The Ingenious Gentleman Octavius Portentus Imperius of Cyrodiil.

In the midst of a quiet summer day in Cyrodiil, one would think that Tamriel had become, if but for a moment, a place of peace and serenity, instead of the Arena. In the fields, rabbits raced their races; in the trees, birds sang their songs; in the villages, people did their peopling. It seemed that the chaos of the Mundus had paused to take a nap beneath the sun.

"DO NOT TARRY, BOY, FOR MANY ADVENTURES ARE TO BE HAD! THERE ARE BEASTS TO SLAY AND MAIDENS TO WOO, WE DO NOT HAVE TIME TO DALLY!"

A middle-aged Imperial mounted atop a nag well past its years crested a hill. His face was wrinkled with lines that suggested long-term discontentment and frustration. His gray hair--what little he had left, that is--seemed to be repulsed by the idea of existing on top of the man's head, and so decided that it would make its home around the sides and back, leaving his crown a greasy, reflective mirror for Magnus to check his hairdo in. His chin was about as unheroic as they come, for he did not have much of one to boast. His eyes, however, beamed brighter than Aetherius, bringing a sudden youth to the man's aged appearance. Even more impressive was his wide, crooked smile, which was about two seconds from splitting the man's face in two. He wore old, rusty iron plate armor with an equally old and rusty sword on his hip. Upon his back was a battered wooden shield that might disintegrate just by being looked at. Despite the state of his armor, weapon, and steed, the man seemed genuinely happy.

The man was originally an innkeeper, like his father, and his father's father, and his father's father's father. He worked in the inn everyday for 50 years. As a boy, he would daydream about adventuring and fighting like the patrons of the inn. His favorite chore was to sweep the floor, because he could eavesdrop on adventurers sharing stories. As he grew older, that obsession never once faltered. Even as his belly grew and his hair migrated toward his back, the innkeeper continued to dream of being the subject of a bard's ballad. Finally, he had saved enough money to purchase a discounted horse, don the ancient armor that had been forgotten in one of the rooms before he was born, and leave the rights to the inn to his nephew. The man would finally realize his dream of adventure, and travel Tamriel in search of it.

"Here I am Master Octavius! I was documenting the wonderful collection of beetles that this hill has on display. I think I found a species that even The Comprehensive Entomological Encyclopedia: Cyrodiil Edition, Volume 4 had!"

Trotting behind the walking cacophony was a young bespectacled man carrying a comical amount of luggage. The majority of his load consisted of books, ink, pens, and blank parchment. The look on his face held a world of wonder, with more than a hint of naivete. His short cropped brown hair was covered in leaves and dust. His light brown tunic and dark brown trousers were baggy and obviously hadn't been washed in several days. To be blunt, the young man looked as if he was ejected from the ground as he stands only moments ago. He appeared to be made of dirt.

A month ago, the young man had been a farm boy. He knew from an early age that he was not meant for the life of a farmer. He was a reader, not a worker. The boy had read countless books about adventurers throughout history, and wished to become one himself. His father disapproved, believing that time spent reading could be time spent harvesting. This led to many arguments between the boy and his father. But around the time the boy was old enough to be considered a man, he spotted an adventurer riding past his family's farm. A real adventurer! The young man rushed to the adventurer and asked him of his travels. The adventurer saw the light in the young man's eyes that could only be matched by his own. Right there, the adventurer offered to apprentice the young man in the ways of adventuring. Overjoyed, the young man gathered his books and writing tools to document all of his travels. He did not think once of his family, believing that they would not miss such a disappointing farmer-to-be.

"Aha! So you collected the shells of these beetles to concoct an elixir of stamina for my next battle! Good work, Marcus! We shall make an adventurer out of you yet!"

"No, sir, you see I was docu--"

"By the Nine! Do mine eyes deceive me?! Has that fiend Sheogorath finally come for my sanity?"

"Sir? I don't--"

"There, boy, there! It's our lucky day, my young ward! We have truly been blessed! There stands a wicked, vile, fiendish, dark-hearted, murderous, wretched, treacherous daedra spewed from the very depths of Oblivion! This could quite possibly mean the end for us, lad. This enemy is the likes of which that razes cities, eats children, and jaywalks! But we shall meet this challenge head on, with courage and wit! STAND AND FIGHT YOU AGENT OF EVIL! YOU SHALL PERISH ON THIS DAY, FOR THE MIGHTY OCTAVIUS PORTENTUS IMPERIUS HAS COME TO END YOUR REIGN OF TYRANNY!

Octavius's target was an imp who had been lounging in the sun after feasting on a boar carcass. It was absently picking its teeth with a black claw, somewhat bored, only to be startled by the silhouette of a fearsome warrior bellowing. It wasn't quite sure what the warrior had said, but the imp knew of mortal warriors. Normally, the imp would delight in terrorizing a mortal, but warriors were a different story. The last time the imp had managed to cross into the Mundus, a human warrior clad in gleaming armor and an artifact of great power obliterated the imp without breaking a sweat. It took the imp decades to reform after that incident. The imp was not about to repeat that mistake. Without waiting for the mortal brute to charge and get the upper hand, the imp fled as fast as it could toward a nearby ruin, hoping that the warrior would not give chase.

"You see that, Marcus? The damned coward fled at the sight of such a champion! Probably for the best, for an adventurer as skillful as I should fight a more worthy opponent! RUN, YOU FOUL HELLSPAWN! TELL YOUR FILTHY BRETHREN OF THE POWER OF OCTAVIUS PORTENTUS IMPERIUS! BEWARE, DAEDRA, FOR YOUR END IS AT HAND IF YOU CROSS PATHS WITH THIS CHAMPION!"

Meanwhile, the young apprentice was relieved to see the imp flee. He had never seen a daedroth before, but his master's stories told him all he needed to know. The evil of daedra knows no bounds, and each is able to rend adventurers limb from limb. But his master was ready to do battle with such an opponent. Such bravery! Marcus could only hope to be half the adventurer his master is.

The retired innkeeper and his young naive apprentice trekked forward, continuing their search for glory.

This is my first attempt at a narrative post. I apologize if it's not that good, I wrote it on the spot when I saw /u/BuckneyBos comment mentioning Don Quixote. I don't claim to be much of a writer, but I felt inspired when I noticed that the week's topic is humor. Thanks for reading!