD

I MADE THE LIST XD

How DARE you doubt yourself

I'm not funny!

Shutup DE XD

If anyone isn't funny it's me...

I'm pretty sure I'm the least funny of the two of us.

Nope. You're funnier than me.

Funnier LOOKING, maybe XD

Naw, your really funny. Much funnier than me

I look really weird though

So do I. XD

Trying to read a scroll as some guy comes charging at you with blood in his eyes is not fun. Just in time, the skeleton coalesced in front of me- facing the WRONG WAY! “Not me! Him! Attack HIM!” I screamed. With a toothy smile (the only kind he was capable of), the skeleton turned toward the wizard

Dear Alix and S’Jirra -

First off, I am not writing because I have gotten into trouble. Other than the watermelon incident in which no one could prove was me because - well never mind. Irlav Jarol just always blames everything that happens on me.

For your own peace of mind, it may be best if you just tear up any letters from the school that aren’t from me.

Love, M.


*************************************

Dear Alix and S’Jirra -

You may be receiving a letter from Arch Mage Traven and possibly the Imperial Legion, but you can ignore them now. I was in trouble, but Fathis Aren fixed everything. He paid off the guard with a large check and made a huge donation to the Arcane University.

We were just borrowing the horse, not stealing it. The horse wasn’t hurt, and the guard said he will press no charges since Fathis paid him so well.

I had to clean up the manure in Arch Mage Traven’s bedroom, so I‘ve already been punished. Oh, and Fathis replaced the Arch Mage's blanket with one much nicer, since the horse chewed up the old one.

Fathis was not mad at all, he did that thing with his lips that you do Alix, when you don’t want someone to know you are smiling. Alix, it was just an experiment, not a prank, I promise.

Arch Mage Traven said he has begun praying to Akatosh for me to graduate. He said I have high spirits. He never stays mad long if everyone would just stop bringing things to his attention.


Love, M

Generally, I find Nords to be likable; they have a simple outlook on life- smash it, spend it, eat it, or drink it.