The Flatulent Nord - A stinky tale

[ghowriter]

Gather 'round, my dear listeners, for tonight I weave a tale of valor the like Skyrim has only known in legend! Tonight I tell the tale of Sir Reginald and his stalwart party. Their mission was decreed by the long dead Jarl Fancypants who may not have been the best Jarl but was always the best dressed. Jarl Fancypants had decreed a bounty on a nasty giant who had taken to fling mammoth dung over the walls of our fair city. Piles of the foul smelling stuff would rain down upon the citizens who forced Jarl Fancypants to sign the warrant at the point of fifty spears. Yes, dear friends, this giant was no ordinary giant. He was a legend amongst his normally peaceful brethren. His name? No one knows but legend holds that he was called "The Muck Tosser!"

Answering the call for heroes was none other than Skyrim's own Sir Reginald Haffwitz, knight of some unimportant hold (no relations to any of the Winterhold Haffwitz nor the Haffwitz of Riften nor any of the other Haffwitz of Skyrim) and his wife Lady Gwendolyn the Bard, a finely shaped woman (well endowed was an understatement for the fine lady). Accompanying the duo was Throgg, the knight's attendant, a barbarian orsimer who had a secret crush on the lady bard and last was Eldrid the rogue, the shortest Nord in all Skyrim's history, who at 4' 3" was really, really short.

And so, under the moonless sky, they crept toward the giant camp. The air was thick with anticipation—and something else. A scent so vile, it could curdle milk at fifty paces. The giant's lair loomed ahead, a mountain of discarded cabbage leaves and half-eaten mammoth legs. The smell was foul to our intrepid Knight and his wife. It reminded the orc of home. Poor Eldrid couldn't smell it because he was, well, really very short and the smell was just above his head.

Sir Reginald: "Steady, comrades! We approach the lair of this giant. Remember, we're not just here for the bounty; we're here for the sake of all Skyrim!"

Lady Gwendolyn: "Fear not, I've penned a ballad for this occasion," she said as she winked at the orc, "and it's called 'Ode to the Odor'!"

Throgg: Feeling a surge of courage from the bard's wink, "Enough yammering, bard! Let's skewer this giant and be done with it. I suddenly want to visit you later."

Eldrid: "I tell you, I ain't smelling nothing! What's it smell like?"

As if on a cue from the diminutive rogue the camp silence was suddenly disrupted by a thunderous noise. It shook the trees causing birds to take to the air. It shook the ground causing pebbles to flip around. It shook the very air causing a breeze on an otherwise still night. 

Ah, my dear listeners, lean in closer, for the tale takes a twist more twisted than a skeever's tail. As our Fellowship stood there another smell soon overpowered the previous stench. Our intrepid quartet breathed in the malodorous odor and soon, their eyes watering, their nostrils quivering, and their dignity hanging by a thread, they each made a seemingly random inappropriate quip.

Sir Reginald, ever the gallant knight, raised his sword and declared, "Fear not, we shall face this noxious nemesis head-on! For honor! For Skyrim! And for the sweet scent of victory!"

Lady Gwendolyn, her eyes streaming from the stench, strummed her lute and sang:

*"Oh, Muck Tosser, Muck Tosser, your bowels churn with wrath,  
Your farts could topple towers, your burps could clear a path.  
But we stand firm and undeterred,  
For we've faced worse smells at the local cheese curd."*

Throgg, muscles bulging and stomach rumbling, bellowed, "This reminds me of ma's troll soup! And it makes me hungry for some bardic pie!"

And Eldrid, short little Eldrid, bless his delicate soul, whispered angrily, "I ain't smelling anything! But I'm feeling something...something wet and warm on my head!"

But before they could advance, the giant unleashed his ultimate weapon: the **Supersonic SBD** (Silent But Deadly). The air gasped, birds fell from the sky, and the very fabric of reality quivered. And our stalwart heroes dropped like flies, except for Eldrid, who was still  too short to be affected by the blast. He looked up and saw the giant looming over him, grinning wickedly. He realized too late that the wet and warm thing on his head was not the giant's dung, but his tongue. And with that, the giant swallowed him whole, ending his short and smelly life.

And that, my dear listeners, is the tale of Sir Reginald and his stalwart party. A tale of courage, romance, humor, and tragedy. A tale that will live on in the annals of Skyrim's history. A tale that will make you think twice before you venture into the wilds of this land. And a tale that will make you appreciate the fresh air of your homes. Thank you for listening, and may the Divines bless you all.