The Task

Posted: August 17, 2007 in Fan Fiction, Fantasy

This is a poem based on a mission in the Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion.

I don my armor and bind my fists,
I fasten my hood and taste the mist,
To people in need I help with their hardships
Of course, to the profit of gold and tips,
I’m a hero who has undertaken much,
But I’ve never had to partake in such
Atrocities the man before me is spouting,
To kill for profit is the way of the roving
Marauder, not a noble soul like I!
But my coin is low, so I say ‘Aye’,
I go to the city, to find a man,
To slay him quick, with only one hand,
He has no family, yet he has offended,
A rich, dangerous man who is well connected,
Because I need the gold
I will do it, and ignore my broken soul,
I cannot kill more than this, lest the beasts of my body
Be released to the world, with methods more shoddy
Than mine are today. I don’t wish to go mad,
I’d prefer to be sad,
But my being is in danger as I run to the city,
To find Sinderion, and to kill without mercy,
I track him down to a little-known plaza,
Where he sleeps, and consumes skooma,
For that drug has taken hold of him
And his mind has let go of him
He wanders as a doddering fool,
Taking his drug as his only tool
To escape his pitiful life
To go to a place rife
With hopes and dreams,
Hallucinations and schemes,
I find him at home, reeking of the skooma disease
I break in with ease,
I ready my fists, hoping no sound is heard,
I would have been fine, were it not for the bird,
Who chirped and made the marked man’s head turn
And when he saw me his eyes burned
With a fury I thought only I had possessed, striking through the night,
Filled with his drug, he began to fight,
Stealth had been my only option.
Without it I lacked the gumption
To kill indiscriminate
Like a large crime syndicate,
I had the ability, no doubt
But then my head was filled with doubt.
I did not want to die,
But death was nigh,
That was clear,
Unless I acted, I would be a smear,
On the wall,
A bad memory to be remembered by all,
And so I fled,
Didn’t want to be dead,
I ran through the night,
Taking my flight,
And now I sit here,
In this bar, while death draws near,
I failed to kill Sinderion,
The rich dangerous man knows that for certain,
Tell me, young child, as I toast you this ale,
Will you remember my tale?


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