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]

Prologue Part 2

It was a pleasant day for Herald. A brief rain in the early morning, which was a common weather in the region, turned the ancient walls of the fortress into dark grey; the sky was still hiding behind the clouds, but bright sunlight breached though the fissure, leaving blurry traces across the misty air. The sea was glittering under the sunlight, as though someone had sprinkled thousands of golden beans on the water. Growling waves slapped and brushed the shore, bringing sea breezes mingled with the fragrance of ocean, and the sweet, still fresh memory of Herald’s home town. He left Ebonhart through the north gate, and began his journey on the vast soil of Vvardenfell.

Only a few dozens of steps away from the gate, he heard the sound of quarrelling from behind. He looked back through the morning mist, and saw an Imperial guard dragging a man with a long tail and a head of a jaguar.

“What are you grabbing me for? Let me go!” said the jaguar man, but the guard seized his hands and kept him from struggling.

“I will,” said the guard, “but not yet. Not until you return what you’ve stolen from me.”

“I didn’t steal anything. Let me go you wicked scamp…”

“Wicked scamp? Listen, this is Ebonhart, not some farm town. I'll show you how wicked we are…”he paused, as though noticing some slipped words. He quickly searched the clothes of his screaming captive, and seemed to have found what he wanted.

“Now get lost! If I see you again, there shall be iron bars between us!” The guard said, and walked back into the fortress.

This guard is quite merciful. Thought Herald, Stealing from an Imperial fort? What a dire crime.

The jaguar man stumbled towards Herald along the muddy path, mumbling something that seems only he could understand.

“Ah ha, so you are here waiting to catch me, admirable 'chief' of the great Imperial Legion,” said the jaguar man as he saw Herald, “now how about making a deal with me; let me go and I’ll let you have my loot.”

“I’m not here to catch you,” Said Herald, trying not to laugh, “and I believe the guard has already taken your loot away.”

“No, not at all. See, I’m not like those common thieves; they are too lame even to be called thieves. When I steal, I always know what I want; if I know what I want, I’ll have replicas of what I want. All he had taken was the fake one. Now, if you let me go, you can have the real one.” As he said, he took out a soul gem and let it glow under Herald’s eyes.

“I’m not here to arrest you,” Said Herald, “and I don’t want your loot either. Look, if you tricked the guard with the fake one, how can I be sure that the one you give me is real?”

“Clever head,” Said the jaguar man, and took a good look at Herald. “if you are not here to catch me, what are you doing? Oh I see, you are a thief too, disguised as a soldier, right? Yea, that must be so. Now stay away from me. Don’t even think about my soul gem… Well, you do look like one of those lame thieves. Sanja is not afraid of you…”

Herald had never seen such unreasonable person in his life. He decided to change the subject of the conversation, otherwise the jaguar man might be eventually calling him a “scamp”, or even something worse. “So did you say your name was Sanja?” He asked.

“Yes, I’m Sanja, and Sanja is me. Well, I must be going, to Balmora. Where are you going? You can come with me if you want to, just stay away from my soul gem… I’ll sell it to the mages, for a lot of money… Then it’ll be time for some well earned Skooma… ha ha!”

Herald had nothing to say. I’m going to Balmora too, he thought, this is indeed a difficult company to travel with, but it could be better than traveling alone.