"Isn't this a nice surprise?"
Hello, I'm back again with another series of rules.
This story acts as a "sequel" of sorts to my other story, "Terms of Service", I recommend you to read that before this. But then again, I can't make you do so, that's entirely up to you after all.
Those who have read my previous Skyrim parodies know what to expect. I hope you'll enjoy this.
Disclaimer: I don't own Skyrim or any commercial product mentioned/hinted in this story.
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Rules of Employment
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The Dragonborn was growing restless in the inn's common room. He had come here four hours prior expecting to meet a number of his most trusted companions. But none of them had been there to greet him. That was unusual but could easily be explained; Skyrim was a dangerous place after all. They had probably just run into a group of bandits and had been encumbered by the loot they'd share with him when they arrived. He smiled and emptied another mug of mead. Yes, that's probably it, he mused.
A beautiful Nord woman was singing a song in the center of the room, a song dedicated to him of course. Perhaps I should see if she's willing to dedicate something more to me, he thought with a wide grin.
The song came to an abrupt end when the door swung up with a force that could've moved mountains. The Dragonborn, barmaid and the various patrons looked in shook as a slim figure dressed in a black coat entered the room. His head was covered by an equally black hood. The Dragonborn whistled approvingly. It didn't look like much in the way of armor, but he had always been a sucker for style.
The newcomer locked eyes with the Dragonborn and started to make his way towards the table. A shiver ran through the Dragonborn's spine. His guts told him that there was much more to this man than met the eye… and that was never good.
"Dragonborn", the newcomer said as he slowly got closer. His icy voice made every hair on the Dragonborn stand on edge, and he noticed that the rest of the patrons had started to vacate the inn. "Listener of the Dark Brotherhood", the newcomer continued. His voice didn't betray any hint of emotion. "Harbinger of the Companions, Guild leader of the Thieves Guild and Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold." He finally reached the Dragonborn. "I've come to give you a very generous offer on behalf of the followers of Skyrim."
The words barely registered in the Dragonborn's mind. He drew a quick breath. "Who in Stendarr's name are you?"
"Nodwink… just Nodwink."
The Dragonborn looked for some kind of diversion. He didn't think this Nodwink was an assassin hired to kill him… he seemed way too indifferent for that. But something made him want to get away as soon as possible. "Well, it's nice to meet you, mister Nodwink, but I'm actually waiting for…"
He wasn't able to finish the sentence. "The followers you asked to help you in your badly planned raid on the Thalmor embassy", Nodwink finished. "They asked me to come in their stead and inform you of the new terms of servitude."
The Dragonborn was puzzled. "New terms of servitude? Who are you?"
"I'm Nodwink, the new representative of your followers from the Union of Henchmen in Skyrim."
"Union? I forbid them from joining any union!" The Dragonborn exclaimed.
Nodwink… nodded. "Yes, as stated by your Terms of Service. However, upon reviewing them, I've come to the conclusion that they're very unfair to your followers and must be rectified before anyone is to be allowed into your service again."
"Wha…"
"We have therefore written a new list of terms; a list you'll find favors both parties in the most handsome way." He placed a heavy bag made out of Argonian skin on the counter. The Dragonborn recognized the scales immediately. They had once belonged to the Argonian pirate who had hired him to beach a ship outside of Solitude. He had personally skinned the Argonian and made a bag out of the skin afterwards… the bag had been sold to a certain Breton who would sell his sister if he had one when the Dragonborn was done with it.
Nodwink produced a stack of papers and handed the top one to the Dragonborn. "Please read carefully and leave a sign when you're ready to agree."
…
Rules of Employment
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1: Your followers are not your slaves.
1.2: We are hirelings, housecarls, comrades, apprentices etc. We expect to be treated as equals.
1.3: Us hirelings do this for a living. The price for our services is fair.
2: The Dragonborn may give us equipment to use in our adventures, but that doesn't mean we're required to equip them.
2.2: This applies to female Forsworn "armor" in particular.
3: The Dragonborn may try to order us to break the law, but it's up to us to choose whether we do it or not.
4: No follower is required to do anything related to "The call". The Dragonborn is free to gather an army of his own and "march against the Imperial city before the other alliances does so".
4.2: Seriously, there is no Ebenheart Pact or Daggerfall Covenant. The Thalmor may be a real threat though.
5: The Dragons may have scales, but that doesn't mean you can make bags off of them and try to sell them.
5.2: Argonian skin may not be crafted into bags either. It wasn't okay the first time, it's not okay the hundredth either.
6: Argonians may have scales as well, but that doesn't make us related to the dragons in any way.
7: You may dye your armor black, but that doesn't make you the Dark Knight.
7.2: Quotes like "I am the night" isn't appreciated either.
7.3: You're not here "To start a fire" either. Don't say such things in public, it freaks us and the general populace out.
8: The followers of Stendarr are not "The Witchers", and you're not "The White Wolf". We don't even know how you manage to make all of these things up.
9: The Dragonborn is required to heal his/her companions if they're injured in combat. Healing hands doesn't cost much magica; USE IT!
9.2: Respect the dead. No fallen follower may be resurrected as a soulless husk, and excuses like "Squeezing them of their money's worth" doesn't make it right.
10: Don't wipe out the wildlife in Skyrim. People need it for food and clothes, feel free to kill bandits/dragons instead.
11: The civil war may be a stupid affair, but many of us are affected by it none the less. The Dragonborn has no right to call it "The annual joust of inbred hillbillies".
…
The Dragonborn stared at the stack of papers next to the one he had just read. This would take a while…
…
I hope that made someone laugh a little.
This was intended to be uploaded early last week, but I've been busy with a buddy's wedding (I was the chef/planner).
The power of the almighty Stendarr demands reviews, that'll be the only way this story can reach the justice he demands from it.
Cheers!