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]

Sanja always walked behind Herald, in fear of losing his soul gem; Herald, on the other hand, had never worried about having a thief around him, and he certainly had nothing Sanja would be interested in. He’d rather enjoy the beautiful scenery of the seashore, or inspect the wild plants growing aside the road that he had never seen. Unlike his hometown, Vvardenfell seemed to have many more trees, and Herald could only recognize a few of them. One was Hathel, whose trunks are stocky but get thinner near the top, as in the shape of a broad sword; the other one was Tadorna, which were always split into two branches near the root, and therefore often mistaken as two trees. Both throve in Herald’s hometown, where people built houses with Tadorna for its unswerving shape and sturdy fibers, and carpentered furnishings with Hathel for its fine texture. Between the trees, various bushes grew in clusters over the short grass and mosses. Some were taller and reaching out broad and sharp-edged leaves, while others were smaller in size but larger in number. Some bushes were blooming, with either purple flowers shaped like stars, or bunch of pink sprouts, or cluster of small yellow florets, and all were releasing pleasant fragrance into the air. The most fascinating plants for Herald, though, were the gigantic mushrooms rising three times as high as him. Herald remembered the Captain speaking of them, and naming them the Telda.

Finally the clouds had retreated from the sky at noon, and sunshine started pouring through the thin layers of leaves. The path began to deviate from the seashore and cut deeper into the woods, and the air grew moist and warm as the muddy path was heated by the sun, making Herald difficult to breathe. He stopped and turned back, and said: “Sanja, let’s walk by the seashore, the steamy air is making me weary.”

The moisture did not trouble Sanja at all, since his ancestors had long lived in the thriving jungles of Elsweyr; but what had been troubling him was his stomach. “Sanja is hungry,” he said, “Sanja needs food. Do you have anything to eat?”

“Yes, I do.” Herald opened his pack and handed Sanja some Nixhound meat.

Sanja put the dried meat under his nose and smelled at it, then tossed it away. “This is disgusting,” he said, “must be from the moldy warehouse in the Imperial Garrison. Let’s go to the seashore, a feast is waiting for us!”

The seashore was in fact only forty or fifty yards away. Herald noticed that this portion of the shore was gentle and flat, with seaweeds, pebbles and large rocks scattered all over the sandy beach. “It feels much better here,” he said, “and I will stop and have my lunch…”

Suddenly Sanja started running towards a lump of rock sitting quietly by the edge of water, leaving the bewildered Herald behind. As he approached the “rock” covered by mud and sand, much of Herald’s surprise, it began to raise itself. A pair of huge claws appeared from under the creature, and Herald could also see its short legs stretching out, ready for battle. Sanja kept a short distance from the creature, while strafing left and right, attempting to seduce his opponent to attack.

Herald had just realized that the creature was a mudcrab, though looked quite different from what he had seen at home. He had been hunting for them before he was recruited, but they were smaller and did not have the massive carapaces on their back, therefore much easier to penetrate with spears. Now he wanted to see how sanja would kill it with bare hands.

Suddenly the mudcrab rose upon its front legs, and its claws thrusted towards sanja and clapped. Sanja stepped backwards, still looking for an opportunity. The creature roared in rage, and advanced towards its enemy. Sanja didn’t wait longer, he took a jab with his clawed hand at the mudcrab, and just as it leapt up and attacked he quickly slid to its back, where the mudcrab had left unprotected. At the same time Sanja grabbed the edge of the carapace, lifted with all his strength and turned the mudcrab over. Lying on its bulky carapace, the mudcrab could only swing its legs and claws hopelessly in the air, what once was its protection now became its doom.

“Well done!” said Herald, “This mudcrab is huge, and truly ferocious!”

“Indeed!” Sanja raised himself and smiled with pride, “claws and daggers are all we have; yet no Imperials, with however elegant swords and amours, shall defeat us! Rise, the talented Khajiits of Elsweyr!”
Listening to Sanja’s prideful acclamation, Herald laughed in his heart. For God’s sake! He thought, all you have defeated is just a mudcrab.