153. A bard’s muse

153. A bard's muse

The story of how the Khajiit slave Ma’jhad Kha rose to become the king of the slavers was amongst the favourites of the bards of Cyrodiil.  They sung most vociferously of how he started a revolt to overthrow the slave masters, only to then take their place.  Of how he ruthlessly eliminated his rivals and how cunningly he coerced the most feared slavers of the Azurian sea to unite under the banner of the Ember-eye.

Bards sung almost reverently of his mane platted with strands of pure gold, and how his teeth are so strong and sharp his smile could shame a Durzog.  Of how he keeps his claws as long and keen as a Redguard’s bodkin, and how he can wield his long tail as viciously as a Dremora wields a lava-whip.  How his arms are as thick as the Skald-King’s belly, and how he stands 8, 9,10 ft tall from paw to brow.

So it was with mild chagrin I was to discover this mangy, tangled fur-ball, dressed in mouldy old leather, wielding a pair of sea rusted daggers.

They say you should never meet a bard’s muse.  The truth is want to slip and slide around a bards sonnet unencumbered by fact or veracity.  History is recorded to prevent legend, but legend oft supplants history because it is what pays a bards bar tab.

When the time comes to recount my tale I will be sure to set the bards straight… he was 12 ft at the very least!

S.K

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