Prologue of an unnamed fan fiction (updating daily) Options

[Deutschland]

Prologue Part 1

It was not long after the first vernal breeze touched the sailors’ faces, when the massive profile of Vvardenfell lying along the horizon caught the eyes of the lookout. As the news spread across the ship, every sailor, weary but triumphant, was immersed in a sea of joy. Hats and headpieces were tossed into the air; the best barrels of wine saved only for the day were unsealed, and shared among the company.

Amid the celebrating crowd also stood a band of armor-clad, weapon wielding soldiers – the passengers of the ship. Though not unacquainted with traveling on water, they too were excited about the ending of such tedious trip. These Imperials were being transferred to the Imperial Legion of Vvardenfell, whose headquarters, the grand fort of Ebonhart, was the final destination of the journey. The Imperials were in much control of the towns and strongholds in Vvardenfell, especially on the west side of the land. They were fair and loyal, and gifted with the ability to charm another person into admiration. Many were masters of blades, armors and shields, which were to be carried and cherished all the time. However, among the soldiers on the ship, Herald was rather an exception. He wore no armor, and bore no shield or sword; instead he had a bow on his shoulder. Imperial archers were not unusual in Vvardenfell, but being the only archer on the ship was not without a reason: he was a scout. Soldiers like him, gifted with sight sharp as that of a hawk and limbs nimble as those of a deer, were sought by the Legion to be the eyes and ears of the commanders. But no matter how talented, he was no more than a newly recruited young lad, just like everyone else beside him. He was glad to be a scout. Running his fingers through his dark and abundant hair, which he kept clean thanks to not having to wear a helmet, he even felt sorry for the other lads covered by the shinny Imperial armors, sweat, and a foul-smelling odor. Like the slaves freed by the Nerevarine, he thought.

The soldiers knew little, if at all, about their new world, except their captain who used to serve in Ebonhart for a few years. He had been telling the soldiers about his experience during the idle hours of the trip. Even though a captain is not necessarily an excellent storyteller, his listeners often found themselves lost in the vision of the wonderland.

“Vvardenfell is now a much better place than five years ago,” once said the captain, sipping on his cup of Cyrodiilic Brandy, which often left a drop or two on his sloppy beard.

“Well there was a hero; we called him the ‘Nerevarine’. He had the strength of more than ten guars together, and his power dwarfed every mage in the whole Morrowind. He had a sword that would kill any wielder instantly except for him, and a bow that shoots out great lightening bolts from the heaven. He can walk in the mid-air or on the top of water, or stay under it for days without having to breathe… He helped many folks through the darkest of their days, and was the savior of many slaves in the barbaric far-east.”

The captain’s face was shining with a reddish hue as he became excited about the legend (or perhaps due to the Brandy?). Much satisfied by the wonders in the wide opened eyes around him, he continued: “And there was this devil, Dagoth Ur, who committed all the evil deeds in Morrowind. He dwelt in the deep heart of the Red Mountain; his spies and assassins were all over Vvardenfell.

“Then it was the Nerevarine who fought his way through the herds of monsters and ghosts in the Red Mountain, and was finally facing Dagoth Ur himself…” The captain stopped and took another sip at his favorite drink; the hunger for the story’s ending that filled every soldier’s face brought him much delight.

He would then spend another hour to describe how horrifying the monster looked and how Nerevarine fought furiously with it and eventually won the battle, killing the dreadful lord. We don’t have to assume the captain’s tales to be accurate, since he had only heard from gossips passed along from town to town; but the image of such heroic figure was engraved deeply into the hearts of the young soldiers.

And that was what Herald fantasized about at the moment. He turned to his friend, an Imperial swordsman who joined the Legion together with Herald. “Beren,” he said, “do you think we’ll meet the Nerevarine one day?”

“I can’t say,” Beren answered, “I hope he is still in Vvardenfell and is willing to reveal himself; but did you not hear the captain saying, that no one had seen him ever since the downfall of Dagoth Ur?”

Herald fell silent. Then he said with an amused smile: “I don’t really believe in everything he said; there are a lot of contradictions in his tales. I think the whereabouts of the Nerevarine shall ONLY be known by the folks of higher ranks – you know, perhaps those who concocted the entire story.” Both burst out hearty laughter. Herald liked his friend – a short-framed and good-natured lad with whom he grew up in the hometown. They always seemed to share the same opinion and judgments, although sometimes Herald wouldn’t even believe himself.

[Deutschland]

Herald had a feeling that the Blades was about to open its door for him. “Yes,” he answered, “I have heard this name in the taverns. There are rumors all around, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Well,” said Heidmir, “here in Vvardenfell, the Blades are the secret agents of the Emperor. They are under the Emperor’s direct control, serving as his eyes and ears in the provinces. No wonder it stirred up fear and speculations among the multitude. However, that’s all I can tell you at the moment. You are scout, and you were born under a sign of Tower, which is very suitable for the tasks that the Blades shall face. So, my question is, do you want to join the Blades?”

Herald could feel his heart beating: what denied his father life long now had opened to him so easily. “It is my honor to serve the Emperor.” He said, trying to appear calm. But his little tricks had no effect on Heidmir who has been recruiting Blades all his life.

“I’m glad, young man, to hear about your faith for the Emperor, and I can see you are very excited too. Before you become a Novice of the Blades, however, you must be initiated by Caius Cosades in Balmora. He is one of the spymasters of the Blades, aged and wise, so be respectful when you speak to him. He is always in common clothes and lives in a humble house, but you can ask around in the town to find out where he is. I will write a letter, which you must take to him; otherwise he will not reveal himself.” Heidmir sat down and started writing.

Herald was still standing as straight as he could, unsure about his future. Now, I have done everything my father planned. He thought, what’s next then? How should I find out where the sword is? He never gave me any clues. Perhaps I should just keep going, and see where it leads. He looked down, and saw the skull again. It was well preserved; some regions on its forehead were dark-brown, as if it had been burned. Then Herald noticed that the dark-brown bone fragments formed a faint pattern of two horns.

“Take these letters,” said Heidmir, “one to Caius Cosades, and the other to Agning in the Six Fishes. He will provide you the supplies that you will need on the road. And here,” he handed Herald a few sheets of paper, “is the direction to Balmora and a map of Ebonhart. You can rest at Six Fishes tonight, and begin tomorrow. Be careful on the journey, there could be dangerous animals along the way. Use your wit.”

“Thank you,” said Herald, and bid farewell to the old man.

“One last thing,” said Heidmir, “you should always keep your identity as a soldier of Imperial Legion, or even better, a common man if possible. No one, including other Blades members unless necessary, shall know that you will be a member of the Blades. You will take the oath of secrecy at Caius’s, but for now, be very careful.”

Herald was in a hurry to see his friend Beren, but he found no one in the courtyard when he rushed out the Skyrim mission. It was still as quiet as always, except the tut-tut sound from the guard’s steel boots.

“Excuse me!” He said to the guard, “do you know where the other soldiers went?”

“They have left, they were sent to Fort Darius on a ship.”

Herald felt lost without his friend. But he had nothing to do about it; he was a soldier, and only a soldier. Now let’s find out what Agning has for me. He thought, and walked away to look for the Six Fishes.

He followed the map given by Heidmir, and soon realized that Six Fishes was just the strange building that he saw a few hours ago. Now I shall discover who those important folks are. He thought.

He opened the door with his inbred curiosity. “It’s a tavern!” was the surprise for Herald. There were soldiers and sailors drinking by the tables and talking aloud, and there was tavern music and the charming fragrance of aged wine. In contrast with the depressing silence outside, it was a garden of joy.

“Well met!” The bartender greeted him, “What may I do for you, sera?”

“Eh… I’m just looking for Agning, and I have a letter for him from Heidmir.”

“I am Agning. Ah! I guess he’s sending you to fetch some supplies from me!” The bartender smiled, and took the letter.

“Alright… items for restoring fatigue, health, curing common disease… well, I say all you need is food.” He picked out the goods from the baskets behind him as he read the letter.

“These are bread and Nixhound meat, for ‘restoring fatigue’; this is marshmarrow, it will cure small wounds. Oh have you had any of them? No? Sounds like you are new to here, outlander. And… potion of cure common disease, I doubt you will need it, but just for safety purpose. Also… one hundred gold pieces.”

“One hundred?” Herald was surprised, “am I going to need that much?”

“Well,” Agning looked out of the window, “may I ask where you are heading?”

“Sure.” Herald handed him the map.

“Ah… to Vivec on foot then ride the silt strider to Balmora. The silt strider will cost thirteen or fifteen Septims, depending on the weather; and I think the rest will be for your free spending, which is very generous of old Heidmir. Keep it, and use it wisely.”

Herald thanked him, and packed up the supplies. Then he realized a problem: he had no weapons. He had a bow, but no arrows; his short sword was taken from him by the legion before he left the islands of Zune.
I could use the extra gold pieces on something sharp, he thought, and then asked Agning: “Do you have weapons that I can buy?”

“I don’t sell weapons… but you may try the garrison. That’s where the weapons are maintained.”

“Blessed be your kindness!” said Herald, “We shall meet again!”

In the garrison, Herald found his weapons from the smithy working for the Imperial Legion. He bought a steel short sword and twenty steel arrows, which cost all of his gold except a few for the silt strider. Then he returned to the tavern for his first rest on the solid ground since a month ago, and by the time the sun rose, he was all ready.