A Champion's Journey, The Imperial Simulacrum Options

[Destri Melarg]

Erm, you mean Arena. Daggerfall is the second game when you're an agent of the Emperor (I since a pattern...) resolving issues around the Iliac Bay.

Ah, Arena not Daggerfall. Got it.

The game actually begins in 3E 389 and in Lore, Tharn is supposed to have been defeated in 3E 399. That's ten years I would have to cover. Now, I suppose I could have done that, but it feels more dramatic my way. I decided to start in 3E 395 to coincide with the War of Bend'r-Mahk, which is very important later on.

I do the same thing in my stories. Nothing screams 'drama' like events played out against the backdrop of war.

I do so adore time lines

.
Doesn't it seem as if Bethesda is dropping the ball when it comes to Tamrielic lore? It occurs to me that, instead of focusing future games and books in the Fourth Era, they should go back and place their efforts on things only hinted at in the timeline. I for one would love to play a game set against the backdrop of Alessia's Rebellion (imagine playing as an Ayleid!), the Thrassian Plague, or the War of the Red Diamond.

[haute ecole rider]

What about the rise of Camoran Ursurper?

Now that would be a cool one!

[Verlox]

Well, having a war to deal with was a factor, there were some other reasons. I really didn't want to have to cover 10 years of time, for one. But also because the War of Bend'r-Mahk is important to the plot of Shadowkey.

And if any of you have played Shadowkey, don't go spoiling anything!

Also check the first post by me for a cool little update to the title.

This post has been edited by Verlox: Mar 19 2010, 02:31 AM

[mALX]

Nice new artwork !! Now to go back and read the update!

I am absolutely stunned by your attention to details that make reading your story as real as if I watched a movie of this story. This story/your writing = perfection!

This post has been edited by mALX: Mar 19 2010, 04:49 AM

[Verlox]

Chapter Four: Delirium

Ernand's assailant glared at his prisoner warily. With the tip of his spear at the Breton's throat, he hardly had to worry about the man doing something rash. But the witchmen of High Rock were said to be a tricky race, able to weave a spell or lay a hex with little physical effort. The Bosmer wasn't about to take any chances, and he slowly began to put pressure on his quarry's throat, eliciting from it a panicked squeak. Laughter began to rise in the elf's throat, and he relaxed some of the pressure just as his compatriots were getting to him.

"What's that you got there, Gerrilgor?"

The Bosmer looked up at the source of the voice, "A Breton, by the looks of it. A nasty looking one, too." Gerrilgor moved his spear to point at the nasty cut, now oozing pus, on Ernand's forehead. "He's pretty beat up. And that cut on his head....I think it's infected." A red glint near Ernand's hand caught the elf's eye. Keeping his eye on his prisoner, he leaned down and scooped up the ruby key. "By Trinimac! Distel, Elphiron, Faldan! Look at this thing." Three Bosmer materialzed at Gerrilgor's side, gazing in awe at the ruby key.

Ernand, weak from his experience beneath Cyrodiil, could only look on weakly as the one of the Bosmer produced a flask of water. Using a piece of wetted hide, they cleaned the grime, blood, and bits of bone accumulated from the key's tenure as a bludgeoning object. Once clean, the polished ruby caught the sun and shone brightly. The elves might of stood staring at the thing for hours had not Ernand moaned, catching the attention of the Bosmer Garrilgor had called Distel.

Tearing her attention away from the key, she moved over and kneeled next to the battered Breton. "Hey, you guys," the other three elves lifted their head in unison to look at Distel, "I don't think this guy is doing very well. He's burning up."

"Good! Let him. He could be a spy from Longvale!"

Distel looked up from Ernand with a look of disgust on her face. "Damnit, Faldan, do you ever think? Where would a spy get a key made from a solid ruby?"

"Payment, obviously." Faldan walked over and poked at Ernand with his foot, "Thought you could come into our woods, eh, Breton? Those damn gold-skins in Longvale pay nice for a little spy work. Too bad you won't be able to enjoy it." Distel stood from Ernand's side and stepped menacingly towards Faldan, saying in no uncertain terms to leave the Breton alone. Having a significant height advantage over him, as well as being armed with a deadly spear, Faldan backed off, but couldn't resist asking, "Why do you care so much, Distel?"

"He's wounded. Do I need more of a reason?" Garrilgor, who seemed to Ernand to be the leader of this little band, noticed that Faldan was about to say something he might regret. Acting quickly to cut the other Bosmer off, he asked Distel what could have battered the Breton up so badly. "I don't know," she admitted, "But I don't want to be around if it comes back. I can tell you that much."

The last elf, Elphiron, chose to speak at the moment. "It's getting dark. Let's just take him back to the camp. If he's a spy, we can hold him there for questioning. If he's not, we can just send him on his way." With that even-handedness that only women have, the conflict was dissolved. Nodding his assent, Garrilgor ordered Faldan to go and get the cart so they could put the Breton in it. Elphiron, noting that he seemed none to pleased by the order, followed after Faldan to make sure he didn't tarry. Distel had turned her attention completely over to Ernand, using what little knowledge she had of the College of Restoration to stabilize the man. After a few minutes, Elphiron and Faldan reappeared, leading a horse and cart. Acting together, they heaved the battered Breton up into it, Distel climbing in with him to make sure he survived the journey back to their camp.

"Alright," began Garrilgor, "Faldan and I will walk along side with the spears, in the event that whatever heaped such abuse on that Breton comes hunting him. Elphiron, you take the reins."

"And try to avoid bumping around too much," Distel said, "If we do that too much, some of the cuts I just sealed could reopen."

Nodding her understanding, Elphiron whipped the horse into the motion, setting it into a canter along a rough track that led through the trees and undergrowth. It was slow going, Elphiron making sure she avoided some of the more prominent holes or bumps in the track. Ernand had completely lapsed into delirium, mumbling and groaning at even the slightest of jarring. Keeping up a stream of quiet, nonsensical sounds, Distel calmed her charge, the way a mother might to her sick child. The sun continued its descent, and it was just disappearing below the horizon when the party halted their journey at the edge of a large clearing. Garrilgor produced a horn and blew on it four times. After a few minutes, a group of Bosmer appeared from the tangle. Greetings exchanged, and the plight of Ernand made known, the new group of Bosmer clustered around the cart as they passed through the clearing and began to climb steadily upward.

As night came on, the troupe of Wood Elves passed through a tight gorge, stopping in front of the entrance into a cavern. The horn was blown again, and numerous faces started appearing from the sheer walls of the gorge. They had arrived at the camp.

**

This post has been edited by Verlox: Jun 2 2010, 03:56 AM

[Olen]

I like this piece, it's fast moving and slick. I also like how you've thrown the reader by (I assume) not having him appear nearthe Imperial City. I want to know what's happened.

I haven't really got much else to say except that I look forward to meeting these bosmer.

[haute ecole rider]

Sounds like Valenwood to me.

Wonderful description of the environment! And great interchange between the four Bosmeri!

More please.

[Winter Wolf]

Wow, this is very polished writing. Great setting of each scene and dialogue.
I love these tales from the early lore era. You and Destri rock!!!

How come I never saw this on the other forum??
Is something wrong with my eyes?

[Verlox]

Chapter 5: Lucidity

A large group of bosmer clustered around the returning coterie, eager to catch a glimpse of both the feverish man, and his magnificent treasure. Blocking the mouth of the cave, the band that had picked up Ernand was unable to continue, and they were forced to halt their progress as their compatriots assaulted them with numerous questions.

A bearded elf shouldered his way to the base of the cart, and managed to make himself heard over the voices of the other elves. “Elphiron, why do you bring this man back to our camp? He could be a spy from Longvale,”

“That’s what I said,” Gerrilgor muttered under his breath, “But no one ever listens to me.”

Elphiron raised his hand to forestall further questions, and said evenly, “The thought did cross our minds that he could be a spy. The people of High Rock have a history as spies; Nightblades if you will.” Jumping down from the wagon, he brandished the Ruby Key for the crowd. “But then we found this. Despite the gold-skins have great wealth, doesn’t this seem a bit much in payment for a spy? Also, he is not in a very good condition. I can only imagine what happened upon him in the forest. So we brought him back with us to treat his wounds. If he turns out to be a spy, we can interrogate him once he recovers. If not,” Elphiron shrugged, “I’m sure the Elder will think of suitable repayment.”

“I say hang him now,” the bearded elf called out, “That would solve the issue.”

Gerrilgor cross his arms, saying, more to himself than anyone, “He has a point…” only to find himself the target of a quick swat from Distel atop his head. “What was that for?!”

“You aren’t helping the situation,” Distel hissed. "If they hang him now, we'll never know why he was out there in the woods, or what happened to him."

"Point being what exactly?" When she leveled a burning glare on him, Gerrilgor gave up and threw his hand in the air, "Fine! What do I care?"

Elphiron turned his head away from the crowd to his two partners, "Will you two stop bickering," he whispered fiercely, "I won't have you two fighting over this man's life. There is enough discord among us that we don't need more, especially not over the life of an outsider." Turning back to the crowd, Elphiron began to once again voice his reasons for keeping the breton alive, only to be met with quite a bit of uneasiness. Most people just wanted the entire situation to go away, and not open themselves up to the chance of a spy in their midst. The situation could have gotten out of hand, if it wasn't for the timely call of a loud horn. With it, all the elves assembled dropped to the leafy ground and bowed their heads. For from out of the cave came a contingent of soldiers, each armed and armoured in expensive finery.

From the center of this group of warriors stepped a man clothed in a traditional Valenwood robe, barefoot, staff in hand. His bald head caught the glint of the falling sun, and his jet black eyes showed a great serenity of spirit. His eyes raked over the silent crowd of bowed people, and when he spoke, it was as if he was the only being in the forest.

“I heard yelling. Is something wrong?” When his eyes came to rest on Elphiron, he smiled. “Brother Elphiron,” he moved through the crowd towards the wagon, “It is good to have you back. Tell me, how fares things?”

The bosmer stood from his prone position, but kept his eyes downcast as he spoke to the newcomer. “Things go well enough, Elder Bragor. My companions and I managed to elude patrols from Longvale. However, we found someone in the forest.”

“Oh?” Bragor said, “You found someone? Show me this person.” Elphiron nodded and indicated with his arm to look inside the cart. Curious, Bragor stepped to the base of the wagon and peered inside, looking into the face of a feverish Breton. “By the gods, this man is dying!” Whirling around, he called for his guard, “Bring a stretcher. We need to get this man inside quickly.” Ignoring the shocked crowd, Bragor got up into the cart to look at Ernand’s wounds. He winced when he saw the ugly mark on the man’s head, then swore to himself when a bit of pus seeped out.

It didn’t take long for the Elder’s guards to get back with a stretcher, which the Breton was quickly placed on. With Bragor in tow, they plowed through the assembled elves and disappeared into the darkness of the cave.

**

The councilor's dreams were convoluted. They had no shape or view, consisting solely of flashes of hot color. Throughout them, however, Ernand was fully aware. Pain wracked his whole body, and in his few moments of clarity, he was able to make out the forms of people standing over him, submitting him to annoying prodding, and forcing him to consume noxious concoctions that only thrust him back into fitful slumber. In this most troubling of times, he felt as if the very specter of death was hovering over him; like a hunter, waiting until he prey no longer had the will to fight.

When he finally awoke from his drugged torpor, he wasn't really sure where he was. The chamber was dark and lacked a light source. For a few minutes, Ernand feared that some of his memories had been but dreams, and he was still in that horrible little cell beneath the Imperial City. He shut his eyes, as if it truly made a difference in that sunless room, so tears could not escape. He had failed. He wasn't able to protect Ria and she was dead because of it. Tharn ruled Tamriel at his pleasure, and if things continued on their current course, the continent would ignite from the fires of war.

He was brought out of his pessimistic musings by the sudden intrusion of light in darkness' domain. A flap had been drawn back, letting in the sun's rays. Achingly, Ernand brought his arm up to shield his eyes, despite them being closed. When he finally lowered his arm and opened his eyes, he was able to discern that he was no longer in that damp chamber, but a small furnished cavern. Turning his gaze to the source of light, he was able to make out the forms of two figures. One quite stout, and the other tall and lithe. When he tried to say something, the words coming out as nothing but a croak, the two figures rushed to his side and kneeled next to his pallet.

"Oh, thank Y'ffre, he's awake!" When the figures came into view, Ernand was able to discern that the speaker was the tall one, and a woman on top of that. She had very sharp features that put him in mind of nymphs. When his eyes caught her ears however, he recoiled slightly. Long and pointed. An elf.

The elven woman apparently hadn't noticed Ernand's fright. Producing a flask of water, she lifted it to the breton's lips. "Drink this. It will make you feel better," she coaxed. When the cool liquid passed into Ernand's mouth, his eyes shot open and he greedily gulped as much down as he could until he was coughing. Smiling down at him, she said, "It is good the Elder was able to heal your body."

This elicited a laugh with the woman's partner, the squat fellow whom Ernand would later recognize as the tormenter from his dreams. "Nay, Distel. Was it not I that gave up on this man's life?" Moving his hand's over Ernand's forehead to check for further fever, he continued. "I despaired, and could not go on. It was Distel that healed you, young breton. Staying by your bedside even into the darkest of night and early morning."

"Thank you," Ernand murmurmed with a scratchy voice, "Thank you for healing me." Trying to sit up, Ernand found that although he was no longer at Death's door, he was hardly able-bodied. Crashing back down onto his back, he regarded Distel and Bragor with wary eyes. "May I ask why you kept me alive? Last thing I remember was having a spear pointed at my throat."

"That would be Elphiron. He was the one that found you out in the woods. We thought you might have been a spy."

"A spy?"

But Elder Bragor would have none of that. Waving his hands, he changed the topic of conversation. "You don't have the look of a spy. But I still must wonder how you found yourself out in the forest."

Shaking his head, Ernand replied, "I don't even know where I am, let alone how I ended up here. An odd place for a Shift Gate to drop a person." He could see that the utterance of the Shift Gate had excited Bragor's curiosity. "May I ask what province I am in?"

"Valenwood, near Longvale. But, by Yffre, how did you use a Shift Gate. That is powerful magic, and you don't have the looks of a mage.

Despite his current condition, Ernand was still well enough in his mind that he was smart enough to not blurt out that it was the ghost of Ria Silmane, recently slain by Jagar Tharn, that had made the Shift Gate. As a student of geography, he knew that Longvale was deep in Valenwood, near its center. And while he doubted that these people knew, or even cared, about recent business about the Empire, he was unwilling to put that kind of information in their hands.

"While I am grateful for your care, there are some things best left unsaid." Bragor and Distel seemed content with that answer, and when the elder announced that they had best leave their patient to his rest, both he and Distel stood from his pallet. As they left the cavern, Distel set fire to an exposed root that acted as a torch for the chamber. With one last look over her shoulder at the once again dozing breton, she stepped out into the sun, shutting the flap behind her, leaving Ernand to his dreams.


This post has been edited by Verlox: Jun 2 2010, 03:56 AM

[mALX]

ARGH! I take off sick for one day and look what I've missed! This story is so intriguing and such an Awesome Write that even not knowing the storyline I am hooked!

Your writing comes across as natural, as if it is really happening and not just being written about, just Awesome!

[Verlox]

Chapter 6: From the Ashes

Ernand was bed-ridden a full week before he was able to stand. His patience was rubbed raw by this downtime, and it wasn't long until his nurse, Distel, refused to be in his presence if he was going to be so uncooperative. She made it clear to him that whatever was bothering him so unduly would only be worse if he tackled it in his current condition. "Healing takes time," she had calmly told him one evening as she washed him, "And excitement only prolongs that time." He could see the logic in that, and from then on, he had tried his best to hide his annoyance from the woman whenever she was near him.

He was coming to rely on this bosmer lady quite a bit. From her, he had learned that she, and all the others that made this canyon their home, belonged to a religious sect. Unlike the other native elves of the province, Distel and her peers rejected a custom called the Green Pact, a tradition that was summarized that no bosmer could harvest plant products while in Valenwood. Because of this break of custom, the religious circle had been driven out of their homes in Longvale, coming to reside in the forest.

One night, as the bosmer fed him a meal of roasted boar, Ernand asked, "But if you were driven out because of a religious difference, why do so many of you mutter profanity whenever some brings up the topic of High Elves?"

Like a good deal of Wood Elves, Distel's eyes were jet black orbs. And while he couldn't make out a pupil, Ernand felt as if they were boring into him as she stared. "Because it wasn't our own people who exiled us. It was them. After the tribe's council denounced us, the gold-skins came in the night. They broke into our homes, took what they wanted. They rounded us all up, marched us out of the town, and left us to fend for ourselves. For that, we hate them." Ernand could only quirk an eyebrow at this, shocked by the emotion in Distel's voice.

Hesitantly, Ernand asked another question, "And where does Bragor fit into all this?"

Her mood softened at the mention of Bragor, and, warmly, she said, "He was the apprentice to our first leader. When the gold-skins took us in the night, he stood up to them and was repaid with his blood. With no leader to guide us, we set upon ourselves. If Bragor hadn't stepped forward to assume the mantle of leadership, I shudder to think on what might have happened."

"So he was the one that led you all out here?"

Distel nodded, her light brown hair bobbing, "He taught us how to take from Nature, but also to give back."

"Bragging about me again, eh, Distel?" Both breton and elf jumped at the sound of this new voice. Turning her head towards the mouth of Ernand's cave-chamber, she saw the elder's silhouette framed in the dying light. "You give me too much credit. It is not through my efforts alone that we have been able to survive." Stepping into the chamber, Bragor regarded the breton with a king eye. "So how are you feeling this evening, my friend?"

Ernand had been sitting up in his pallet as he talked with Distel, and now he straightened up further. "Well enough, Elder," he said politely, "I grow weary of lazing about all day, though. I ache to be up and about again." When Bragor laughed, Ernand and Distel joined him. When the laughter subsided, Ernand couldn't help but ask, "Is their something you wanted to tell me, Elder? Or is this visit just to assure yourself that I'm not dead?"

"I don't fear for your life, not with a woman as capable as Distel around." Bragor pretended to not notice the blood that crept into the woman's cheeks. "I actually came to inform you that their will be a feast tonight. Our hunting party was successful, and I wish for you to be our guest of honor. Are you up to it?"

"Oh, I'm sure I can get through one meal with passing out." Looking down at his naked body, covered only by a blanket, Ernand couldn't help but quip, "Though I lack the attire for such a...formal occasion."

"Distel will find you some clothes. Even if we have to knit them tonight."

The trio chatted a few more minutes before the elder departed. Distel, too, soon left Ernand’s company in a search to find him attire for the evening. All light ceased to come through the chamber entrance when the elven woman finally returned. In her hands she carried a wrapped parcel. With moderate exertion, Ernand stood from his floor-pallet. When Distel went completely red-faced and dropped the clothing, that was when the breton remembered he was as naked as the day he was born. With a stammered apology to a woman already out of the chamber, Ernand scooped up the clothing and began to dress. The clothing was of quality make. First came a deep red shirt and matching pants. Following this was a faded blue tunic, sleeves reaching just short of the elbow, trimmed with brown. It was a cold night in Valenwood, and Distel had had enough forethought to include a cloak the same color as the shirt. As footwear, he wore doe-skin boots that reached upwards towards his thigh. While not the fashionable clothing he was used to in his own world, these garments were comfortable and loose.

Taking a moment to make last minute adjustments, Ernand moved towards the mouth of the chamber and pulled the flap back. Stepping out into the cool night, he got his first real look at the canyon in which these elves lived. Directly across from him, on the other side of said canyon was a cliff-face. Upon this were numerous holes which, doubtlessly, led to similar accommodations as he had been enjoying that past week. Look up behind him, he found that that same went for this side of the canyon as well. To his right lay a steep path that led to gorge's floor. Taking this path, he began a somewhat treacherous journey downward. Numerous sure-footed elves passed the struggling breton on their own way down.

When he finally reached the bottom, the feast was apparently already in full swing. A rough path led further into the canyon, and after a short time Ernand found himself surrounded by feasting, boisterous bosmer. Taking care to avoid drawing too much attention to himself, a futile feat due to his human height amongst the dimutive bosmeri, he picked his way through the crowd until he finally found Elder Bragor.


This post has been edited by Verlox: Jun 2 2010, 03:58 AM

[mALX]

I don't want to be shot for saying this...but when you described - wait, I will quote it:

Taking a moment to make last minute adjustments, Ernand moved towards the mouth of the chamber and pulled the flap back. Stepping out into the cool night, he got his first real look at the canyon in which these elves lived. Directly across from him, on the other side of said canyon was a cliff-face. Upon this were numerous holes which, doubtlessly, led to similar accommodations as he had been enjoying that past week. Look up behind him, he found that that same went for this side of the canyon as well. To his right lay a steep path that led to gorge's floor. Taking this path, he began a somewhat treacherous journey downward. Numerous sure-footed elves passed the struggling breton on their own way down.

- this is the exact way it was for me the first time I stepped out of vault 101 and surveyed the wasteland!


* Hold your fire! *

Awesome Write, as I have come to expect when I see you have written something!

[haute ecole rider]

I go away to work and come back to two new chapters!

Well done - I enjoyed how the Elder's intervention swept aside all objection to Ernand's presence in the canyon.

And your description of the canyon was very delightful.

Overall, I enjoyed the chapters!

I did notice a few nits, but will have to go back and re-read again when I have more time.

[canis216]

Well, this is a fine bit of storytelling here. I am glad that you've found a new home on our humble forum. Looking forward to the next installment.

[SubRosa]

I am all caught up now. Very neat to see a fan fic based on Arena. Not to mention one with a Councilor as the main character. I also liked the two names for Ernand/Lochlainn. It made perfect sense, and was a nice added touch that adds depth to not only the character, but also the culture.

It looks like Elphiron changed sexes though:
In Chapter 4 she was a girl.

The last elf, Elphiron, chose to speak at the moment. "It's getting dark. Let's just take him back to the camp. If he's a spy, we can hold him there for questioning. If he's not, we can just send him on his way." With that even-handedness that only women have, the conflict was dissolved.

It was slow going, Elphiron making sure she avoided some of the more prominent holes or bumps in the track.

In Chapter 5 he is a guy:

Elphiron raised his hand

Elphiron turned his head away from the crowd to his two partners,

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 21 2010, 09:30 AM

[Verlox]

Chapter Seven: Culture Clash

Seeing the breton's approach, Bragor ended his conversation with a fellow elf and welcomed Ernand with expansive arms. "Ah, dear friend! It is good to see you up. I see our girl Distel found for you garments." When Ernand nodded, Bragor put his arm around the human's shoulder and drew him aside. "There is someone I would like you to meet." Guiding him over to a pair of Bosmer indulging in nature's bounty, Bragor introduced the councilor to Elphiron and Faldan. "These two were with the party that found you out in the forest, damaged as you were."

The one named Elphiron stood from his food, and greeted the pair solemnly. “It is good to see you alive, Sir Breton. When we found you out in the wilds, we fretted greatly over your wounds.”

Faldan gave a comic snort. “Elphiron downplays, as always. Close to death you were. A few hours longer out there and you would have found yourself a tasty meal for a beast.” The look of horror on Ernand’s face caused the company to laugh heartily. When a comely elven woman came by, bearing drinks, the Breton snatched one up and drank deeply before he found his voice.

"I thank you both kindly. I am also grateful for your defense of me. I understand quite a few people wanted be hanged?”

“A few?” Faldan burst out laughing, “More like half the collective! Y’ffre, Gerrilgor wanted to skewer you back in the forest.” When Elphiron turned on a hard gaze on Faldan, the Bosmer shrugged, “What? I would think the Breton has the right to know.”

“Please, do call me Ernand.”

The three Bosmer exchanged puzzled looks, and a mutual thought ran through their minds, what a strange name. A brief silence followed, which was quickly broken by Elder Bragor. “Where is Gerrilgor, anyway?”

“Well, he was apart of the hunting party,” Faldan began, “He’s probably getting ready to carry the meat in.” As Faldan finished speaking, a horn was sounded. As a few Bosmer went around quenching torches, until only the bonfire burned, the rest of the elves quieted down. Nudging Ernand in the ribs, Faldan whispered, “Watch. This is the best part.”

A flame flickered in the gorge, and the sound of chanting voices echoed down the stone. At first it was like a slow moan, but as the voices grew louder, Ernand was able to make out the words “Gwledda , gwledda , gwledda. Ad 'r boblogi gwledda. Chan 'n cas , gwnaethom ced. Mai 'n hwy chig sate ni , a 'n hwy chrau ddiffodd 'n sycheda.” This haunting chant grew louder until it filled entire area. A slight chill went down the councilor’s spine, and he found himself trying to block out the rising chant. When the troupe of Bosmeri finally appeared, he found himself shocked at their appearance. Naked except for short loin-cloths, twigs and leaves adorning their heads like crowns, and markings painted onto their faces with a green substance.

At the head of this group marched a short elf, his red hair spiking out in all different directions. “Gwledda , gwledda , gwledda,” he called out to his assembled kinsmen. In return, the crowd called back with “Ad 'r boblogi gwledda.”

Turning his head to Faldan, Ernand whispered, “What is being said? I do not understand.”

“Gerrilgor, that’s him at the front,” Faldan pointed a lean finger at the wild looking Bosmer, “Is saying ‘feast, feast, feast’. He’s calling us to the feast, you see.” Gerrilgor called out the chant again and the crowd answered back. “When he says that, we call back with ‘let the people feast’.”

“Ahhh, I see. We have a similar custom in High Rock. But it’s not quite like this.”

Behind Gerrilgor, from the gloom, appeared four groups of three elves each. On their shoulders, they carried long poled from which dangled large chunks of raw meat. From his waist, Gerrilgor produced a small flask. Stepping up to the bonfire, he threw this container into the fire, and it exploded with renewed strength. With great ceremony, the four groups stepped forward and set the poled on stout holders so that the meat might cook properly. When all four had done this, a great cheer went up through the crowd, and the solemnity of the event ceased, with chaos in its wake.

Muscling his way through the maddened crowd, Gerrilgor found his friends. With a big grin on his face, he asked, “So, how’d I do?”

“Eh,” Faldan shrugged, “A little too much theatrics for me. I don’t see why we require such a thing to just eat.”

The wilder Bosmer frowned, “It’s tradition.” Finding Faldan a less than appropriate source of praise, he was turning to talk to Bragor and Elphiron when his eyes found themselves looking at the chest of a much taller person. Tilting his neck, he saw Ernand’s face and scowled. “What is he doing here?”

“Gerrilgor,” Bragor admonished, “Do not be rude. He is newly recovered, and I have invited him to feast with us tonight.” Bragor’s words carried weight, and Gerrilgor refused to prod the issue further.

Despite Bragor’s defense, Ernand felt it best if he did not stay in close proximity to Gerrilgor. If there was anything the Breton knew, it was people and their reactions to things they don’t like. Politely excusing himself, Ernand moved from outside the circle to its center, until he could feel the white-hot heat of the bonfire on his face. In his mind, he could pretend that this was just like any other hearth-fire back in Gauvadon. These thoughts brought on more troublesome ones. When he had left his home in High Rock not seven months ago, he hadn’t expected to find himself in Valenwood, an unknown criminal, and the only apparent person to stand against the usurper of Tiber Septim’s dynasty, Jagar Tharn. He had expected to live out the rest of his days in opulence, a rich and respected member of the Elder Council. A private villa in Nibenay, maybe a harem…

Ernand was shook out of his thoughts when one of the elves that had been apart of the ceremony grasped him on the shoulder. “You look distracted, Breton. Here,” the near-naked elf pressed a chunk of roasted flesh into Ernand’s hands, “Eat.”

Looking quizzically at the meat, he raised it to his nose and took a few sniffs. It smelt faintly of pork. Assuming that it was some sort of boar, Ernand bit off a bit and chewed. Finding that the taste was much more powerful than the smell, the councilor consumed the rest of the meat. “I say, that was fine cut. What is it?”

The elf pounded his chest, “Us.”

Ernand raised an eyebrow, “I don’t understand…”

The Bosmer grinned, “We were out keeping watch on our borders this morning when a party from Longvale came into our territory. We made the rest of the short lives hell.”

“Ok, I understand that. But what do you mean by ‘us’?”

The elf tilted his head, “You sure don’t know much, do you? When we kill one of our own kind, we eat him.”

At first, Ernand thought he had heard wrong. Asking for the huntsman to repeat himself, Ernand found himself confronting a rather unpleasant fact. He hadn’t misheard. The shock was so great that he stood rooted for a few moments before he paled quite noticeably. Doubling over, Ernand stuck his fingers down his throat in an attempt to gag himself into puking. This proved unnecessary, for his body rejected the meat without much interference.

“Why in the name of Talos did you let me eat that?”

The hunter looked confused. “What? I don’t understand.”

Now it was Ernand’s turn to look confused. “You see nothing wrong with eating your own people?”

“Should I?”

Putting his palm to his face, Ernand shook his head. “It’s like I’ve stumbled into a bad horror tale,” he muttered. Turning his back on the still confused hunter, he stalked off back to Bragor.


This post has been edited by Verlox: Jun 2 2010, 03:58 AM

[haute ecole rider]

Cannibalism!

Oh, the ways of the Bosmer! Poor Ernand!

Again well written with few nits.

I'm noticing an inconsistency in capitalizing races, i.e. Breton/breton, Bosmer/bosmer. I suppose either is correct, but not necessarily both.

I understand quite a few people wanted be hanged?”

I think 'me' transformed itself into 'be'.

Naked except for short loin-cloths, twigs and leaves adorning their heads like crowns, and markings painted onto their faces with a green substance.

This reads a little awkward. Maybe something like this: Naked except for short loin-cloths, twigs and leaves adorned their heads like crowns, and markings were painted with a green substance on their faces.

With great ceremony, the four groups stepped forward and set the poled on stout holders so that the meat might cook properly.

Looks like the typo gremlin struck again, and changed poles to poled.

We made the rest of the short lives hell.

A couple of missing letters, it seems: the/their.

I really liked this turn of phrase:

When all four had done this, a great cheer went up through the crowd, and the solemnity of the event ceased, with chaos in its wake.

Short, concise, and very descriptive!

Well done! More please!

[Olen]

I enjoyed that part. Canabal elves now... I didn't see that coming. Anyway I like this piece and am keen to see where it goes. Ernand is a good character, it should be fun reading about how a councilor copes with questing...

[Destri Melarg]

This is turning out to be quite the gwledda for any who enjoy a tale outside the Oblivion Crisis timeline. When Ernand asks the huntsman to repeat himself I almost fell out of my chair laughing.

I love the way you are describing the day to day activities of Bosmeri tribesmen. The feast was . . . interesting to say the least. Ernand is starting to remind me of Decumus Scotti from A Dance if Fire, a totally unprepared character thrown into the whirlwind of adventure. It is to our good fortune that you decided to come back to this. MORE!

[mALX]

EW! Unfortunately, I saw it coming, but still, EW !!!


AWESOME WRITE !!! The description of the ceremony was riveting! You really wrap the reader up and draw them in - just AWESOME !!!!!