Tales Of...Brother Tharryn., Book 1 - Mystery, Signs and Portents. 3E 431 - 433. Options

[McBadgere]

Hello!!...And welcome to my New Story™!!...Which, I hope will at some point simply be my Story™!!...

Anyways…Because I’m pretentious like that and I like the sound of my own typed word, I have a couple of things to say before I begin…

First, I’d like to dedicate this entire work to mALX…Wherever she is…Because she was always very supportive of me when I was doing the Knights of The Nine thing, and I’m pretty sure she’d be the first in line, cheering me and bouncing about with a “Woot!” for me starting this one off... …

So, *Raises glass*…To mALX…Miss ya buddy…

Secondly, and because I can, I’m also dedicating it to Treydog…He has also supported me hugely this past year…Not posting is not the same as not writing, and he’s pretty much read – and put up with – everything I’ve done in that entire time…And with his constant and unfailing enthusiasm, encouragement, warnings, threats and bribes he has managed to get me to finally share something I’m creating…Yes, it’s all his fault!!...

Nah, his – no small – efforts (he is, when all said and done, editing and Exec Producing this story) mean more to me than I can say without being looked at in a strange manner.

So, here’s to you, you Swaggy, exceptionally cool and awesome friend you…Couldn’t have done it without you… ...

And finally, no small amount of thanks to Grits, Acadian and Jack Cloudy…Who also stuck through, and encouraged no-end, the entirety of my previous efforts…Hope you come on this journey too…Ta…


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Right…To story matters…

This is not set in the Knights-verse, as I called the other place…That’s not to say it isn’t as strange and bizzare as it…It’s just not set there…But, as I’m multiverse-ing my own world now, there may be the odd character turning up that seem awfully familiar…To some of you, at least…Though they won’t be exactly the same, it being a different universe and all…

Imperial City…I’m sure most of you have a picture of your own literary version of it in your heads…But mine is based on the Rome of the game Assassin’s Creed Brotherhood…And, as such…It is massive…

Yes, I’ve put Rome on its own island…Which is vast…Thus Lake Rumare is vast…I may change it to Loch Rumare instead… …Aaaand I’ve moved stuff around, like the districts and the Waterfront/prison/Uni, so as to make more sense to me…It is all going to be described in the story…But I’m just warning you, in case you go, “Huh? That’s not right…”…No, it is right…Just not the same as the game…

There is a map of it…Just so I have a proper thing to follow as I write, but as it looks like a toddler’s nursery painting, I can’t share it with you, unfortunately…I scaaared…

The one other thing is the style of it…Magnum P.I. does this thing where he narrates over a bit of the episode, telling us some bit of information…And that’s without the knowing look at the camera thing…Anyways, this is a bit like that…There’s what’s going on from his point of view, along with Tharryn’s general narration, thoughts and opinions on stuff…Just so you know from the off… …

Oh, and some more interludes…You know how you all love them…


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Right…That’s all for now…

I hope you enjoy it…It’s been a blast starting to write it all…

*Bows*…Thanks for reading…

*Winks*…


EDIT...Because of the way the forum is now set up, I can't put the actual start of the story on a separate post...I apologise for this...I did try... ...


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Tales of...Brother Tharryn.





Book 1 - Mystery, Signs and Portents. 3E 431 - 3E 433.





Part 1 - Pilgrim’s Way/Agent of The Church/A small Bosmer girl.




“I did my best.” So read the inscription on a tomb by the side of the Pilgrim’s Way, the wide, arrow straight East-West road that led into the heart of the Temple District of Imperial City.

I continued to read the dedication; some high-idealed civic ruler who had tried to change the fortunes of those of the least standing. Sadly fallen foul of his ambition, it seems. If the word ‘Assassinated’ didn’t grab the attention, then the black-hand mark over the unfortunate’s name would likely give most readers pause.

A long sigh escaped me. Give the poor better standing, there would be less between them and those with the riches; with the power. All too often had I heard the words, “Give a man one rung of the ladder, he will soon grab your ankles and drag you down; Best to keep him off the ladder in the first place, no?”

Breathing back sudden anger, I nodded my respects to one who – briefly, at least – had been brave enough to attempt change in this, the slow beating, black heart of the Empire.

Turning my head from the tomb, I looked eastwards along the arterial road, across the valley and up the gently rising hills towards the City which ruled over countless peoples of several races.

Bloated with riches, the Capital had allowed itself to spread beyond its fortified “outer” walls. The manses and compounds of the very – though piously so – rich and powerful members of the religious elite could be distinctly seen cluttering the hills’ slopes, even from this distance; and I knew that within them, and all around this most powerful patch of land in the world, townships of all varieties were heaving with rich and poor; Demi-Gods and all-too-human monsters; living saints and habitual sinners – along with those who would facilitate them.

And then there were those they were there to protect.



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Whether by design or simply years-borne mutual acceptance, there seemed to be an order to the traversing of the road. Carts would travel along the southern side of the road, the ones leaving Imperial City nearer the middle; horses would pass each other down the centre – sometimes at speed – and finally, the foot traffic would stick to the northern edge, the slower and more infirm furthest towards the edge of the road, leaving plenty of room for the un-afflicted to walk apace without having to weave and beg pardon every few steps.

As I walked along the broad thoroughfare in the early morning hazy sunshine, my pace – even as sedate as it was – passed numerous citizens with various degrees of affliction, with complaints ranging from some infected injury to crippled limbs, blindness, some sort of mange.

Many of these struggled along in the company of others, occasionally leaning on the nearest for support; or by themselves, using a crutch; some, on the other side of the road from me were families escorting some unfortunate relative lying prone on a cart pulled by an ox.

Each of the unwell – or their escorts – were hoping that help could be had, either by a handy free miracle, charity or – judging by some of the clothes visible as I took in my fellow pilgrims – sizable donation in return for access to any of the templars’ best, or at least, most expensive healers.



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As inconspicuous as I tried to be in my hooded travel cloak, subtle and travel-worn chainmail armour and well used leather boots, it was unavoidable that I would catch someone’s eye as I passed them. Yet in that flicker of recognition as they then took in the whole of my appearance, I could see them torn between asking me if I knew anyone who would help and their making some hand sign meant to ward off evil.

Ah, the joys of recognition. Sadly, the one badge of office I am obliged to carry at all times – and that most difficult to hide, is the tiny matter of a silver long-sword.

The thing that tended to catch the eye first was the ornately worked, though strong, jewelled guard with a red ruby in the centre, which marked the end of an exquisitely leather bound grip, that itself was topped by an octagonal pommel, the counterweight that gave the sword such a balance it beggared belief.

This last detail of the counterweight was what tended to give me away as an agent of The Church; those shepherds, corallers, stewards, administrators of all the faiths of Tamriel. The great multi-faceted ecclesiastical organisation that was always so accepting of any faith or belief, so long as it can stand being subsumed and ordered until it blends in with all The Words Of The Nine.

If it cannot, then it is a moral threat; Heresy; Blasphemy.

And then, that’s where I come in.

However, with such power as The Church grants its Knights comes the responsibility to undertake any of the great or mundane tasks asked of you; such as, people begging for the laying on of hands – which is no bother to grant, really. Well, if asked nicely, of course.

Out in the wilds – the deep backwaters of Cyrodiil – there’s little real call for it, unless the situation deems it necessary. But when people have had to undertake such a journey as the one to the Imperial City in order to get help, then they’ve exhausted the knowledge of their local healers.

Though what use they think a Knight passing on the side of a road is going to be to them, I do not know.

The majority of the time, I will direct them towards the Hospitallers – a fellow knightly order, far more dedicated to the art of healing than war, and also far cheaper and more likely to be able to help in some way than one of the Churches’ or Temples’ healers – then, in order that they are more likely to have the strength to get there, I will simply put my hands to their shoulders – unless that’s the afflicted area, then I find it best to avoid it – and I will ask for all to bow their heads and pray to The Nine, and as they do this, I begin casting. First I restore their fatigue as much as I can; second, I send as much health to them as I can spare and then finally, I will rally them, companions and all, both with spell and appropriate joyous word repeated verbatim, as learned as an aspirant in my distant youth as rote from The Book.

Still, there are yet, in the world, those who would rather make signs, or spit, or mumble curses than be touched by “Dunmer scum”, “Outlanders” or “Blue Demons” as we as a race are said to be by those…Narrow minded fools who manage to think themselves far above everyone else in all ways.

I was born not far from Cheydinhal, which, when one is being insulted this way in the middle of the Imperial Heartland by someone wearing the fashions of – and sporting the accents of - Hammerfell, Summerset Isle or Elsweyr is a bit much. And who exactly is the outlander here?

Still, I’m not obliged to stop unless asked to.

So, as it happens, I do not stop over much.



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Sometime past, in an unrecorded era, the broad, grassy sides of the Pilgrim’s Way, starting at the very edge of City Isle, just over the Imperial Bridge, suddenly became the place to put your tomb. A prime location to immortalise your memory with an ostentatious – sometimes gaudy – miniature palace constructed of carved stone, to be remembered each day as the multitudes plodded their way past your name.

By turns absurd or beautiful; from new and gleaming marble ziggurats topped with an obligatory sculpture of those mythic ethereal bridgemen, the Harn’ashall; to simple affairs of weatherworn and faded grey stone. Each one had the interred’s name, some words of dedication and the names of those they left behind. Occasionally, you could tell when names had been removed from one section and added to the other as the other members of the family had subsequently joined the tomb.

Down the years I have walked this road, I will occasionally stop to read one or two of the dedications so as to mark a degree of respect, as it does seem that in placing your tomb in such august company as those along the miles that stretch between the bridge and Marcharic’s Cross – the point where the East-West running Pilgrim’s Way crosses the Septim Circle, one of the roads which circles the island from the Waterfront district around to the Nord’s Gate district in the north. – results in not so much being recognised as special, even if you were, or tried to be, it has the opposite effect; that of being treated as one of the multitude, ignored in – likely – the way a great many of these interred did the plebs that now file past in droves.



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I bit into an apple as I reached Marcharic’s Cross. I paused, looked right to see if any laden carts or Legion patrols were headed my way, then I started to turn left onto the Septim Circle and head north.

My progress came to a halt as a small hand grasped mine. I looked down into the pleading eyes of a small Bosmer girl. My brow furrowed in question and then I saw her eyes dart to the apple in my other hand, then return to mine.

“Sir?” she said in heavily accented Gnothic, and reached her hand out towards the fruit.

“Lrindi!” came the shout from a little way behind the child.

The girl turned her head slightly in recognition of the name, but otherwise kept her eyes on mine.

I tilted my head a little and then shook it minutely. Her eyes dropped first, her hand followed a moment later.

Her parents having caught up by now, tried to beg my pardon and I heard her father start on a familiar litany, “My Lord, I am so-” I put my hand up to forestall any more comment and knelt by the girl, catching her eyes again. I smiled a little and reached for a second apple from my pack.

“All yours.”

Naturally, she smiled and then burst into tears. I wondered, looking at their clothes, how long the trio had been on the road.

“My Lord,” the father tried again while the mother held her daughter to her; the girl quietly crying whilst crunching, “we apologise for our daughter. It is so long since we could afford anything except stale bread and water. I think she recognised you by your sword, my Lord Brother?…”

“Tharryn…Brother Tharryn.”



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*Author notes...



*Gnothic …The official language of Tamriel is Tamrielic…Which sounds balls to me…So I think I ripped off the Warhammer 40 000 word for Basic…English…Langua Franca…Etc…It sounds cooler, and more realistic somehow…

**Harn’ashall…If anyone’s interested, they are basically angels…In the kind of clichéd Swan Song’s (Led Zep’s music label) Icarus mould…My first use of them can be found here…In this post…

This post has been edited by McBadgere: May 18 2014, 04:56 AM

[McBadgere]

Right, two apologies…

First, so sorry it took so long to get back here…Once upon a time, there was a part 1 to 5…And they were good…(Well, y’know?)…Then I came to prep the part 2 for posting and was less than happy with what I had NOT done with it…So I set about sorting it…Aaaand still haven’t finished yet… …Hopefully you’ll like where it’s going anyways…

Aaaanyways…Two parts of the part 2 have been nailed down, so I’m presenting them to you over the next couple of weeks…Which leads us to the second apology…

I’ll be honest, the responses to your comments are probably longer than the entire first part of the part 2…As the split for the part 2 of part 2 would make it far too long…Y’know?…So I apologise that it’s only about 800 words for all the waiting…


Anyways...Said responses...


Treydog - Thank you Matey!!!! …On so many levels, thank you…I was definitely inspired by the tombs on the Appian Way outside Rome and I figured that Tharryn’s the sort that would stop and read them when he could…Even if he’s the only one…

Thank you for the compliment on the world building…That is always a huge amount of fun for me…

Much cheers Trey, Sir!!...



Rohirrim!!! - *Bows*…Cheers Rohirrim!...I hope the rest of it proves as awesome, matey!...

Ta!!...



Acadian!!! - Thank you so much, Acadian…So much…I hope you continue to enjoy any and all changes that I make to the World as I go on…

Although, I hope that despite the leisurely pace and diversions that Tharryn’s thoughts take the story away to, that you’ll still enjoy it, nevertheless…

Huge thanks Acadian!...



H.E.R.!!!! Thank you so much!!...

The idea of looking over the valley came to me in work, and thinking, how would I.C. look if it was on them hills over there?…And then, with the Rome thing too…Turned out nicely in the end…

This is definitely a grittier world than the KOTN…Not that that one didn’t have its moments…But yeah, trying to add a little more grey to Tharryn and his world…

Also, I’m hoping to reflect the fact that Tharryn is not the tank that most of the KsOTN were…There will be times when his arse gets handed to him in this one…

So many thanks H.E.R. I hope I can continue to produce something you’ll enjoy…



Subrosa!!!...Thank you so much!!...Not only for reading and commenting so positively…But for all the info…

The Church is not all worship and praying…There is definitely a dark side to it, and unfortunately, due to several Reasons™, many dark things to do are sent Tharryn’s way…

The RL Hospitallers are pretty awesome…They did as much fighting and building as the Templars, but because they didn’t really have the religious background thing, and did so much in the way of healing, they were left alone in the purge of the knightly orders…And still exist, to a point, today…The St John’s Ambulace brigade is one part of them…

The nits!...Thank you for the Capitol thing…I did change it…I had just misused the word…An error borne of idiocy and ignorance of the proper use of the word, having heard it years ago… …Thank you for noticing… …

As for the realism…I think I’m gonna stick – for the most part, at least – to the game terms for the weapons and armour…Just to make it easier for me, as much as anyone else!...But thank you so much for all that info, I did find it massively interesting…

Thank you so much Subrosa…Very much indeed...



DE!!!!...Thank you muchly for reading!!!…I much appreciate it…On the mALX thing…It just seems right, somehow…

Thanks for that!...I will endeavour to give you a taste of what goes on in my mind, but sadly, my mind seems to want to run away with the story and not give it back…Hopefully whatever comes out, you will enjoy…

There’s plenty of tales to tell with Tharryn, both in his future and memories from his past…So, hopefully there’ll be loads by the end…

Thanks hugely DE!!!...



GRITSEH!!!...Ah, about those interludes…From the off, I’ve got to say, there’ll be more sideways excursions than you can shake a stick at…This is a deliberate structure of the Tales thing…While most people may want the story proper (or, the plot as most people would call it) to move forward a bit faster…*Shrug*…It is what it is…And the info stuff and memories are just fun to do…

Hopefully you’ll enjoy it…

And what you say about the volumes between the lines…Well, these are the things that cause delays… …But I’m so glad you picked up on his dealing with Lrindi…Eventually, and it’s already written, there’s something about his dealing with children…

I hope I don’t disappoint…Thank you so much Grits!!...




Right...Thank you soooo much to everyone who's read it!!!...

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To the story...In part 1 we met a Knight of The Church called Tharryn and listened to his musings on the Pilgrim's Way...And his meeting of a Bosmer family along it...


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Part 2.1 – We happy Mer/A familiar story/An effort almost beyond me.




“An honour to meet you and your family, Ser?.” I said and subtly indicated that we should move off the thoroughfare and onto the grass, so as we happy Mer were not in the way of the other road users – or their aggravations.

“Oh, of course! I am Handras Sindiran, this is my wife, Elleris, and our very forward, spirited treasure of a daughter, Lrindi.”

I inclined my head in greeting towards both elder Sindiran, and then smiled down at the girl, “Hello milady Lrindi. I bet you cause your parents no-end of trouble, do you not?”

The girl, having mastered her sniffling, looked up and a hard look I recognised, one that belied her few years, came into the brown of her eyes.

“I protect.” she snarled.

I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise, “But of course, milady,” I replied, “and I am sure you do an excellent job with it too. Well, I guess the mighty warrior requires payment equal to her services then.” So I reached into the side of my pack and produced another apple.

A look of pure shock replaced the hardness that one should not ever have to see on a child’s face, and poor Lrindi returned once more to her crying.

I knelt, placed the apple in the girl’s hand and ruffled her hair.

Standing again, I looked to her father, “Tell me, Ser Sindiran, how long have your family been on the road? Especially this road.”

“Well…” the Bosmer turned his head and looked over at his wife. A sad look passed over his face, “There were four of us when we began the journey, but then-”

A new sob joined the girl’s sniffling. A sob which told much of a familiar story without any words being spoken.

“Ah.” said the Bosmer, reaching over to give Elleris’ arm a comforting squeeze, “Could we, perhaps?” he indicated with a gesture of his head that we should, possibly, move further away.

“Of course.” I replied.

We walked some paces and then Sindiran stopped.

“Handras, by the way, please, call me Handras.”

I replied by way of a small bow of the head.


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The Knights of The Church are sometimes given the honorific of, and referred to as Lord, Sir or Brother. This is because we are trained to fulfil a wide variety of roles, as well as the main, martial function. Amongst the many services that fall to even the lowest of knights, is that of lay-priest, and many the lesser functions required of a fully-fledged ordained minister.

Any knight may be required, at some point or other, to give blessings; give last rites; act as missionaries in a foreign country; tutor lessons in the study of The Word Of The Nine or defend any holding of The Church as if it were their own given parish.

Brother-Captains though had the added weight of the possibility of being asked to take congregational masses at smaller, country chapels; lead prayers, or make speeches at gatherings, banquets, festivities, festivals. Be it village square or town hall, city-state openings or on castle hearth.

From the solemn ministering of funerals to the officiating of joyous weddings, the work of the Church Knight could be as far away from the warlike image as it was possible to imagine.

Not all of these non-martial additional concerns are easy for every knight, racial traits may sometimes play a part in this, but through the extensive and sometimes intense training the Knights are given in such matters, even the most tongue-tied Argonian or proud Khajiit can become the epitome of the ideal.

Though, as the responsibilities increase, so does the weight of the undertaking. However, Captains become so for a reason, and as the burden increases, always the extra training should be there to ease it.

Though, not all of the roles are as clear and easy as to be able to be shown the right way to do it, or the wrong; every answer be as surely coloured as black or white.

By far the hardest task handed to a Brother-Captain could be the role of confessor.

Having to listen to all the evil that man and woman can do to others and maintain neutrality is an effort almost beyond me.



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Not all confessions are wicked, evil deeds of dark doings. Most are concerns about relatively harmless things that are easily forgivable, especially as a great many of these wouldn’t trouble the morality of the vast majority of those inside the sprawling organisation that is The Church, and would, in all likelihood, not require forgiveness in the first place. Though, in the backwaters of the world, people find concern in the strangest of things.

The confessions with which I have had the most problem in my career had me praying for a great many hours, desperate for guidance, before an answer was finally granted me; though the actions that followed one answer, can still keep me awake at night.

This post has been edited by McBadgere: May 20 2014, 10:13 PM