Author's Note: Just a little something I'm doing for fun in between writing my main fic, 'Captives'. Enjoy and if you like it, please say!
"You call that a ghost story? Ha! That's nothing compared to the tales we tell to the young'uns back at the stronghold!" Bellowed Carzak gro-Loglug, the Orc.
"Let's here you tell a better one, then!" Retorted Leif the Nord, who had been telling the story, leering at him from behind crabby eyes and a seaweed beard.
"I will! And when you're quaking and crying like a little babby, just remember, those are just the tales we tell to the young orcs..."
Ka-dar Flybane, the Khajiit, hissed. "An orc tale? I might as well go for a cat-nap. They're so boring, and always come back to Malacath in some way or another."
The Orc puffed up his chest. "They do not! At least, not all of them… Some of them don't!"
"And does the tale you want to tell?" The Khajiit purred.
"…No."
"Of course not."
"I'll tell the story!" The Wood Elf quipped in his high, squeaky voice. "A story of stealth, and cunning, yes. A story of how the big tough dumb brute was outwitted by the bowman and his knowledge of the forest. Please? Oh, Please?"
"No," Leif the Nord said simply and cuffed him around the ear.
"Let me tell a tale," Aranea, the Dark Elf, said. "My people have a rich and storied history of horror and deceit. Have you ever heard about how Vivec was kidnapped by Molag Bal, and forced to do all kinds of things? How about when Dagoth Ur woke up in Red Mountain, and unleashed the denizens of House Ur on Vvardenfell?"
"Only about a thousand times," Ka-dar groaned. "You Dark Elves are so eager to tell stories of how great you are, I don't think there's a High Elf in Alinor that hasn't heard at least a hundred Dunmer tales."
"That's because our stories are the most entertaining!" Aranea argued.
Jaime Lirian, the Breton, scoffed. "Ha! They aren't nearly complicated enough. Always about good vs evil. Let me tell you a Breton story of moral ambiguity, intrigue, war, and politics. I promise you, you haven't heard all the stories of Wayrest and Daggerfall – where should I start?"
"At the end, so we don't have to suffer. Those stories never make sense! Always twisting and turning, and too many characters," Leif moaned.
"I agree," Josli, the Redguard, said. "Let me tell the tale of Asman and Ghazi the Sword-Singers, who stormed the walls of Orsinium and –"
"No," Pentus, the Imperial said, waving his arms. "That would not be the best idea." Carzak was glaring at Josli, angered by the mention of the destruction of Orsinium. "It would not be very diplomatic. Here, let me tell a story that we will all equally enjoy."
"Pah! Imperials and their silver tongues, always trying to please everyone," Leif said. "I bet your story ends with no winners and no losers, doesn't it?" Pentus stammered and the Nord laughed. "I knew it!"
Endara, the High Elf woman, spoke up. "I should tell the story. The history of my homeland is the history of Tamriel, and we taught all the lesser beings the arts of civilisation and writing. Our stories are the oldest, and the best, tales of wisdom and cunning triumphing over brute strength."
Everyone groaned at once. "Spare me the whining of Elves!" Leif said and Pentus concurred.
"Ever since the Great War, your people aren't very popular here. It would be diplomatic for you to listen to others rather than speak your own."
Of all the races, only the Argonian stayed quiet. He sat around the fire in the middle of the chamber, toasting a Skeever over the flames, paying no attention to the others until Leif spoke to him.
"Why so quiet, Argonian? Don't your people have any songs to sing?"
"My people have more songs to sing than any other, but none that you would like to hear."
They all oohed together. "Scary! What makes you think we wouldn't like to hear them?" The Nord demanded.
"They are my people's stories, and would not make sense to you. But I do happen to know a story about this land. About this very ruin, in fact," the Argonian said, turning his Skeever around in the fire.
"Let's hear it, then," Leif said, and the others agreed.
"Are you sure you'll be able to handle it?"
"We want a scary story, and we've all heard each other's before," Carzak the Orc said. "Tell it."
The Argonian shrugged. "As you wish. This story takes place a thousand years ago, long after the Ayleids vanished but long before the time of Talos and the Empire. The story of Ninivehta, which is this ruin's name, and Sindacar, the demented High Elf wizard that fell in love with it…"
Drop me a review or a PM if you like this story and would like to see it continued! :) Thank you for reading, as always