 Fiction, The Sins of Youth |
Zarkis
Viscount
Registration Date: 01.12.2002
Posts: 650
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 Fiction, The Sins of Youth |
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The Sins of Youth, part I.
Bad things don?t happen by accident. Nor, I must say, do the good things.
The truth is that the fortunate moments of my journey seem very distant
to me now, as if cloaked by the morning mountain mist, while the
unfortunate ones remain clear and sharp in my mind despite the passing
of years.
The story I want to tell you, the sin I wish to confess, originated
with my childish desire to experience in my own skin an exciting
adventure. Like in the stories I used to hear from old bards by warm
fireplaces. How naive was my youth!
Fascinated by the tales and songs of old heroes battling the merciless
wilderness, bloodthirsty creatures and human wrath, I was struck by one
in particular. It was the story of Sky Robe, a powerful artifact
guarded in a cave by terrible Troll King, somewhere high in the Dragon
Bridge Mountains. True it was little more than a legend - the invention
of a barbaric and uneducated people, the product of folkish beliefs
colored by imagination and anxiety.
But I always believed that there were truths hidden in these tales,
more truths than in all the dusty tomes mouldering on the shelves of
the Imperial Libraries. It was this belief which caused it all and
drove me to become a pilgrim. I have devoted my whole life to walking
throughout my beloved Skyrim, listening to these "tales of fancy" and
collecting them. It must have been some strange irony of fate that my
very first journey in search of folk wisdom brought me to the Dragon
Bridge Mountains. I was wandering from city to village, collecting
local proverbs for my book and listening to local tales in idle
interest, and in a small place not far from Snawhawk I heard the legend
for the first time. There in the village of Ravenwood, where all but
the smallest children knew with certainty that the Sky Robe lay hidden
up in the mountains behind the village. There was no greater truth in
their lives.
I found an old drunk in the local pub, his wrinkled face red from
either drinking or exposure to cold and high places for too long. This
one-eyed, whitehaired scum showed me a map. The map! I remember now the
moment as clearly as if it happened only yesterday. I remember the
fascination I felt, when first I gazed upon an old yellow parchment in
my hands, bewitched by the promise of adventure. It was the moment I
made my decision.
I bought the map from that cursed old fool - it cost me no more than
two mugs of stale beer. Though to this day I do not know if it was my
bargaining skills that made it so cheap, or whether it was an ancient
curse the wretch wished to be rid of. I quickly returned to the nearby
city of Snowhawk and purchased equipment, provisions, a tent and warm
clothes. There I found a merchant who offered me a magically enhanced
fur, to protect me from a cold. Despite the expense I bought it and
with the rest of my money I went to the town square to find hirelings
for my expedition.
Of course I found only the local filth, the beggars, the drunks and the
spoiled sons of rich men. These last so bored with life that they would
offer to pay strangers for some entertaining return. All were lured by
the glorious speech I made, enhanced as it was by the enthusiasm of
youth and the promise of easy money. I hired only the poor and
destitute, of whom I was sure none would miss, promising them a share
in the treasures we would find. I thank the heavens for my clairvoyance
that day, for in the end I had to pay of none of them! It makes the
burden of my guilt somehow lighter, when I know there are probably none
to mourn them but me.
We moved into a Ravenwood village to spend there noisy night,
celebrating our courageous naivete and imminent success. We started out
early the next morning, when a red sun was rising and the sky was
clear. Nature rested in silent slumber and the only sound we heard was
the crunch of the snow under our feet.
------------------------------------------------------
The Sins of Youth, part II
The beginning of our journey proceded under the radiant atmosphere of
our great expectation. We progressed without delay towards the first
peak and reached it just before evening as the sun was setting. The sky
was still and clear as it was in the morning and an amazing view of the
ice plains lay before our eyes. I had the impression I could even see
my long abandond hometown of Haafingar in the distance. At that peak we
made our first camp to shield ourselves from an increasing wind.
Yes the wind, I remember that wind. It gathered strength as night
closed upon us. It blustered while we cooked Icebear's meat over a
fire, and it was buffeting as we tried fruitlessly to find sleep in our
tents. Throughout the night it increased to the horrible howling of a
hurricane and it was more frightening than the shriek of a lich.
After the long sleepless night the intensity of the gale decreased.
However at dawn it blew still and so, while we had enjoyed great vistas
the day before, the morning brought thanks that we could see each other.
That day we began our descent into the hidden valley. The path was
narrow and treacherous, and the wind seemed always to struggle against
us as it blew snow and ice into our faces. It was cold, horribly cold!
Not just ordinary cold, which may be kept at bay with warm clothing,
the freezing air chilled our bones and drained all warmth from us as if
by some evil magic. That fur I bought in Snowhawk felt nearly useless.
Fortunately we descended into the valley without incident before the
end of day. It would have been all but impossible to build a camp on
that narrow path, between mountain cliffs and the deep abyss, so we
were fortunate to escape before last light.
That night was more quiet than any night I have ever experienced,
before or after. The wind stopped its constant blowing, as if perhaps
reserving its powers for the next day, and no sound of nature or man
broke that silence. After the preceeding night and exhausting descent I
was deadly tired, and yet I could not sleep under that oppressive
silence.
I walked under a shining night sky filled with glittering stars. I
gazed into the impenetrable darkness surrounding our camp and I
imagined the frightning presence of wolves, observing us patiently.
In the morning some of the wiser men of our group decided to return to
the village. The silence of the night remained and we spoke little, as
if our tongues were bound by some strange spell. I looked into eyes of
the men who wanted to leave, they were scared and exhausted, yet they
asked no question and offered no excuse. I never heard of them again
and do not even know if they made it back. Without them we continued on.
As we started to break camp, the wild wind rose again, as if somehow knowing that this time it could do us the greater harm.
Thinking back, I cannot tell you what incredible and irrational power
drove me on to face my doom. What had I expected? A hollow and empty
cave as a proof that legends and myths come from lives of ordinary
people, from their values, needs and questions driving them to invent,
rather than from anything real? Or did I really believe that the legend
was true? Did I really hope that I could reach the cave, defeat the
Troll King with my pilgrim's staff and usurp the Sky Robe for my own
possession? I didn't care, I just needed to find out, to SEE! However
what I saw up there was somewhat different from anything I could have
expected. Whether it was for the good or for the bad, I cannot tell.
-----------------------------------------------------
The Sins of Youth, part III
On the third day of our journey we had to climb up out of the valley
again. In this place I knew that if we didn?t have the map then finding
our way would have been an impossible task. We were in the middle of a
labyrinth of mountains and valleys, and only the gods knew where all
those mountain trails could lead. Once our path was chosen we would be
committed. The mountains around were so high and paths so narrow, one
could imagine them to be the walls and corridors of some dungeon.
By the midday we had reached a wooden shack where a highlander lived.
There I realized for a first time in my life, what a precious work of
human muscle and thought that civilization is. Civilization was here
represented only by the modest shelter of this grimly silent highlander
and his small son. After all the horrors of untamed nature that we had
experienced, this was like an ebony shrine of the good goddess for us.
They welcomed us as guests, serving hot soup, warm mead and offering us
their shelter for a night. The man spoke of a hunter's life in the
wilderness and about his plans to purchase a house in a village, so his
small son could have a more certain future than he did himself.
I showed him my map, but he merely wrinkled his forehead and said he
had never been so far. He warned me about the Ice Trolls, lurking in
these parts of the mountains and advised against wandering too far to
the south, from where noone has ever returned. Then he described to us
the way towards a bridge over an abyss that we had to cross in order to
get where we need. This avoided having to cross an ancient burial
ground, which we thought unwise. Ghosts should not be disturbed.
From the timber of his voice I guessed that he thought we were just a
band of spoiled fools from the city, heading towards our certain death,
although he did not consider it to be his business.
The wind on the next day was the fierciest yet that I have ever
experienced. Each single step was as a hundred down on the plain. We
were knee-deep in the snow and I could not see further than the next
footfall, as a famous proverb says ... although I was not so sure of
where we were going either. We struggled for hours and there was no
bridge in sight. I thought the abyss was yet before us, for I was quite
sure our direction was right because we had passed by the Skull Boulder.
It started to become darker and darker and the wind did not cease its
raging. Setting up camp was impossible as the wind would have torn away
our tents immediately, we could not tie them down properly in the deep
snow. There were only two possibilities. To lie down and die or to
continue our struggle. One of our group seemed to decide on the first
option, but the remaining three of us decided to continue. I had no
sorrow for that man now, for the fate that I had unknowningly set for
the others was much worse.
When I was quite sure that I was at the end with my endurance, I saw a
pile of rocks. And then I saw others and gravestones as well. We had
passed onto the ancient burial grounds, but in extremis I cared little.
Suddenly, the blowing mists parted and the doors of a fearful tomb
appeared before us. We crept inside and made it our shelter, fools that
we were, desperate to warm our bodies. If I regret nothing else, I
regret the weakness which brought us into that tomb.
At the beginning they were almost unrecognisable. The whispers that
came to us. They echoed from dark shadows. So often I turned around to
face the source, which was never there. The whispers gradually
increased in volume and gained a diabolical intensity as it steadily
reverberated within our skulls. My companions suddenly started to cry
out in pain. The whispers were draining the will from my mind, the will
to stay aware, to stay sane. The shadows started to move and circle
around us in a mad spiral, crawling across the walls of the tomb and
wailing. What happened next I cannot clearly remember.
What I do remember are only fragments. A bear's pelt across the back of
the highlander who carried me, his deep voice hurling angered insults
and curses into the wildness around us. I remember the warmth of his
shack, of the bed he lay me in, of the mead he gave me. Warmth!
After some days of fever I was feeling better and the highlander?s
anger had subsided. He told me that he felt guilty for giving us the
wrong directions and apologized for his faulty memory. We both shared a
feeling of guilt, gratefulness and relief from escaping the horrible
fate of becoming Frost Wraiths, as my companions surely did.
When I recovered, he took me to a village. Haakig The Bold was his
name, as I remember it now. I gave him that useless piece of fur I
purchased in a town and he accepted it with an unexpected gratitude.
Since then we have never met again. I went back to the city of Snowhawk
and then back to my hometown.
From that day I was never so foolish to engage myself in adventures,
meant only for brave warriors and not for curious pilgrims like myself.
And the map? Ah, yes! The map! One day, eighteen years after my
unfortunate experience, a young magician?s apprentice came to me and
insisted on buying that map for his research.
I do not know how he discovered that I had it, but I gave it to him for
free. For one thing I know is certain. What must happen will happen and
if some other fool desires to retrieving some legendary scrap, risking
his own life, noone can hold him.
But perhaps the legend may yet be true. Perhaps the Sky Robe is really
there and waits for someone to find it. Perhaps it is written in the
great book of destiny that someone will follow my footprints, surpass
them, and reach the artifact. Perhaps the circle will close.
For me the outcome of this story is only one. I will never cease to
regret my foolishness, which cost lives of so many people and almost my
own.
Theobald
__________________
Squirrel, squirrel, canst thou see? There?s a Snow Elf behind thee!
This post has been edited 1 time(s), it was last edited by The Old Ye Bard: 12.11.2006 08:17.
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05.03.2006 17:23 |
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Garrett
First Knight
Registration Date: 16.03.2006
Posts: 98
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This book achieves in a few pages what many novels fail to do in a thousand: it's EPIC. 
Other than a few debatable commas and one missing hyphen the text is
quite sound, although it might be nice to very vaguely cover what the
Sky Robe's powers may be (unless even the legend doesn't cover that, or
you don't want to, or whatever).
I take it the Sky Robe is intended to be a real ingame object? I want one already! 
__________________
StrategyWiki's fully illustrated Ocarina of Time guide. Check it out!
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17.03.2006 02:32 |
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Zarkis
Viscount
Registration Date: 01.12.2002
Posts: 650
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My feelings too. Just to prevent any misunderstandings: I am not the
author, but a modder named Theobald wrote this for the abondoned Skyrim
project of Tamriel Rebuild. He gave me the permission to use his books.
Feel free to edit any spelling or grammatical errors (I am german 
) and attach the corrected version as a .txt file.
__________________
Squirrel, squirrel, canst thou see? There?s a Snow Elf behind thee!
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17.03.2006 10:16 |
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Greybeard
Chieftain of Skyrim
Registration Date: 21.05.2006
Posts: 721
Location: Shannara
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I'll ask raggidman to put it into final form. I suspect that this will need to be in 3 volumes.
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28.07.2006 03:13 |
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raggidman
Prince
Registration Date: 06.01.2006
Posts: 2,561
Location: where my heart is
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| RE: Skyrim - The Sins of Youth by Theobald |
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I do my edits as posts - suggest you take a look, and if you like then
I will create a 'finished version' that you can convert as you
require...
[edit: you will note that I am redirecting some of the description - it
is because the diarist appeared too eager (and entirely too modern and
'politically correct,' which translates in ES terms as immature and
schizoid or something) to demonstrate his distaste for some kinds of
people in some modes while in other phrases calmly giving a mature
pespective... well it just felt off. If someone is so genuinely scatty
it would come out in other ways also. You might say that such a
fixation would be entirely innapropriate for Tamriel. But there is one
other thing - I am not convinced that Skyrim would have a bunch of
incompetant drunks that were socially unacceptable - would they survive
the climate and social rejection? Have to take a further look at this
Part one...
OK - we will have to decide just who the writer is - and therefore
what opinion is appropriate and believeable - any suggestions anyone?]
| quote: |
| Fascinated
by the tales and songs of old heroes battling the merciless wilderness,
bloodthirsty creatures and human wrath, I was struck by one in
particular. It was the story of Sky Robe, a powerful artifact guarded
in a cave by terrible Troll King, somewhere high in the Dragon Bridge
Mountains. Undoubtedly it was little
more than a legend - the invention of a barbaric and uneducated people,
the product of folkish beliefs colored by imagination and anxiety. |
since the folowing paragraph begins with: "I always believed that there were truthshidden in these tales..." I replace the word truth in the para above...
| quote: |
| I
found an old drunk in the local pub, his wrinkled face red from either
drinking or exposure to cold and high places for too long. This
one-eyed, whitehaired derelict showed me a map. |
the word "scum" does not realy work in this way - and it lacks both
relevance and reverance - a good insult or description or insult should
hit the heart... so try the feel of 'derelict' or maybe something that
implies that this drunk is useless to or for anyone or anything, or
incapacitated by his habit...
| quote: |
| There I found a merchant who offered me a magically enhanced fur, to protect me from the cold. |
don't think this is intended to denote the illness...so "a cold" becomes 'the cold'.
| quote: |
| Of course I found only the local dross: beggars, drunks and the spoiled sons of rich men. |
the word "filth" misses the mark, whereas 'dross' or
poor quality leavings makes the point...also delled two uses of the
word 'the' as I felt that the repeated use of it gave the impression
that the 'diarist' was attaching too much importance to the first two
groups.
| quote: |
| I hired only the poor and destitute, whom I was sure none would miss, |
removed the word "of" before "whom" - it is incorrect grammar.
| quote: |
| as the sun rose red |
it works better...
PART 2 to follow.
__________________
Because
loyalty is not to be spoken of and honour is to be endured. Whilst
courage is to be survived. These virtues belong to silence.
Steven Erikson.
But, if one man does nothing can he be said to be good? raggidman
This post has been edited 2 time(s), it was last edited by raggidman: 05.08.2006 12:33.
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05.08.2006 01:41 |
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raggidman
Prince
Registration Date: 06.01.2006
Posts: 2,561
Location: where my heart is
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| RE: Skyrim - The Sins of Youth by Theobald |
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want to draw your attention to the above: opinions wanted, but I favour either an Altmer or an Imperial:
| quote: |
[edit:
you will note that I am redirecting some of the description - it is
because the diarist appeared too eager (and entirely too modern and
'politically correct,' which translates in ES terms as immature and
schizoid or something) to demonstrate his distaste for some kinds of
people in some modes while in other phrases calmly giving a mature
pespective... well it just felt off. If someone is so genuinely scatty
it would come out in other ways also. You might say that such a
fixation would be entirely innapropriate for Tamriel. But there is one
other thing - I am not convinced that Skyrim would have a bunch of
incompetant drunks that were socially unacceptable - would they survive
the climate and social rejection? Have to take a further look at this
Part one...
OK - we will have to decide just who the writer is - and therefore
what opinion is appropriate and believeable - any suggestions anyone?] |
__________________
Because
loyalty is not to be spoken of and honour is to be endured. Whilst
courage is to be survived. These virtues belong to silence.
Steven Erikson.
But, if one man does nothing can he be said to be good? raggidman
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05.08.2006 12:35 |
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Psychotic
Jarl of Skyrim
Registration Date: 30.07.2006
Posts: 3,420
Location: Sheogorath's Realm
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05.08.2006 13:52 |
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raggidman
Prince
Registration Date: 06.01.2006
Posts: 2,561
Location: where my heart is
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Frosty with me, Altmer it is then! Hows about a name for our snobby author!
__________________
Because
loyalty is not to be spoken of and honour is to be endured. Whilst
courage is to be survived. These virtues belong to silence.
Steven Erikson.
But, if one man does nothing can he be said to be good? raggidman
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09.08.2006 12:41 |
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Greybeard
Chieftain of Skyrim
Registration Date: 21.05.2006
Posts: 721
Location: Shannara
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| RE: Skyrim - The Sins of Youth by Theobald |
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| quote: |
Originally posted by raggidman
| quote: |
| I hired only the poor and destitute, whom I was sure none would miss, |
removed the word "of" before "whom" - it is incorrect grammar.
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Seems that "whom" is only a singular, never a collective. Poor and
destitute would be plural and need "who", but the sentence as a whole
is awkward. Perhaps "destitute, and I was sure no one would miss them."
Other than that, a very smooth, natural read.
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09.08.2006 18:03 |
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raggidman
Prince
Registration Date: 06.01.2006
Posts: 2,561
Location: where my heart is
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12.08.2006 12:59 |
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Psychotic
Jarl of Skyrim
Registration Date: 30.07.2006
Posts: 3,420
Location: Sheogorath's Realm
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| quote: |
Originally posted by raggidman
But maybe Galhemion with a 'strong I' as in the word 'I'? Because it is more egocentric that way? |
The more snobbish and self-centered it sounds the better.
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12.08.2006 15:04 |
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raggidman
Prince
Registration Date: 06.01.2006
Posts: 2,561
Location: where my heart is
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Beginning on the second volume now and I am changing my approach to save time:
work in progress-
The Sins of Youth, part II
The beginning of our journey proceded under the radiant atmosphere of our great expectation.
We progressed without delay towards the first peak and reached it just
before evening as the sun was setting. The sky was as still and clear
as it had been in the morning and a superb view of the ice plains extended
before us. I had the impression I could even see Haafingar, my hometown
that I left behind long ago, in the distance. At that peak we made our
first camp to shield ourselves from the blustery winds.
Ah, the winds, I remember the winds. They gathered strength as night closed upon us. They played with the fire and the firewood while we cooked Icebear's meat, then buffeted the canvas of our tents as we tried fruitlessly to find sleep. Mounting throughout the night to the horrible howling of a hurricane, it became more frightening than the shriek of a lich.
After the long sleepless night the intensity
of the gale decreased, until at dawn it still blew, but somewhat
cleaner and steadier so that it would be possible to resume our
journey. But where we had enjoyed great vistas the day before, the
morning brought thanks that we could see each other.
grrrr, this comp does not do colour edits! use underlines...
That day we began our descent into the hidden valley. The path was
narrow and treacherous, and the wind seemed always to struggle against
us as it blew snow and ice into our faces. It was cold, horribly cold!
Not just ordinary cold, which may be kept at bay with warm clothing,
the freezing air chilled our bones and drained all warmth from us as if
by some evil magic. It seemed that fur I bought in Snowhawk was nearly useless, but it probably kept me going and therefore alive - as there was nowhere to build a camp on that precipice.
It was fortunate that the wind blew constant, for we were terrified
that one stray gust might sweep us all from that narrow path overhung
by the mountain cliffs, suspended over the deep abyss..... and so our
tortuous and fraught descent into the valley proceeded without incident
and we completed it before before last light..
The night was quiet, quieter than any night I have ever
experienced, before or since. The wind withdrew, as if perhaps
reserving its powers for the next day, and no sound of nature or man
broke that silence. After the preceeding night and exhausting descent I
was deadly tired, and yet pinned down by that oppressive silence, once again, I could not sleep.
Alone I walked, under the shining night sky filled with glittering
stars. I gazed into the impenetrable darkness surrounding our camp and
shivered at the imagined gaze of all manner of beasts, stalking us
patiently.
~~~
Dawn broke and some of the wiser men of our group gathered in a huddle talking quietly. Then just announced they had
decided to return to the village. The senseless opression of the night
remained and we spoke little, as if our tongues were bound by some
strange spell. I looked into the eyes of the men who wanted to
leave, they were scared and exhausted yet they asked no question and
offered no excuse. I never heard of them again and do not even know if
they made it back. Without them we continued on.
We started to break camp as the wild wind rose again, somehow knowing
that this time it could do us the greater harm, but what could be worse
than death?
Thinking back, I cannot tell you what incredible and irrational power
drove me on to face my doom. What had I expected? A hollow and empty
cave as a proof that legends and myths come from lives of ordinary
people. From their needs, values, and questions driving them to invent,
rather than from anything real? Or did I really believe that the legend
was true? Did I really hope that I could reach the cave, defeat the
Troll King with my pilgrim's staff, and usurp the Sky Robe for my own
possession? I didn't care, I just needed to find out, to SEE! Ah, but then, what I saw -
__________________
Because
loyalty is not to be spoken of and honour is to be endured. Whilst
courage is to be survived. These virtues belong to silence.
Steven Erikson.
But, if one man does nothing can he be said to be good? raggidman
This post has been edited 3 time(s), it was last edited by raggidman: 14.08.2006 13:34.
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14.08.2006 11:32 |
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raggidman
Prince
Registration Date: 06.01.2006
Posts: 2,561
Location: where my heart is
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rm: heh, the pristine text 
but not for long
The Sins of Youth, part III
On the third day of our journey we had to climb up out of the valley again. In this place I knew that without
the map finding our way would have been an impossible task. We were in
the middle of a labyrinth of mountains and valleys, and only the gods
knew where all those mountain trails could lead. Once our path was
chosen we would be committed. The mountains around were so high and
paths so narrow, one could imagine them to be the walls and corridors
of some dungeon.
By the midday we had reached a wooden shack where a highlander lived.
Here I realized for a first time in my life, what a precious work of
human muscle and thought that civilization is. Represented only by the
modest shelter of this grimly silent highlander and his small son.
After all the horrors of untamed nature that we had experienced, this
was like an ebony shrine of the good goddess for us.
They welcomed us as guests, serving hot soup, warm mead and offering us
their shelter for a night. The man spoke of a hunter's life in the
wilderness and about his plans to purchase a house in a village, so his
small son could have a more certain future than he did himself.
I showed him my map, but he merely wrinkled his forehead and said he
had never been so far. He warned me about the Ice Trolls, lurking in
these parts of the mountains and advised against wandering too far to
the south, from where no one has ever returned. [U]Then
he described to us the way to a bridge over an abyss that we needed to
cross in order to get to the region of our goal. This route would avoid
an ancient burial ground, which we thought wise. Ghosts should not be disturbed.
From the timber of his voice I guessed that he thought we were just a
band of spoiled fools from the city, heading towards our certain death,
although he did not consider it to be his business.
----------------------------- continue edit from here...
The wind on the next day was the fierciest that I have ever experienced, and the snow fell thick and incessantly. Every single step was as a hundred down on the plain. The snow was knee-deep everywhere and I could not see further than the next footfall ... so that I had to rely on dead reckoning. We struggled for hours and there was no bridge in sight. I believed the abyss was yet before us, and I was quite sure of our direction because the one landmark that we did see was the Skull Boulder.
It started to become darker and darker and the wind did not cease its
raging. Setting up camp was impossible as the wind would have torn away
our tents immediately - we could not tie them down properly in the deep
snow. There were only two possibilities. To lie down and die or to
continue our struggle. We realised that we could no longer see one of
our group, and believed that he had collapsed. We did not know where,
nor did we have the enrergy to search, so the remaining three of us
continued. I have no sorrow for that man now, for the fate that I had
unknowningly set for the others was much worse.
When I was quite sure that I was at the end with my endurance, I saw a
pile of rocks. And then I saw others and gravestones as well. We had
passed into the ancient burial grounds, but in extremis I cared little.
Suddenly, the blowing mists parted and the doors of a fearful tomb
appeared before us. We crept inside and made it our shelter, fools that
we were, desperate to warm our bodies, we lay down to slumber. If I
regret nothing else, I regret the weakness which brought us into that
tomb.
Frost Wraiths - there must be something more in the following text to describe them, like cooold!
...As we slept the temperature in the tomb began to drop, and whispers
echoed from the corridors about us. At the beginning they were almost
unrecognisable, the whispers that came to us. They echoed from dark
shadows, and around the corners, chilling our souls and bouncing from
wall to wall in a cascade of echoes so that although we often turned to
face the direction from which they arrived, the source was never there.
Gradually they increased in volume until
they gained a diabolical intensity that reverberated within our skulls.
My companions gave little moans and then loud cries of pain and
anguish, until they could cry no more and their cries gradually
decreased to whimpers. They were draining the will from my mind,
the will to stay aware, to stay sane. Then shadows started to move and
circle around us in a mad spiral, crawling across the walls of the tomb
and wailing.
carry on from here------------------------------------
What happened next is hard to piece together, and what I do remember
are only fragments: A bear's pelt... being carried across the back of
the highlander, his deep voice hurling angered insults and curses into
the wildness around us... the warmth of his shack, of the bed he lay me
in, of the mead he gave me. Warmth!
After some days of fever I was feeling better and the highlander?s
anger had subsided. He told me that he felt guilty for giving us the
wrong directions and apologized for his faulty memory. We both shared a
feeling of guilt, gratefulness and relief from escaping the horrific
fate of becoming Frost Wraiths, as my companions surely did.
When I recovered, he took me to a village. Haakig The Bold was his
name, as I remember it now. I gave him that useless piece of fur I
purchased in a town and he accepted it with an unexpected gratitude.
Since then we have never met again. I went back to the city of Snowhawk
and then back to my hometown.
That day I lost my taste for adventures, meant only for brave warriors and not for curious pilgrims like myself.
And the map? Ah, yes! The map! One day, eighteen years after my
unfortunate experience, a young magician?s apprentice came to me and
insisted on buying that map for his research.
I do not know how he discovered that I had it, but I gave it to him for
free. For one thing I know is certain. What must happen will happen and
if some other fool desires to retrieving some legendary scrap, risking
his own life, noone can hold him.
But perhaps the legend may yet be true. Perhaps the Sky Robe is really
there and waits for someone to find it. Perhaps it is written in the
great Book of Destiny that someone will follow my footprints, surpass
them, and reach the artifact. Perhaps the circle will close.
For me the outcome of this story is only one. I will never cease to
regret my foolishness, which cost lives of so many people and almost my
own.
Theobald
__________________
Because
loyalty is not to be spoken of and honour is to be endured. Whilst
courage is to be survived. These virtues belong to silence.
Steven Erikson.
But, if one man does nothing can he be said to be good? raggidman
This post has been edited 1 time(s), it was last edited by raggidman: 15.08.2006 11:52.
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14.08.2006 13:26 |
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raggidman
Prince
Registration Date: 06.01.2006
Posts: 2,561
Location: where my heart is
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| RE: Skyrim - The Sins of Youth by Theobald |
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I'm working on this and any other Skyrim stuff in Editor's Corner from
now on as I cannot be bothered with this 2880 minutes nonsense...
Therefore any comments or reactions will have to wait 'till I have finished in future...
__________________
Because
loyalty is not to be spoken of and honour is to be endured. Whilst
courage is to be survived. These virtues belong to silence.
Steven Erikson.
But, if one man does nothing can he be said to be good? raggidman
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17.08.2006 11:49 |
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Greybeard
Chieftain of Skyrim
Registration Date: 21.05.2006
Posts: 721
Location: Shannara
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Could you give us a legend? What do the red, blue and underlines indicate?
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19.08.2006 11:10 |
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Greybeard
Chieftain of Skyrim
Registration Date: 21.05.2006
Posts: 721
Location: Shannara
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The book is ingame.
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28.08.2006 04:13 |
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Krisi-_
Archduke
Registration Date: 27.06.2006
Posts: 1,532
Location: Norway
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| quote: |
Originally posted by Greybeard
The book is ingame.
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Is raggi done? (with editing..)
__________________
The meaning of life is 'Bucket'.
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28.08.2006 07:55 |
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Greybeard
Chieftain of Skyrim
Registration Date: 21.05.2006
Posts: 721
Location: Shannara
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He PM'd me a "pretty much done" one, which I used. I can update it if he wants to make more changes.
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28.08.2006 17:24 |
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I stand corrected, who it is... 