The Chorrol Community Contest 2013 Entry Thread Options

[Colonel Mustard]

Voting is now closed. Do not send me more votes, you peons.

First of all, to make this as obvious as possible:

DO NOT POST IN THIS THREAD!! AT ALL!

Thank you

Now, I'm posting all of the stories up anonymously, and will be taking votes for the next two weeks. Since everyone found the whole timezone thing confusing, to make it as simple as possible voting closes the moment your day becomes the 19th of April. Send your votes to me via PM, and I'll keep a running tally up here.

Also, as I was going for a final shortlist of five stories, I've decided that as only six were entered in the end, I'm posting up all six of them as it just seems like a bit of a dick move to leave one person's entry out in the cold.


Winstad Manor votes: 3
Ang Anghel at ang Demonio votes: 2
A Question of Guilt votes: 2
The Tenth Divine votes: 2
Absolution votes: 2

Good luck to all contestants!

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Apr 20 2013, 07:27 PM

[Colonel Mustard]

Entry 3

A Question of Guilt

Lord Harald’s broken body lay in his bed, in the manor house of Oakhold near the border between White Run and Falkreath. That location was usually a blessing, as it meant the Jarls of both tended to leave him alone. Magic could have healed him, but using magic would have brought the Thalmor sniffing around, with their long, pointed noses. Harald would rather die. So, he would either heal naturally or he wouldn’t. In the meantime, his restless spirit wandered the familiar halls, and he wondered if he was dreaming, or if the sights and sounds were real. Then his attention was drawn to a specific sound, a particular voice. It was his eldest son, Matteus, speaking in low tones to Jurgen, his closest friend since childhood.

“I should have gone with him, Gens. But I thought riding on such a snow-strewn day was foolish. I preferred to stay snug and warm in the hall. And now…. I am not ready for this. He is the Lord of Oakhold. I should have gone with him.”

Matteus looked in the direction of his father’s room and his voice trailed off in a sob.

Harald wanted to stay, to tell his son- something, to tell him that he was a fine man and that he would be a good leader. But against his will, his spirit was drawn away, down the stairs and through the empty dining hall that had only the day before rung with mirth and song. He passed unseen into the kitchen, a place of many happy memories. Gudrun Cook was stirring a large cauldron of stew using an ancient wooden spoon Harald had reason to remember. He almost expected to feel it rap his knuckles as it had when he was a boy and had attempted to steal a bite between meals. But the cook paused in her work only long enough to wipe the tears from her cheeks with a sleeve.

“Folk need to eat,” she muttered to herself, “no matter what else may be. And Mara knows, I need to keep myself busy.”

Though no one else was near, Gudrun’s voice dropped to a whisper. “After all, twas I that prepared the stirrup cup before he went out riding. What if I made a mistake?”

Harald reached with an insubstantial hand, seeking to comfort the woman who had provided far more than meals to his family. But it was no use, and he soon felt himself being pulled away again, outside and across the yard into the stable.

A light voice, filled with the sound of yellow sun on green leaves, came softly from the stall that held Greyhm, Harald’s favorite hunter. Harald’s spirit or dreaming self passed through the half door and watched Ingail, the Bosmeri head groom, brushing the steel-colored horse with slow, loving strokes. Some of the other lords scoffed at the idea of an elf tending Nord horses, and a wood elf at that, but all Harald had to do was watch horse and mer to see he had been right.

“I do not know, old friend. I think I tightened the cinch enough. But I had more cider than usual at the feast. Perhaps I let my attention wander? Perhaps I set the saddle amiss, and something galled you? I see no mark, but how can I be sure? If only you could tell me. I fear the suspicious glances of these Nords. If not for the love of you and your kind, I would think it best if I went away from here. But then, all would be certain that what happened to Sir Harald was by design. And I would be separated from you forever. I could not bear that.”

Ingail could not hear Greyhm’s thoughts, but Harald’s spirit saw them like pictures painted on a canvas that unfurled before him.

HE came from the large dwelling, breath blowing clouds into the air, face red, blue eyes dancing, hair the same color as my coat. Blue eyes met brown eyes, and I knew it was a day for fast running, a day to GO. Friend Ingail held reins and stirrup, and HE leaped up to the saddle, drank from a cup that steamed and tossed it back with a laugh.

Together, we would race across the white, just the two of us. We would be faster than the white hares, faster than the gray foxes, faster than the clouds in the sky. HE patted my neck and leaned to whisper in my ear, “ A great day for it, yes? A sharpish, clear-sky day.”

The rest stayed in their stables, four-legged and two-legged. It was only us. Only myself and LORD. We went down the track at an easy pace, warming ourselves as we left the smoke and the stalls, moving together, hearts beating with the strike of hooves on hard ground. I wanted to run, but HE spoke soft, “Not yet, Great Heart. Let’s get a bit further out.”

We crossed the small water and drops flashed in the sun. He touched me with a knee, just the smallest nudge, and I turned onto the man-path. He leaned forward and I could hardly wait for the words: “NOW! Now Greyhm! To the top of Heron’s Roost and back.”

And we flew. As one, we flew, swift as the hunting hawk, straight as an arrow. Together as we were meant to be. My hooves barely touched ground before bounding up again, all the way to the top of the high place, where we could see the sun shining on the great water. But we did not stop there. I turned, standing on rear legs as Soft Voice had taught me and spinning in place to face down the high place again. We flew even faster, wind snapping my mane and tail. HE laughed and I sounded my own joy. We flew as one, my brother and I. But then, at the bottom of the high place, it happened.

Where the sweet water flows in the spring, where the green grass grows long, there was a place…, a patch of not-ground. My hooves slipped. I tried to… I tried… HE tried. But I could feel him falling. LORD fell away from me. He struck the hard ground. He did not get up. When I nuzzled him, he did not get up. He moaned. I waited, but he did not get up. He moved his hand and I brought my head down to his face. He told me, “Go, Great Heart. Bring Ingail.”

And though I flew fast, it was not-right, without LORD on my back. Soft Voice saw me come into the gate alone, and he knew. I let him ride me. Back to where LORD was lying still upon the hard white. We brought him home, Soft Voice and I. They carried him away from me. I waited and HE did not come out. Soft Voice came and brought me to the stable. Why has HE not come to see me? Where has my brother gone? What have I done?

Harald’s spirit left the stable, but he did not find himself in the yard. Rather he was in a low torch-lit passage, with doors at either end. Shadows danced and vanished and formed again, until they resolved into an armored figure, towering in front of him. Harald recognized the figure and fell to his knees- Talos. The Divine Emperor stood silently, hands crossed on the hilt of the sword held before him with the tip grounded. Talos’ lips did not move, but Harald heard him speak all the same:

“Choose.”

The Lord of Oakhold wanted to protest that he did not understand, but he knew Talos referred to the two doors. He turned his etheric attention to the door on his right and heard the sounds of feasting and sparring and voices raised in songs of battle and hunting. Sovngarde. An end to mortal cares.

He turned to the opposite door and heard the homely sounds of his hold. The sounds of work that never ceased, no matter what else might occur. That way lay a long, painful healing and the resumption of all the cares of leadership.

“Choose.”

Harald studied the silent form of Talos, seeking a sign. There was none. The Divine stood equidistant between the two doors and looked neither left nor right. He did not even appear to breathe. Again, the voice thundered in his mind.

“Choose.”

The Lord of Oakhold cast a longing look to the door opening onto Sovngarde. But he knew- that realm was a reward for those who had lived honorable lives, who had carried out their duties. So he turned his back on it and reached for the latch of the door that would take him back to his shattered body. As he did so, Talos nodded- once. The gesture was small, almost unseen. But Harald knew it for what it was- a bow of respect.

Sun’s Dawn gave way to First Seed and Harald’s body mended. The process was aided by Gudrun’s cooking- broth at first, and later, more substantial fare. In truth, there are more kinds of healing magic than are sold in apothecaries. Within a month, he was able to move from the bed to a chair, from which he could look out the window and see Ingail exercising Greyhm and the other horses. In the third month after his fall, the Lord of Oakhold once more sat at the head of the table in his great hall. And on the morning of the 10th day of Rain’s Hand, he announced, “It is time to settle that which befell at the start of this year. In two week’s time, I will sit in judgment, as is my duty. Court will be held in the main yard.”

Accidents were not unusual, not even falls from horseback. And those falls often resulted in serious injury or even death. In the normal course of events, only a death might merit an inquest and it would be an informal business, begun and ended in a few minutes. But Harald knew the doubts that plagued his son and his people, and knew further that those doubts would weaken the bonds of trust and family that were essential for Oakhold’s survival. Questions had to be asked and answered in such a fashion that they would be forever after laid to rest.

He handed the bailiff a list with the instruction to make sure those named within were present. The estate official raised a brow at one of the names, but made no comment. It was traditional for trials and inquests to be held outdoors, as the people of Skyrim believed that all matters related to seeking for truth should be take place in the bright light of day. So the construction of a temporary box for witnesses beneath the branches of the oak that gave the hold its name came as no surprise. However, the addition of a single stall beside the dock was most unusual. On the morning of the day appointed, the servants carried an ornate chair into the courtyard and placed it on a raised platform. Then Ingail led Greyhm into the temporary stall and was himself escorted to the dock by the bailiff. He was joined there by Gudrun Cook and- to the accompaniment of a few murmurs- Matteus Haraldson.

Once the residents of Oakhold were in place, Lord Harald limped out of the main hall and took his place in the Seat of Judgment. He spoke the formal words to open the inquiry:

“Today, we are assembled to seek truth. I am Lord Harald Torvaldson of Oakhold and the dispensation of justice, high and low, is one of my responsibilities. As finder of fact, I will now question the witnesses. Matteus Haraldson, stand forth.”

Harald’s eldest son came to the front of the dock and rested his hands on the railing.

“Matteus, on the day when I was injured, is it true that you chose not to go riding with me?”

“Yes.”

“And what reason did you give for your refusal?”

“That it was cold and that the ground was treacherous.”

“And how did I respond to your reasoning?”

“You waved me back to the table and stated that you would go alone if necessary.”

“Very well, Matteus. You may stand down.”

Lord Harald next called Gudrun Cook. She seemed somehow smaller outside of her kitchen, but still stood with the dignity of her years.

“Mistress Cook, how long have you served at Oakhold?”

“Begging your pardon, milord, but if that is a way of askin’ how old I am, I’m not tellin’.”

Harald himself joined in the laughter and then put the question another way, “Can we at least say it is true that you have served as head cook since my father was Lord of Oakhold?”

“Yes, milord.”

“And you have prepared or supervised the preparation of every feast and banquet during that time?”

“Yes, milord.”

“And have you ever offered any meat or drink that did not meet your exacting standards?”

“Never, milord.”

“Thank you, Gudrun. You may stand down. Next, I call Ingail of Valenwood.”

The Bosmer groom seemed like a child standing among the hulking Nords, notwithstanding that he was the oldest person present.

“Ingail, what brought you to Oakhold?”

The elf answered clearly, his voice a tuneful accompaniment to the spring air. “I came with Greyhm’s sire, Bright Blade, as his groom.”

“And why have you stayed?”

“Because the horses love me and I them. They are my children.”

“On the day of my fall, were you responsible for Greyhm’s saddle and bridle?”

“Yes, milord. That day and every time he goes out.”

“And when he came back alone, what did you do?”

“I knew something had happened to you, milord. So I asked his permission to mount him, and told him to take me to you.”

“And did you find it necessary to adjust the saddle or any of his other gear before you mounted or at any time during the ride to Heron’s Roost?”

“No milord. But… I have no need of reins or stirrups.”

“And after we returned, who removed the saddle?”

“I, milord.”

“Was there aught amiss?”

“Nothing I could see, milord.”

“Very well. Ingail, you may stand down.”

Lord Harald folded his hands and looked at Greyhm before continuing. “The final witness cannot speak what he knows, at least not in such a way that the assembly can understand him. Therefore, I will move on to my findings.” He paused, thinking of the pain he had suffered and of the burden of responsibility that rested on his shoulders still. Then he continued.

“Hear now my decision. Matteus. As my eldest son and as the future master of Oakhold, you counseled me to wisdom. That I did not heed your words is an indication of my folly, not a result of any failure on your part. Please continue on the path of wisdom and help me to do the same.”

He nodded to the bailiff, who released Matteus from the dock.

“Gudrun. The proof of your innocence is in the fact that I sit before this assembly today. If so skilled a cook as you had sought to poison me, surely I would have died long since.”

That statement brought laughter from the people of Oakhold, which redoubled when Harald added, “Besides, if you wished to get my attention, you would have rapped me on the skull with your spoon.” As she exited the dock he stood and bowed to her, a gesture of sincere respect and affection. “I may be Lord of Oakhold, but you are the Queen of the Kitchen, the giver of sustenance. Long may you continue in that office.”

“Ingail of Valenwood. Your service has been faithful and valuable to myself and to the hold, so much so that you have become more than a servant. Let none present doubt that you are a member in full of this House. To that end, and if you will accept, I name you- ‘Ingail of Oakhold’.”

The groom’s hand reached of its own volition to caress Greyhm’s muzzle.

“Lord Harald, this is my home, and I am glad to take its name as my own.”

Then Harald looked to the last witness, the one who had stood silent throughout, because he had no voice, at least not one suited to human speech.

“Greyhm.” The Lord of Oakhold’s voice broke and he collected himself once more. “Great Heart. You did only what I asked of you. You did your best to prevent the fall. You stood by me when I could not rise. You brought aid when I asked. You brought me safely home. No man could ask for more from a horse, a friend… or a brother.”

He stepped down from his chair and released Greyhm from the temporary stall, placed a hand on his forelock and said, “The mount is not at fault for the rider’s lack of skill. Be at peace, my brother.”

He handed the reins to Ingail, and the crowd breathed a sigh of relief. But Harald was not finished. He raised his hands and said, “None of these four were ever accused, except by their own true, loving hearts. And yet, I did fall and did come nigh unto death. All of Oakhold would have suffered if that had happened. Though they are innocent, yet there is one here who is guilty.”

The people of the hold looked around, seeking the assassin in their midst, and were stunned when Lord Harald entered the dock and closed the gate behind himself. He stepped up to the railing and bowed his head before speaking once more, “My dear people, I stand before you, guilty of a most grievous error. In my pride and selfishness, I ignored wise counsel, over-indulged in excellent fare, and put at risk not only myself, not only my dear friend, but this entire holding. I humbly await your judgment.”

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Apr 11 2013, 03:10 PM