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]

The next day of travel was rather tedious. At noon, ghastly morphing dark clouds spread over the sky like swarms of insects, and pounded the travelers’ ears with deafening rumbles and bursts. The air was particularly clear; yet trees were swung, and bushes were flattened by the waves of relentless wind, filling the air with resounding crackles of leaves. A storm was brewing, and didn’t wait long to unload its burden, and turn the land below into a flooding swamp. The travelers returned to the woods to seek shelter, though the humble crowns of the trees offered little cover from the raging storm.

When the sky was as dark as night, they had reached the edge of the woods, but the storm showed no sign of ceasing. In front of them laid a vast field of bushes; Their leaves and foliages swung back and forth under the wind, forming crests and troughs like waves in the sea.

Sanja stopped before the bushes and examined them. “A marshmerrow farm!” He exclaimed, “There must be farm houses nearby.”

A lightening bolt revealed the wraithly shadow of a small cottage on the other side of the field. They gathered the last strength to break through the scraping branches over the muddy farm land, as if the cottage was the last hope. Apparently the farm had been neglected for a long time, for the gaps between marshmarrow bushes were filled with tall grass and other short plants, some with long stings. Each step must be carefully taken, and they must stop often to free the clothes caught by the stings.

When they reached the cottage, darkness had engulfed all, and their steps were only guided by the flashing lightening bolts. Herald knocked at the door; the sound of the pouring water was so intense that he doubted anyone inside would have heard it. No one came to open the door; he pushed, and it was not locked.

The travelers stepped in and shut the storm behind the door. “Sorry about the disturbance, my good master.” Said Herald loudly and politely, “We are travelers from Ebonhart, and we were caught by the storm. Very grateful we’ll be, if we may take shelter here for a night.”

No one answered. Herald held his breath and listened, no snores could be heard from sleeping men (or creatures).

“They must have sealed the windows,” complained Sanja, “or there are no windows at all! I cannot see anything, not even the lightening.”

“No need for light if all we want is rest.” Said Herald, and probed the surrounding with his hands. There seemed to be some wooden crates, sacks, barrels piled up in the corner, and a large bed lying against the wall. They set the packages and wet clothes down in the corner with the crates and sacks, then dropped into the bed and indulged in the well-deserved night of rest.

Herald could not remember how many hours had passed before Sanja woke him up, and whispered next to his ear:

“Under the bed, quick!”

As he said, he slipped into the narrow space between the bed and the floor. Herald was bewildered, but followed sanja and hid beneath the bed, with his head still dizzy and sleepy.

Suddenly the door was kicked open, several men stepped inside.

“Finally an end to the horrible torture!” One spoke, with a queer voice as low and coarse as the sea storms in Herald’s hometown.

“Nay.” Said the other, with the same queer voice. “I doubt the storm will cease any time soon, and we must return to the cave by noon, for the merchants will arrive then.”

“Which means more torture for the poor little Quaynd, HAHAHA!” The third queer voice spoke, then he lit his travel lantern.

Under the dim light of the lantern, Herald could see their muddy feet pounding on the floor as they paced around, squeezing out yellowish water from the bottom of the boots. That's funny, he thought, they are just travelers like us. Why should we hide from them?

“Yea, Eshyo, keep laughing.” Said the man named Quaynd, “Look at yourself, are you any cleaner than me? You may sleep in the field tonight if you enjoy the storm.”

“Be quiet!” Said the other man, “Without you two troubling me, I would have already arrived at the cave by now. Wait, what is that? Catch it!”

As swift as the hunting eagles, Quaynd and Eshyo hopped next to the bed, each grabbed the shoulder of a boy, and pulled him out from under the bed. It was Herald.

Herald had decided that the three men were common travelers, and there was no reason for him to hide. So he crawled out to greet them, and of course did not expect to be welcomed this way.

“What is this?” Said Quaynd, “looks like an Imperial to me.”

“I believe it is an assassin!” Said Eshyo, “It was hiding under the bed and trying to ambush us!”

“No, you have mistaken, my kind sera!” Said Herald, “I’m just a traveler. The storm…” He looked up, and the terrifying scene stopped the words at his lips. He had never seen people with such appearance: all three faces were dark grey, and all six eyes were burning red. Two men were wearing crude sack cloth shirts and pants, and the other man was in a green robe.

“Traveler?” Said Eshyo, “Then why do you hide under the bed?”

Herald had no answer to the question. Obviously he hid because Sanja told him to; and since Sanja was still hiding, he did not intend to reveal him. Herald looked around, and saw his bow and sword lying in the corner. An idea came to his mind.

“Indeed,” He said, “several bandits broke into the house while I was resting, and I barely hid myself before they lit the torches. They have just left a short while ago, and I heard that they were coming back soon. Look!” Herald pointed at his weapons, “their weapons are still here!”

“Bandits? Indeed!” Said Quaynd, “There are no bandits. WE are the ones who rule this place!”

“Bandits…” Said the man in green robe; “must be Hainab and his outcasts. We have no business with them, and I’d rather not meet with them either. Let us get ready to leave!”

“Leave?! Not again, Tedril! I haven’t even sat down yet! Not for the entire day!” Eshyo complained; then he turned to Herald and released him. “You lucky little sneaky maggot, we’ll let you go this time. Don’t ever let me see you again!”

“Wait a second,” said Tedril. His red eyes scanned Herald from head to feet, “He’s got some strength. I think the merchant will pay us a good price, don’t you think?”

“You are right, Tedril.” Said Eshyo, “And methinks it worth much more than those Khajiits and Argonians. Ten bottles of Skooma, yeah?”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Said Tedril, “Catch him and take him to the cave!”

Herald suddenly realized that these men were the slave traders. When he joined the Imperial Legion, he learned that slavery was banned by the Imperial Law, and yet it was still secretly in practice. But he never knew that he would one day be captured by the slave traders.

Eshyo stepped forward and wrapped his hands around Herald’s neck, hoping to choke him unconscious. Without hesitation, Herald raised his right arm, twisted his body to the left and dropped his elbow upon Eshyo’s arms. No matter how strong ones arms are, his wrists are always the weak point. Eshyo could no longer hold on to Herald’s neck, and was forced to release him. Before he had a chance to retrieve his hands, Herald stepped up and delivered a powerful blow at Eshyo’s face with his elbow.

Eshyo fell back groaning in pain; apparently his opponent wasn’t as easy as he anticipated. In fact, Herald had spent many years training hand-to-hand combats with his father. Though not as effective as the iron-molded weapons on the battlefield, the hands of a master can be much more deadly during close encounters.

But Herald was not yet a master. He wanted to fetch his sword just a few steps away, but did not notice that Quaynd was approaching him from behind. He felt the chill of the blade on his neck before even raising his foot, and was captured.

“Welcome to the real world!” Said Tedril with a wicked smile, “Gone are the days of sunshine and flowers, and you will enjoy the new life in the Ashlands. Our merchants will arrive in the morning, and show you the way to heaven!”

“That’s enough, Ted!” Said Eshyo, who was still rubbing his nose to relieve the pain; “You rehearse that useless line every time we catch something. Now let me give it a warm welcome of my style!” As he said, he hurled his fist at Herald’s face with all his power. Herald felt his brain smashing against the skull, and his vision was soon filled up with flashing stars. He fell to the ground, and the only thing he remembered before losing conscious, was that the space under the bed was empty.