MEET THE GUARDS

Ah, a fresh morning in Cyrodiil. Something that had been long hoped for during the Oblivion Crisis, but now that the Crisis was over; people could continue on their everyday routes, without the shock of seeing a mercilessly slaughtered Mythic Dawn agent (who used to have been just a normal citizen and not a ritualistic heretic) lying in a pool of his or her own blood on the ground. The bars were becoming more than just places for a couple of people to drown their sorrows about Oblivion over a bottle of delicious yet highly addictive Cyrodiilic Brandy, they were fully operational and stuffed with drinking-age-legal adults. Rindir and his staves were becoming very popular, due to the fact that people still worried that yet another crisis would spring up to replace the wretched Daedric raids. Most importantly to this tale, however, the guard barracks were becoming emptier due to the fact that security was only really needed to block the minor and less numerous threats… such as Necromancers, Dark Brotherhood members, Bandits, Marauders, Aggravated Wildlife, Corrupt Guards, Pirates, Vampires, Glarathir, Argonian Tribesmen, Pickpocketers, the Blackwood Company, Goblins, Ogres, Graverobbers, Mudcrabs, Adoring Fanboys, Glitches-

But of course, there is always someone in Cyrodiil with a problem. But this problem may become even bigger than the Oblivion Crisis. In fact, it may affect all of Tamriel or more… a crisis so huge, it would be unbearable…

By the Nine Divines… read on.

Guardsman Bob was standing in a fashion almost as plain as his name was, his limbs were straight and very stiff and his sword was in his armoured hands, though it dangled uselessly like some kind of extra limb. He gave citizens a quick smile, and though he received a smile in reply, he knew that being a guardsman was almost as low as being a beggar. The guards had put some hefty and highly obnoxious restraints on the people during the crisis to keep them safe, though they had to admit that it was just an abuse of their powers. They enjoyed this. And people knew, but they no doubt did not reject them. They'd sooner have their head cut off, (which, sadly, is what would happen to those who misbehaved), seeing as it was not legal to carry an even defensive weapon.

Guardsman Larry was standing next to him, keeping his usual air of prestige and sporting the shiniest (not to mention the most expensive) armour with the least number of dents and burn marks. It was certainly not ironic that this was due to his laziness. Larry usually just countered this by saying "the opponent wouldn't be able to get a blow through my shield, anyways!" and laughed a hearty Imperial laugh. Unlike the others, he was a "temple guard" of the White-Gold Tower, so perhaps this was the true reason to his armour's durability and overall appearance. Anyhow, he usually "fought without a thought", him being the most dim-witted of the guards.

And Guardsman John… he was on patrol at the time. He was just your basic guard… a bit thick, physically adept and power hungry.

Larry and Bob stood and talked on the street, standing in front of the western entrance which led, across a fairly long bridge, to Weye and Wawnet Inn. Oh, and a stable lay to the right of the outside gate, though often not very thick with horses, due to the… err- "odd dieting habits" of a certain Orc.

Anyhow, the guards began to talk of their shifts (it was evening, and their work was done, meaning Larry wouldn't have to guard the palace any longer) and if anything interesting had happened when it was their turn to patrol the city.

"Well-"began Larry, in an overly gallant tone, "During my shift, I got myself a couple of drunken Nords. Upon asking them to move along or to wait until sober before drinking again, they pulled out their weapons and ambushed me! I was startled, but all of them are in pieces now, lying in the middle of the street in the Imperial City, which is also stained with blood and guts by now, and people are stepping on their corpses... and I could have sworn I saw a few Cliff Racers ripping the raw flesh from the corpses, as well as the fact that there's the possibility the bodies may be resurrected by a Necromancer-"

Bob was about to say the stereotypical Imperial Line: "That's a bit excessive, don't you think?", however, he began to think about an obvious answer- but it just wouldn't come to him! Thinking for about seven minutes (five minutes of thinking and two minutes of daydreaming); he eventually spawned a single question.

"And what are you going to do with those bodies, knucklehead? You can't just leave them in the middle of the street! (No shit.)"

Larry chuckled. "I'll make sure that the remains make it to the home of the Nords... uhh...Valenwood… or wherever they come from. I'll put them in a package, just so that it's a surprise to them. I guess I'll go ship them right now. I'll even put a little 'apology' note in the package, y'know… Nords can be touchy when their drinking buddies are dead! Ha!"

"You stupid idiot," blustered Bob while giving Larry a sharp punch in the shoulder, "Nords come from Hammerfell, not Valenwood!"

"Oh."

Actually, Bob expected Larry to understand that he was joking around… Nords come from Skyrim, obviously. But eventually, they both found themselves laughing their heads off like drunken men, irrelevant to the fact that some unlucky Redguard would soon be opening a package from Cyrodiil with a few Nords inside- massacred and dripping with blood.

But suddenly- a loud panting. They turned to see John running towards them, sweating heavily and red-faced. His helmet was off, revealing his Imperial face (same race as Larry and Bob as well), and he looked like he had met a Daedric lord. But due to his heavy silence, it seemed that he was red out of some sort of… embarrassment. He was acting mighty peculiar-

"Guys," he finally half stuttered, half screamed, "This is terrible."

"Why, what's wrong?" Larry walked forward to give his friend a support to lean on… in case he fainted… which looked quite likely just about now.

"Well," he said, lowering his voice down, "Something worse than the Oblivion Crisis was. Something nearly unfathomable. Something huge! Something that will threaten all of Tamriel!"

They moved their heads forward in a guard "huddle". And John said something that made their mouths drop low.

"Well, Jensine, at "Jensine's Good-As-New Merchandise", leaned over today when I was on my shift… and… well, you know… she leaned forward and her skirt…" he paused and tears came to his eyes, the strain making the words only come out in a squeal:

"I saw her Nine Divines."

And Larry and Bob, now realizing their doom, let out a bloodcurdling scream of horror:

"BY THE NINE DIVINES!"