The stories so far, Edited and ready to roll. Options

[Troika]

OK, this thread will contain any and all stories that are posted on the geocities site and labelled as edited. These babies we don't have to worry about until it actually comes time to stick em in the game.

I will sort out this thread... in other words, please do NOT post up stories yourself... it could lead to multiple copies which could prove problematic later.

Also, please keep posts in this thread to a minimum. This is mainly just a place where people have quick and easy (although not necessarily organised) access to the stories already finished with.

[Troika]

Section: Stories

Written by Stars-Night (Stargate525)

The Tree
By Star’s-Night

There was once a tree in the forest behind my hometown... go figure. But this tree was special. On windy days, the wind would howl through knots in the tree’s branches and make the most beautiful sound you have ever heard. The tree was old; it outdated the oldest man‘s great-grandfather. I am to this day convinced it was the first woodwind in Cyrodiil. The sound it produced was marvelous, a great chorus of different keys, coming together to make a single note that rose to a crescendo with gusts and dropped to the smallest piano when the wind died. Children from the village would go out to the forest and cover up some of the holes, making their own wind-choirs. Every child had its favorite set of knots, including me. Mine were near the base of the tree, great big ones that I could climb into when I was young. They were at the base of the tree’s chorus, and when I covered them up, I liked to imagine I could see all the other notes of the tree being knocked off their feet in their absence.
I grew older, and I did not come to the tree as often. I could hear it when I was apprenticing with the blacksmith in town, and its subtle orchestra would follow me as I did chores for my mother. But the tree had lost its magic for me. I no longer would spend my free time sitting in its branches, or make songs by plugging the holes. Instead I choose to pursue ’higher’, more ’lofty’ goals; like that one Argonian girl on the outside of town...
Time passed, I finished my apprenticeship with the blacksmith, youngsters had grown up to take my place, the elders died and the middle-aged men replaced them, and I never did manage to catch that Argonian girl on the outside of town. I moved away, had some adventures, settled down, had kids, and I even opened a small smithy In Cyrodiil.
I had all but forgotten about the great tree in my hometown when it came pushing back into my life for one final, tragic time.
An Imperial came to my shop one day, not so strange of an occurrence. What was strange, however, was that he was a legionary. Legionaries didn't come to my shop often, for they had a host of better supply shops available in their fort. What was stranger was that I recognized him as a messenger. But what did the imperials want with me?
“Are you the one called Star’s Night?” He asked.
“I am.”
“I am to give you this dossier,” He explained, handing me a think packet of sheets, “We wish you to build the item defined in the papers. We shall supply the material, and it should be arriving tomorrow.” With that, he turned about, and left the way he came.
I closed the shop and began to examine the papers. One was a rather elongated contract for building this mysterious article. The remainder of the document was a description of the item I was to build, as well as some (badly drawn) sketches of what they wanted.
I was to build them a...planter. But it was the most extravagant planter I had ever seen. Wrought entirely of silver and gold, it would be big enough to fit an entire tree into it. I was also to decorate it in a manner ‘fitting of the Emperor’. I still could not understand why they had chosen me, a lowly Argonian smith, to do this work of art.
The messenger had been true to his word; the next day at sunrise saw three wagons full of the finest quality silver and gold arriving for me to craft with. I immediately set to work, forging in front of my shop as usual, crafting with gold and silver where I had just the previous night wrought in iron and steel.
During the day, people gathered around me to watch me working. In the evening I closed shop, and the people left rather reluctantly. To my surprise, even more people showed up the following day, crowding the street to the point of impassability. In the following days, my project brought the entire neighborhood to a screeching halt; all of the people watching my planter come to life.
Nearly a week later it was finished. I had made the body in interlocking gold sections, with silver designs of dragons, trees, cities, and a rather beautiful (if I do say so myself) portrait of Tiber Septim himself. The Imperials came to take the planter and me to the palace for its installation. My neighborhood followed the cart in a throng, which quickly escalated to a great cavalcade as we reached the palace.
We entered, leaving the crowds behind us. I assembled the planter in the Emperor’s private garden, a lush green forest planted in the middle of a stonework city. I finished, and they brought in the plant that would grace my work of art.
To my horror it was the tree; the tree that I had grown up with outside my hometown. I fell onto the path in shock. Nobody, save royalty, would ever get to see it again, or hear its beautiful singing. I left the palace and returned to my shop, saddened at the loss of an artifact of my youth.
So to you, dear reader, I tell you this. Don’t let your past be forgotten. Don’t allow fond memories to slip away from you for even the smallest instant. For when it does, it may be too late. Like it was for me.