Chapter 1

Clenglis,

Our house has been in mourning since we received notices of the deaths of your daughters Estina and Eindre. Your mother and I have been lighting a new candle each night at the temple, where we pray that their souls can make a safe return. You have experienced what none should ever have to. Come back to us. There's nothing but memories where you are now. It is time to begin anew.

Far too often you have been patient with me. It bears on me roughly at times how I pick our family up and plant them elsewhere with little explanation, and every word of the reason a lie. My past has been better left unquestioned, and even to your mother I never reveal everything from my earlier days. Now as I near the space I have carved in death by my actions, I want to plainly tell you how we came to this place and the situation that compels us now. The safest of messengers delivers this letter to your hands, and he stands at your door with my confidence that only you will read this. I want you to know your heritage and consider your life.


Your great-grandfather Thaer was a tribal councilman over a century ago in Valenwood. Our family was considered influential among other tribes, accounting for the autonomous nature they all maintained, and within our specific tribe our family was practically minor nobility. As a statesman he often acted as an intermediate player in the politics, and this required him to appeal to the leaders he would deal with. The personalities of these tribal groups he would interact with never seemed steady enough for him to maintain an even grip, he would often say, so his tactics would flow like molten steel to maintain effectiveness. Leadership has yet to become a stable position.

The king in those days was a figurehead of authority, someone to throw at the Imperials when they came to call. Even so, he was pleasant and someone who Thaer was good friends with. I'm not sure this is correct to say, but the impression I get of the times from his stories was that our people would take gifts with an open hand and turn a cold shoulder to those who ask favors from us. Imperial forts and garrisons in the area were scarce because of this. Collectively the Bosmer had not shown themselves to be threatening or useful on a larger scale, so the rest of the empire would use the land as they dared and leave well enough alone otherwise.

On a grander scale, rumors would be spread mixed with truth about our traditions. The Ancestors convinced this idiot Eric once that Wood Elves were all cannibals and completely carnivorous! This started a game where the children would sneak up and bite the legs of visitors to the villages. Another humorous thought was to say that elves don't use wood for making weapons, but as part of the deception they proclaim their love of nature to an extreme degree. Not that we don't hold a high respect for our homeland, but deception is a masterful tool to capitalize upon. Lies are thin as the air, and yet they stop more attacks than the strongest walls.

It's the simplest thing to hide your means while preparing tools and weapons, or to brush off suspicion by claiming yourself less devoted. A foreigner would not do well to search for you, they've been told there are mangrove swamps everywhere, and when asked it becomes a reflex to claim you bought the tool or weapon somewhere else! All societies create these illusions to hide themselves with ideology, or to mask their true face from themselves.

During long walks Greaterfather Thaer told me these things ensure our heritage would not be lost, in the same manner I explained what I knew to you and your siblings in bits and pieces through your lifetimes. We all need to learn from example and trust our common experiences if we are to adapt to the setting of each new land. Act as the people act till you become as a native.

Following the example of your great grandfather, you must know that webs of lies are not easy to maintain on every level. In the Spring of days on a throne somewhere, a mighty fool sent a grand parade of these jesters of speech to meet our fat king in his walking city. Thaer was sent to be one of the representatives of our tribe near Silvenar, a task which he was sore to undertake because he had been long at study expanding upon the magical principles of his tribe. None the less, he bid his wife goodbye before he put on his smile and stood near the head of the contingent to meet the new arrivals that spring day. Off the boat they came in colorful robes on horseback bringing wealth and gifts for the king in litters the length of four ships!

Of course the dignitaries all put effort into restraining their laughter at this comedy unfolding. So the horseman after riding such an arduous distance from their ships dismounted, and a short welcoming ceremony began with flattery applied liberally and with wild bravado being displayed by the little Nothing-Men. Soon (but never soon enough) the ships retracted and the group on the beach escorted the Imperial representatives into the city. That in itself was a trick; getting these prideful humans up there. Their needless trains of wealth and livestock surely weren't joining them.

The other representatives there in the city were elves Thaer dealt with often, but dealing with them all at once crossed him. When you make a life of your words, you will crumble upon their failing in an instant. Grandfather worked with effort disguised as ease between them, and even then a group of three perceived how he truly conducted himself. Over drinks they grieved for their losses to sly deals he orchestrated and conspired between them to exact their revenge.

In the night they and their guard platoons set upon grandfather with torches and truncheons. Bursting into the room, they found him nvde in the course of a courtesan's dutiful service. He was set upon as he leapt to his feet upon the bed. The first strike was a mace driving his right hand into the wall. The member was smashed and was crippled. Nearly as soon as this pain afflicted him, he was stabbed in the side with a torch and the burning flesh made him cry out through the night. Knowing everyone heard this, the group then took him bound before the chamber of the King.

Their king was in a most difficult of positions. The mob would have a judgment that night without delay, and the imperials would hear of it soon thereafter! What's more, it was known that he was friends with Thaer and mercy would be a clear sign of weakness. Quickly he declared that the matter could not be handled there, and implored them to be quiet. He ordered that the prisoners in the city should be sent north to Anvil. There Grandfather could receive a death penalty and the matter would not be on the hands of the Bosmer during this time of the visit. After heated shouting the mob agreed to this after listening to the direction of a statesman from Arenthia.

So Thaer was sent, tied by the neck to a long post, with the other prisoners on their journey to Anvil. Guards were selected quickly in the night for this impromptu trip, and the King included his trusted sergeant to ensure the matter was carried out. Secretly the sergeant was instructed by the King to enact Thaer's escape! Nearing three in the morning they set out, the ten guards and twenty five prisoners under the passing hatred of the mob.

The tribesman from Arenthia was able to quickly convince the maddened mob to allow this situation because he had quietly promised the instigators that some of his tribe would be in the area to intercept the band and kill everyone in it. Plans were sent by the swiftest bird, and the fruition of this device came three days later.

As the prisoners trudged through the dense forest under the cover of darkness, a storm parted the skies allowing a rain to spread itself upon the land. To our fortune the elves that came to attack the chained party unleashed their arrows too soon. Perhaps it was someone too young to know the proper timing, but the ambush was spoiled when an arrow struck the forward scout of the guards. While he lay writhing in pain in a puddle, the other guards were shouting to each other to kill the prisoners for fear that they might escape during the commotion.

Hearing this, the Sergeant Filimi freed my grandfather and dragged him out into the woods. Corporal Anrel of the guard quickly ran after them thinking the Sergeant knew what he was doing. There wasn't time to explain anything, but the Sergeant quietly hissed that this prisoner must be saved, and the trio dashed through the woods and hills. Behind them in flashes of light from the above the soldiers killed the screaming prisoners with their hatchets, only to find themselves set upon quickly by the tribe. The storm was enough to mask the trail of the three escaping, and the war party wasn't told how many were to be killed.

Quietly across the space of a week, the diplomat, the Sergeant, and the Corporal made their way through the dark places toward the shore. From there they were picked up by a passing cargo ship, which pulled into the harbor of Stros M'Kai. During the several weeks there, Grandfather Thaer and Grandmother Anrel became close. There was work on the docks where the pay had only the stipulation that the labor was adequate. The Filimi secured passage for them to High Rock eventually, and took care of making the necessary bribes. With a wave to Hunding in the bay they set sail again for Wayrest.

Wayrest unfortunately wasn't suitable for them. A place so busy with information so cheap, they decided to walk overland to the more isolated city of Evermore. Here Thaer became an apothecary, and the three set up a shop after some time. Years passed slowly as making a living was difficult, but within time Thaer asked Anrel to marry him. Filimi was uncomfortable with this, understandably. He thought it best that they return, or at least that he should return to see if the situation in Valenwood was such that the grudges had passed. During the dark of the night after Thaer and Anrel were wed in the woods, he left and the couple didn't hear of him again.



Note: A few changes were made to make it seem less static.

So, I read this. And I like it, don't get me wrong, but it's a little odd.

I'm angling that it's a letter, correct? And that this man is relating info about the family to his son.

It's certainly a new idea. I support this!

I think the writing is first class, and enjoyed the read. The way you word things made me glued to the screen, if it was a book, I would have not been able to put it down.

If you continue this, and I certainly hope you do, I'll make sure to patronize the thread.

I eagerly waited for the next part, to see the intrigue of a family's past, or if there was any dark secret hidden within it.

Haven't had time to read it, i definitely will ASAP.

Yeah, it's a letter to this guy's oldest son. They had a falling out which they talk about later, and the dad is hoping to bring him around again. He's taking the chance to be honest about their family history so his son will trust him. The guy gets around to explaining the title "Infinite Wanderlust" eventually too.

Thanks! I've got a couple more chapters generally together, but I'm going to do a little editing and rewriting before posting.

Cool, thankyou.

Top notch! Very well done and I'm a big fan of Bosmer not always being displayed as tree-hugging carnivores. I am definitely looking forward to the next chapter.

Chapter 2

It didn't burden them terribly; he was a good friend and certainly wouldn't betray them. Perhaps he might even come and tell them they could return! Thaer soothed Anrel's worries about this gently, with the care of a lover, and in months their son was born. That son was of course my father Godras, who enjoyed High Rock and grew up strong there. At age nine he became the apprentice to a silversmith and learned the arts of metalwork and integration with gems and fine crafting. I was always amazed with his work. Pieces he made are of course in your inheritance upon my passing, but you've been given gifts enough from him to know his talent.

As it happened, his quality work brought the attention of a baron with holdings near the town. He employed your grandfather to produce fine swords for his collection from time to time. Due to a rotten but predictable dispute between the Baron and the King of Evermore, tensions were high during the times the Baron was in town. This made it a longer period between the commissioning and purchase of the swords, and there weren't enough clients during the time to maintain steady pay. Father made up for it by making inexpensive weapons which he sold in bulk to less than reputable sources.

The Bretons have dozens upon dozens of squabbling barons, kings, dukes, counts, and seemingly ridiculous titles of nobility found nowhere else for men who are no better than tax collectors or town mayors who shake down the working girls for their tips at night. Yet, their system of nobility and respect is the most complex I've ever heard of, especially considering each municipality and kingdom thinks they can bend or write their own rules into it. Beware their forgiveness for missteps.

To this end there are always troops moving around, crossing borders where they are certainly not authorized, and countries set on edge against each other at the slightest provocation. It takes an adept person to survive well in this type of society, your allegiances must be well crafted and you must have a backup noble to align yourself with in case a situation should hazard itself upon you. Even at this, the Bretons don't like people unfamiliar to them or unpatriotic to the cause of their lord.

As your grandfather told me, the Bretons generally don't mind magic of all types arcane and have a curiosity to expand their knowledge. The mages guild there strains at times to keep the research means within the confines of guild authorization, but yet rogue mages and wizards permute the land like bare briasts on the second of Sun's Dawn here (the festival of Mad Pelagius). We learned the most from the grieving nobles and merchants who could afford the means of grand burials and intricate ceremonies. With a servant waiting to fetch the knightly guilds, they practiced that which is unapproved in the commonplace among discerning citizens, and proceeded to commune with the dead.

Thaer and Godras took a great interest in the knowledge the people of the towns had to offer, and soaked it in with great appreciation. They became members of specific circles that enabled them great access to arcane teachings which were not always within their grasp. Their practice was not with these kinds of forces, and the training needed would have consumed their time to such great extents they decided in good conscience not to fully devote themselves at once. With long lives we have no reason to rush. It's truly amazing how quickly the Bretons could take to this, but they all live at a faster pace.

After a time of this going on, it was known among the town that Godras produced a good deal of weapons. When an open conflict arose (the Bretons are always squabbling over land and titles), the King took advantage of the situation to strike a blow to the Baron. He accused my father of taking part in a forestalling scheme where he would sell the produced weapons only to the Baron (because it wasn't established who exactly those weapons went to) and the Baron would sell them back for a higher price because of their need to the King.

Fate did not lend fortune, as it rarely does to us, and escape was not possible. Anrel and Thaer pleaded the innocence of their son, as did men of his acquaintance. The real pressure though was to get the Baron to make a concession to the King. Godras was only the tool to accomplish this, and though even the judge knew this, there was no way out when the King orders a verdict. Considering the state of war, the law demanded the crime be considered treason.

The business Godras built was burned just after the guard threw his parents through the front door. He was held screaming and staring as the flames climbed around the building. Guards pissed on the building, mocking him and making light of the screams of his mother while he fought to free himself. Townspeople watching witnessed this all, with the flames consuming their neighbors and a hearty Wood Elf being tortured, largely unmoved as even then they believed through their patriotism that the king must be right. Whatever punishment for this proven traitor must be too good for him. A traitor must not be suffered, and no person should abide them to live.

Father was taken through the streets tied behind a cart to let the people have at him. He was kicked, beaten, and stabbed occasionally by everyone wanting to prove that they of all people were the last to sympathize with this rotten scum. Whenever Bretons need unity in their cause they look for a goat, and soon enough sniff out a "traitor". Nearing the keep where he was to be flogged in front of the crowd, his circle of friends flashed the crowd with magical light such that they were blinded. Spells of curses and Spheres of Negation flew into my father's captors with fury as the dark society attacked the guards and mob with a rage fueled by Thaer and Anrel's deaths. The gain of friends is someone to watch out for you, or at least avenge your death should the situation require. These alliances proved fruitful to a degree in this situation and Godras was able to escape.

With the swiftest horses he left the city alone and was set on his way to the city of Gideon by way of Dragonstar, Chorrol, and the Imperial City. Grieving the loss of his parents and the severe nature of his situation he did not stay in Cyrodiil longer than he needed to, but he did make contact with the society in the Imperial City so word could be filtered back to his friends in Evermore that he succeeded in making it out of High Rock. This society apparently had a strong presence in the Imperial Province, but more distance was still needed for such a wanted man. Fresh transport was provided and my father was escorted to the border of the Black Marsh.

Another great part. :thumbsup:

Well, it's certainly very well written, I don't think I can come up with any critique at all!

The only thing I would say, is that because it is in the form of a letter it is rather impersonal. Like an observer looking in rather than being absorbed in what's happening. If it was a short letter I wouldn't even bother saying this, but because it's already 2 chapters, and I assume chapter 3 will at least be partly still letter form, it's a long time to concentrate on that sort of writing. Perhaps the writer could relate everything with more passion in some places? Or perhaps have asides or deviations. Or maybe you could break up the letter with the reactions of the reader as it goes along, rather than everything at the end...

However, all the other readers liked it just fine, so maybe it's just me

Thanks!

Sure! It's hard to passionately tell family history you didn't live through though, but I'll know to work on it. The reader's reactions are taken care of in an epilogue.



Chapter 3


Apparently it is "known" that hardly any non-Argonians can survive in the Black Marsh, or Argonia as the humans purport the natives call it. The methods of survival aren't foolproof, but there are four relatively effective ways to become acclimated to the deadly swamps in the Black Marsh. Trying one of these methods and failing leaves you without a second chance.

The easiest method is to purchase a crate of healing and cure disease scrolls for those who cannot cast spells, or to cast resistance spells frequently enough to prevent infection. Hiring an effective guide who knows the terrain and the spells required to keep the traveling party alive and well is quite expensive, but available no less. The next way is to live closer and closer to the danger zones of the Black Marsh across generations, but this takes such a long time, and depending on the race and the curiosity of the individuals it doesn't always work. Acclimation is a steady problem.

Lastly, and for good reason, is the hardest method: Giving yourself the diseases and plagues that kill other outsiders, and have a shaman of the Argonian people stand watch over you to keep you from the dreams and death that surely wait to take you otherwise. No guarantees can be given about the last method, but the brave and desperate try it all the same to provide a means to buffer themselves from their problems. Many can't even survive the trip through the swamp to arrive at the shaman's dwelling.

Godras elected for this forth and most dangerous method. His shaman was a wise and powerful Argonian who knew the thoughts of a Bosmer and guided him through the difficult journey of survival upon the pall table. Distinction and marvel were placed upon him once he emerged from the dream state, for the very fact that he was able to emerge! Many who attempt are lost to mortal occurrences during the trance, but most are lost within the dream state when the guide loses them within the confines of their own minds. The poor souls are left to wander if they do not stipulate in their initial agreement that they should be killed if they can't be revived after a year.

After a month of the treatment, Father emerged from the trance. His upbringing already allowed him a minor advantage, with his gifts as a wood elf bringing him the rest of the way. Upon his re-emergence into the world, the shaman told him to slowly approach if he ever did wish to enter their inner sanctuary of the swamp. Through strong bloodlines and resistance the reptilian people achieved their place in the heart of Argonia, and it wasn't for newcomers to push their way in closer anytime soon. The gained resistance through this undertaking allowed me to venture farther into their lands as well, eventually.

While searching for a front in the area of Gideon he met a beautiful Dark Elf named Tralin Nerethi. Separate situations had exiled both of them, and their alliance in wedding matters made the transition into the Argonian society much smoother, especially since they both went through the quickening at nearly the same time. Immigrants stand out among the population of the Black Marsh, so the appearance of being a working family looking to make their own way earns them enough respect so that they wouldn't draw the ire of the isolationists in the city. Godras married Tralin that same week.

Though the romance was faked early on, they did consider themselves a married couple, and they couldn't be more comfortable with their situation. Godras set up his business on the sidestreets of the merchant's mile, and Tralin used the benefits of being married to sway the influence of her customers (forbidden loving was often the selling point). If you have a good product, why not sell it? Argonian customers were rare of course for societal and biological reasons, but the more engaging races were numerous enough to form a client list of discreet buyers.

Father desperately wanted a son to carry on his line however, and it was an inconvenience to Tralin at that time as she was making a fortune off the lies she fed wealthy men for their time. Their decision was that they would gain the permanent employment of a beautiful Bosmer named Indreth. She loved my father, and while she was my mother, she was not afforded more respect than her societal position allowed, as hired servants were below the social class of merchant artisans. What is strange is that the Argonians themselves don't keep the strict standards of societal positions they expect immigrants to. To integrate fully you're expected to gain respect, then wealth, and farther along, political power. Thus the status of my partial mother Tralin would not allow open recognition of me as a regular child of Godras. Though I'm sure everyone knew the truth, it is the way of these people to silently judge you.

I grew up scorned in this society because I was not what I should have been: The legitimate son of a smith and his loving dark elf wife, but skin color can be so hard to hide. In my position growing up I strove to fit into various situations where I felt like minded individuals could respect me for my own talents. Of all places, I found this respect in the Fighter's Guild. There was some skill in my hands with a flail and dagger, with a backup of the shielding training.

I couldn't stay and work in my Father's shop. You're always your father's son, but independence is vital. It's not as if I can make a career with the Fighter's Guild, I'd likely have returned to the business one day. The situation at home was too uncomfortable. Father loved his wife Tralin, but his true love was with Indreth the servant. Both ladies treated me as my mother, and both strained me to conform to the ideals they would prefer. Godras all the while wished I would continue his teachings and instruction into the art (and indeed it is a mighty art) of the craft.

And so, I drifted. I drifted from this apprenticeship to that, from this full on job to that. A Wood Elf outside his own lands I have seen is often given little respect and deference. The Guild had small things for me to do, but wasn't till the organization made something of me that I could join as a full member. There and there alone was I accepted by my merits. From there I could have no greater friends; they cared for my needs as I cared for theirs. We covered each other at the ready for each mission no matter the difficulty; we worked extra to make sure each partner in the guild system profited to the greatest degree. Such friends have I never found among any other group since my father's time when he found those who saved him from his death.

I loved them all. As a person might I suppose, but there isn't a day with them I didn't enjoy, or a fellow among them for which I would regret giving up my life. The problem I became the isolation from the happenings of the town. Though we were given important quests to take care of while in the employ of various social groups within the town, we were not quite privy to the politics they delve in. Later investigations provided clues to these questions, but not the answers.

Even with his accomplished hands, father felt he should make simpler things so he wouldn't stand out and show his previous talent in silver detailing, but Tralin wouldn't let it lie. She pressed for wider influence because after time she felt they had outgrown their old necessities, and while he comforted her she looked for the next fellow to transfer her allegiance toward. It didn't matter to me of course. I never needed two mothers, and the dark elf was never necessary to my life or lifestyle. She had provided gifts to me, as she was happy to know me as her "son" when there was something to gain, but as we grew distant I cared less and less.

Things happen by the slap of fate when you least expect them you might say. Tralin was seeing a man weekly who had a far different reputation around town than Godras. Procis was the kind of man who could do anything without fear of reprisal. He'd killed a Khajiit in the open market during daylight, and he showed up on the doorstep of a merchant in town once and demanded time with the man's wife. I learned while working a job that he was associated with the slave trade through house Dres in Morrowind. Gideon was just one of the extraction points used to smuggle slaves.

Soon it was apparent the more I looked into it. The imposing Imperial was allowed to do anything because he'd already paid off the town guards; the killing in the town market was a slave who nobody felt like asking questions about. Servants all over the area were originally sold as six slaves. They would be taken in at young ages for this work, between ten and fourteen, and escaping did no good as the authorities were generally in on the deal in that section. The six slaves couldn't flee the city either, as the danger of disease and their own disposability made them fear for their lives. It became evident that if you knew where to look it was easy enough to buy life on the street. Euphemistic language or not, it was never unclear what the situation was when you were addressing this kind of dealer.

As my hatred swelled toward this racket, I'd throw my donation coins at the side of the church instead of putting them in the poor box, for Procis was the bishop inside. Perhaps in the grass by the building those who need them will find them. Dark elves came through regularly it seemed now that I was paying attention to look for them. My step-mother had been entertaining them all along, and they too had the Marshall in their employ.

Chapter 4

From my vantage point, I wasn't in a position to speak up. I was the illegitimate son of a common Blacksmith. My part in the approaching conflict came with my work for the Fighter's Guild. The governor liked to make raids now and then on slave traders, all set up ahead of time so all parties involved would know what was going on, but while he was busy maintaining the status quo other interests were getting involved. From Cyrodiil some minor nobles were getting involved with the process and wanting to see actual results. The Count of Leyawiin paid all of us at the guild to go investigate an intermediary location for the slave traders.

At first we all enjoyed the chance to get out of the city for awhile. These run of the mill things are the mainstay, but variety is what keeps it interesting. Perhaps it should have occurred to us sooner that we might be going up against a troop working with the Bishop, or that we were in over our heads. We grew more cautious as we headed deeper into the swamp.

The swamp has these huge trees we nicknamed Bowers. In a fairly dramatic but slow motion they rise toward the sky in the daylight and retract back to earth at night. Effectively it makes night travel much tougher because these trees come very low toward the ground and passing through their branches can be a trick. In the daylight they provide a heck of a canopy over the top of the swamp, not always allowing a great deal of light down below. And of course, the proper name for them escaped us all.

We made good progress toward the camp through some of the dryer regions around the county. While still a couple hours on foot away from the location, we heard the crying of a hatchling. Our trip had already taken us three days worth through the thick underbrush, and it was a wonder to us that a child could be out here. Searching quickly we spied it lying in a fishing collection boat adrift in the wetland. Two Argonians with us said that they would swim out to get it, and the rest of us stood on the bank between the rock outcroppings. The dim light didn't lend itself to aid our situation.

Without an audible warning or signal a group of Argonians fell upon us, coming down off the rocks and leaping up out of the murky water. Our two who were in the water were driven through with spears from below and raised into the air upon them, screaming. I was dumbstruck, but still holding my shield on my arm and my flail was quickly out. A flail isn't the kind of weapon you should use against someone with a spear, but the situation forced it. We couldn't avoid either the dangerous mage standing above us whispering spells out of the wind that locked us up or fatigued our arms before we swung. My friends fell to the left and right while I in my petty effort did all I could.

I failed to do much at all. Through foreign luck I was able to dash away back the way we came. A trumpet screamed through the mists as the attackers came upon me, and I saw a green wall of cavalry charging with lances at full tilt. I dove behind a tree while the Argonians ran away toward the ambush site. These horseman were the troops of the Count of Leyawiin, the man who wanted results. Confused and spent I cowered there while the sounds of fighting died out.

Later I emerged to join the group who saved me. They were joyfully taking the painted Argonians and standing them up by driving pikes through their dead bodies. These humans in a jolly manner would lop their heads off and place them upon their lances. I didn't understand at all how they came to be there! They marked me a hero for surviving while my friends were lying on planks in the swamp supply sleds. As the baby was bait for the slave traders to catch us, we were bait for the Count to catch some slave traders. I stayed very quiet. If we were so expendable, what would I say that would make them want to kill me any less? I vomited.

They held me up as we marched back into Gideon. The slave traders would have been able to hide themselves without our group from the guild drawing them out. I was a hero to the Leyawiin Lancers, so that their men wouldn't die. Callous comments about how you didn't have to pay mercenaries if they didn't survive ripped me in two! If I weren't afflicted with fear, I would have been resisting during parade-like atmosphere which occurred when they marched me through town. Villagers cheered when the Count told the story, with the Bishop and the Governor standing right behind him hiding their scowls.

I escaped to the guild house. There's no question you won't ask yourself when you're the only one left. It hit me in waves how I lost all these people who meant so much to me, and I cried at the table. Empty chairs for each person in my life surrounded me. We were slaughtered for a meaningless political victory, I couldn't fathom it. We were sacrificed for nothing. The trafficking would be as strong tomorrow as it was days before during the attack.

The Bishop couldn't let this one go however, and the governor couldn't stop him. He killed my second mother first, hanging her outside his upper window with a sign around her neck reading "[censored]". When I saw her, I realized my mother and father were at home in the shop! I was the most insecure figure in the world at that moment. Despairing then and there that my parents must also be dead, I had nothing left in life.

They stayed waiting for me as well, but I came through the attic across the rooftops. I was able to knife those I had to quickly and quietly through the house until I could peer into the workroom. A trail of blood ran from the attic down to the workroom which I followed. The sight of my dead parents kept me from entering in; it was too much after that glimpse. Back upstairs to where my father practiced his magical arts I took what I could in a bed sheet and slipped down the side of the house. After placing my gear in the cart I drew my flail and dragged a torch across the facade to enflame the building. Never as quick as I wanted it, from the base up my parent's house burned and I shouted terrors at the troops inside who must have imagined a mob of madmen. When they came out of the blaze I set upon them with my weapon and the torch to make sure that even in escape they burnt to death.

Our house was part of a row, so the neighbors' homes were soon on fire. Everyone saw what I'd done. The filth had seen and heard what was going on when my parents were killed, but they did nothing. I had thought to extend the mercy I had shown the Bishop's men to them if not for my father's voice saying "Go! You must flee!" Phantom or specter maybe, but I now had hope! There was more than me again.

I boarded the cart and drove the poor horse directly for the north gate. My former neighbors had a couple feeble heroes among them who grabbed tools and attacked me, but I swung my weapon with one hand while holding the reins in the other. In my opinion the Five Chances must have conspired to let me out by having the town watch occupied enough with the spreading fire to unman their posts. The gate released after I made it out, temporarily blocking those on foot chasing me. No party on horseback was prepared to sortie, so I had a finer head start than you could pray for.

As I progressed northward through the countryside I encountered a Breton boy traveling lightly hoping to catch a ride with me. Though the boy had never harmed me, it was against him that he was about my size. I offered to trade clothes with him and he agreed since mine were much better quality. He saw the blood stain, but did not question it soon enough. While buttoning the top of the shirt I struck him with my father's dagger. In shock and fear he fell to the ground and tried to scramble away while I plunged it into him again. He was screaming "Sir! What are you doing? Stop! Stop!"

The face and head had to be mistaken for me as well, so I thrashed it and tore the ears as he laid bleeding out and gasping. Dirty business that. Very bad indeed to do such a thing, but for my escape it was justified. I left the flail on the road as if it were dropped in the struggle, I wrecked the cart after unhitching the horse, then I took my things in the sheet with his food and made off for the next town.

/poorly disguised bump

Chapter 5

There I sold the horse to a Yeniche man and continued on my way toward the Dark Elven city of Necrom. My step-mother had grown up there, and we had discussed the ways of the people there to the degree that I wouldn't be an obvious outsider to an untrained eye. Here I soaked in the livelihoods of these people, entrenching myself in their society, and getting along with my life. You know most of the rest, I met your mother soon after my second year in the city, ten years later your brother Baranir was born, you followed in eight years time and you know the birthdays of your brothers beyond that point. Just living life in between these times doesn't make for the most interesting tale, but how can you capsulate the best years of your life into a mere story? You made all the difference to me.

I never let you meet Baranis because he developed a sickness that kept him in bed and speaking nonsense constantly, so we let a local religious sect take care of him. It was an intense burden. Your mother and I still visited him weekly as long as we could. The work of my father and grandfather would not go to waste however; I took up their tools and began my education in these matters of magic. This is what I would have you do. I've been so forthright with these details now because I feel that you are ready to know the troubled past from which you came. The future of our family will continue with you, but you don't have to go on alone.

If you will take our burden, son, your great-grandfather, your grandfather, and I will stand beside you however we must to increase our knowledge and power. Though I have never met my grandfather I have often discussed the weighty matters of love and determination with him, and listened to his tales of politics. While my father is dead, I have never been closer to him than when I tell him of you and the family I have here. Between the three of us we have a vast knowledge of Valenwood, High Rock, the Black Marsh, and now Morrowind which you know as well. Our lives have tossed us to and fro like a ship in high weather, but we have emerged stronger for it.

Thaer developed the alchemy necessary for what we do, Godras crafted the fine tools and enchantments upon them in his shop, and I have devoted myself to discussing the magical means to accomplish everything needed under the watchful care of my elders. I'm asking you to help us now, Clenglis. It is time you take your honor among us in the Society. Though I didn't know them in Gideon, they were there helping my father when needed, though you don't know them in Necrom they are here helping me.

What I'm saying is that with your help we can put it right. We can undo the tragedy and embrace a higher calling. Our generations of misfortunes are bearing sweet fruit now near the end of my time. We are wise now, perceptive, and cautious. Soon we can all return.

Your three younger brothers are beloved to us, but they have weak wills. They can't do what you can. Don't mourn them now, for it will be my hand that releases them in gentle patience very soon. They will live on with us, gaining knowledge and perhaps someday getting the chance to walk the land again, but now is the time for us to return. The three of them are the proper young ages for Thaer, Godras, and I to preserve their bodies and place our souls into them. Our technique is superb, as you may see from our servant Birane. Time is our ally, with time we gain forgiveness. He is the Breton boy I killed on the road so many years ago. I have restored a life to him for unjustly taking his before, and I maintain him here.

His soul was taken by the blade of your grandfather when I stabbed him with it. The masterful enchantment upon it was a soultrap that prevented his release into the next world, and allowed me to repay my debt to him. I experimented with Baranir and a lesser soul to see if indeed my methods could work, and a member of the Society watched over him in between. Our family can stay together forever. Alive or dead we have them with us, teaching us. We need never fear death, never will cruel misfortunes drive us apart, and we can continue on hopefully for centuries with the ones we love.

With our magic we can cast off the shackles of this short life and the oppression of tyrants. While we may never be fully accepted wherever we travel, we will strive to be acceptable wherever we are, finding ourselves in the process. As the sun treks across the sky, so will we trek across the land. Daily as Magnus passes by it embraces the world with warmth. The fingers of light caress the world and give it life, but the time always comes that the sun must continue on. We will shine like the sun. Where we go we will spread a new life, we will help the unfortunate who have been denied their livelihood and fair chance at happiness. Like the sun, we cannot always stay in place, but we will never have to fear our destination because we will teach each other how to dwell there. The sun however walks a lonely path through the heavens, but there will never be a day for us without fellowship and love. We have it in our power to begin the world over again.

Return to us, son. Come back home when your duties allow. There is a grand journey to complete, to seal your commitment to our family. Your great-grandfather has traveled from Silvenar to Falinesri to Stros M'Kai to Wayrest to Evermore. Your grandfather traveled from Evermore to Dragonstar to Chorrol to the Imperial City to Gideon. I traveled from Gideon to Stormhold to Tear to Necrom and now reside in Dagon Fel. It is for you to return to Valenwood by way of the Imperial City and whatever interests you along the way. You will meet the Society there and they will copy our notes on the process, and they will give you a staff to be used in the process, in addition to giving you shelter and supplies for your journey. Finally, you must perform the ceremony when you return to our ancestral homelands. The Society will help you there too, and we will be with you every step of the way.

Upon you rest our hopes, dreams, futures, and love. There will never be a day when I don't love you, son. The completion of this journey represents our generational travels, and the knowledge we have gained from our travels through life. This path you will journey plants the footprints in the dust of our symbol of infinity. Returning to where it started, we will walk together in an infinite wanderlust.

-Father

Epilogue


Malpen Sceriu,
Office of Records and Research
Raven Spring, High Rock

This is one of the most interesting finds I've ever seen! You must tell me how you came across it. Usually these kinds of books are found in larger cities where someone is trying to sell them for exorbitant prices, and yet you came across it during your research fellowship in little Raven Spring. You must have done something right; your career is on the fast track now.

I've just gotten the letters back from the offices in Gideon, Evermore, and the representative in Falinesri. Apparently the last thing we have record of that might confirm a part of the story is the Fire of Gideon. It was in the hall of records that this fire happened in 3E 256. There was a bishop named Procis who was there during that time, but these are just lies the author spews about him. He was given sainthood when he was sixty years old for his devotion to spreading the good truth about the love of Mara. Because of him, the Argonians resisted the rule of the Empire less and less as they assimilated into out culture.

I'm not familiar enough with the history of Leyawiin to determine who the Count would have been at that time, but we have someone down there working on it. That long ago though I wouldn't know if the city itself was at all the same. It might have been just the fort and the shanty town on the banks of the river, not the port that we have now.

The author clearly lies over and over again about the provinces. You can't have people who are non-Argonians wandering into the central swamps of the Black Marsh as easily as what he said the Fighters guild members did, or the Count and his troops on horseback. They could have been on more of a fringe to all that, but how could they survive it? Our man in Gideon spent years acclimating himself to make sure he was resistant enough to live even there, and he'd never heard of this technique with the shaman. Unless the author was a part of that Society he keeps mentioning, but the concept of it seems so ridiculous that I can't imagine upstanding citizens taking it seriously.

It seems the bastard, even if he was telling a bit of truth, was delusional about his own family. Take a bite of this one: people are being sold as six slaves in town, his father buys a servant, he wants children, he gets a child. His mother was one of these six slaves and he was too dumb to see it. Poor fool I suppose. And his secondary source of income is pimping his wife, so he gets someone else to screw so he won't wear out the dark elf. You notice that he never mentioned having his mother's soul as part of his undead family? His dad couldn't have loved her that much. Even so, how did he even have his father's and grandfather's souls? His father would have had to have stabbed himself in the attic and left that blood trail he mentioned when the soldiers dragged him downstairs. The author didn't even give a way for him to have gotten his grandfather's soul, I bet it would have been that tired excuse that "the Society did it".

The war he spoke of was according to our man in Evermore around 3E 225, and it was over a small section of land near a lake where the King of Evermore wanted to build a hunting lodge. There was a month of minor skirmishes before he got his way, but perhaps it was better known back then. It seems like a joke now.

We can also confirm that there was a visit by an imperial delegation to Falinesri around 3E 182. Officially it was a visit from the Duke of Heersaw County to convince the Wood Elves to put direct roads throughout the province for use of the Empire. Through a note in the margin a scribe recorded that the Duke was trying to get away from his wife for a few weeks. I hear six with a Wood Elf can be wild.

A supposed network of mages in cities all over Tamriel couldn't have been so coordinated and remained so secret. I think it much more likely that he mentioned them so often because he was trying to initiate such an organization and wanted to show that it had validity already. That being said, I also don't think this was copied from an actual letter to a person. It's my theory that this was written as a historical fiction that incorporated a few real events and names in such a way to shape a perspective on the world.

This account would then be spread around to recruit people who are weak. Those who had just lost someone they loved, those who regret foul murder and seek tangible absolution, those who fear death and wish to live forever, and all manner of other promises. And who cares if they can actually provide those things? Once they're in the cult, they're in too deep to leave. Those events are minor enough though that I'd assume the person writing this propaganda was quite an amateur. It makes you wonder how gullible the people must have been back then to fall for this nonsense. Surely people had common sense at some point. Then again we haven't heard of any such Society or seen this book before, so it could be that everyone saw through the ruse.

Mostly this seems to be a storied attack on conventions of the Empire as laid out in the Pocket Guide. By striking at it, he strikes at our knowledge of the empire, to make the common man question his place and long to travel! To discover if this is all true. Though in its day the pocket guide caused uproar over particularities, it has since been proven mostly accurate and trustworthy. The places described in it are shown such that while they are mysterious and interesting, the difficulties of traveling there make it prohibitively so. People may then continue their work while knowing something of the work around them. Shall this [censored]son Wood Elf destroy their world of knowledge?

That's beside the point at the moment though; you've been credited with a major find. The paperwork for this one is a bit long so you won't receive it (I expect) until three days after you receive this letter, but the Chancellor has decided to appoint you Steward of the Inquiry on this case! This is wonderful news! You'll be provided a reasonable estate in the area of your choice; you'll have several servants appointed to you, and a dozen men at arms in your direct service! Whoever you prayed to for this book is showering you with gifts.

You probably expected this, but the Chancellor did decree yesterday that the book was to be added to the list of subversive literature. The original copy you found will be placed in the Library of Deceit with a small ceremony soon I expect in the Imperial City so other scribes and officers may know the tricks and lies that rotten scoundrels will tell. Your first assignment then as a Steward of Inquiry I expect will be to seek out and destroy every copy of this you can find. Of course the local boards will be alerted about it, but the faith of the Chancellor is such that he believes if you can find one, you can find more. With any luck you will find a whole stash of subversive texts and find yourself a powerful man very quickly.

Across the empire the problem of subversive texts is becoming quite a dilemma, methods may be stepping up. Long ago it was just fines and a stint in the stocks, but this light treatment never took hold so we tried simply burning the books and running the offenders out of town, but you are likely going to have to do more. The prescribed method will now be putting out their eyes and selling all they own. They will then be handed over to the local magistrate for judgment according to the severity of their crime. Never fear though, your men at arms will take care of all the business dealing with that. You will be occupied with the leisure of travel and all the wonderful towns to see. Women flock to powerful men, you'll have your choice of the lot every night at the tavern.

Prepare your bags, Melpen! Your life of adventure awaits!

Seguri Vinipter,
Office of Records and Research
Imperial City
14th of Rain's Hand, 3E 412





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Last part, promise. Thanks for reading, and I'm working on my next one. It's about a blind beggar living in a shipping town on the northeast coast of High Rock. Hopefully it will be a comedy, but I'm not sure it qualifies yet.

The beginning (first two paragraphs) does its job of introducing a sort of mystery: guilt, possibly murder. I was hooked successfully.

Your language is good, the pace constant. I've seen no spelling/grammar errors.

"The king in those days was a figurehead of authority, someone to throw at the Imperials when they came to call."
I love that sentence. It shows you what how little the Imperial authority means to the Bosmer.

The Bosmer spread lies about their customs. Interesting. Never thought of the Bosmer cannibalism as a planted rumour. Makes sense though.

Um... I had some difficulty understanding this. I think the Imperials came to the Bosmer court but then someone is taking Thaer captive and I'm not sure who.
You mention a group of three but they are very vague. And then there is talk of treason. What did Thaer do exactly?

"...a storm parted the skies allowing a rain to spread itself upon the land."
Quite poetic. Very enjoyable.

This text is definitely not written in the usual way. Which is why the effort of going through the hard parts is well spent.

The letter form of the text makes the reader sepparated from the story. On one approach: it's hard to really absorb the characters, on the other, this gives me a way to appreciate it more. Very very good job.



"He employed your grandfather to produce..."
That made me confused. You've been talking about a grandfather all this time but it was the narrator's grandfather. Now it is the grandfather of the person reading the letter. A whole new generation, yet the way you use the same word for two different characters made it somewhat confusing.

This text needs to be read slowly. Surprisingly, this makes it that much more authentic if you try to imagine reading a letter. You don't read a letter like you would read a story. You take time with the letter, seeing not only words but the thoughts behind them. It makes it that much more believable.

Your writing is most eloquent. It makes me feel like reading some old novel. You don't see many fanfics written this way, making it that much more valuable.

"With a servant waiting to fetch the knightly guilds, they practiced that which is unapproved in the commonplace among discerning citizens, and proceeded to commune with the dead."
This is Necromancy you speak of, correct? This story is beginning to reveal its core.

I assume you played Daggerfall. If so, this story has given me more information about High Rock than anything else before. I'm planning to write something happening in High Rock and since I've never played Daggerfall, your text is by far the biggest information resource so far. And it's much easier to imagine it from the way you write.

Wow. How quickly this family falls into trouble. I feel sorry for them.

"The business Godras built was burned just after the guard threw his parents through the front door."
Threw them out or in the house?
Oh... In the house I guess. Jeez, these Bretons are cruel!

I will read the remaining chapters later. So far, I'm fairly impressed. It's hard to find enjoyable fanfics, ones that do not re-tell the main quests over and over again. I thought I was alone in that. Now I have company.

P.S.: I have a hunch on who is reading this letter. But I will wait to read it whole until I say it loud. Don't want to embarass myself.

Truly excellently written. I don't tend to browse the TES fanfics all that much, but just glancing at this I decided to read it all the way through. Bravo, good sir, and I do believe I'll be reading whatever you put up next.

Well, the family curse does it again. I'm beginning to wonder what is it about this family that people hate.
The way he killed that boy to fake his own death. I like the way it is both cruel and necessary. No one in purely evil or good in a real world.

I'm rather disappointed that it was all fake. Unless it wasn't.

All things aside, it was a good read. Your style is very elegant and you came up with many new detail on your own.
Many fanfic writers could learn from you, myself included.

Thanks! Don't believe everything the writer of the letter tells you though, he's lying about some things. I like to give madmen their soapboxes, and letters let him control the viewpoint entirely.

His style of politics is to adapt himself to the personality of whoever he is dealing with, so when this event came along where he had to meet with everyone he deals with at once, it was like he had multiple personalities. It caught up with him. The imperials coming was just the occassion to bring all these tribal leaders together at once.

That's part of the effect of me thinking of this as a religious work. It also takes place a long while before the events of Morrowind or Oblivion, so I wanted some of it to seem like an old style of writing.

I do that to try to keep establishing the relationship between the person this letter is addressed to and the people talked about in the story. I'll look at all that again to make it easier to see.

I supposed they wouldn't come out and say necromancy though, so I tried to avoid the word. At the beginning of the first chapter the writer says he had long talks with his grandfather, so when his grandfather is killed in the second chapter which took place before he was born, you knew he practiced Necromancy as well.

Yeah, I played and loved Daggerfall. Don't forget that the writer of the letter is bitter about what happened though, so don't treat the Bretons too harshly.

Thankyou much. I'm working on the next one, but kind of slowly.

Think of this as a religious work, like the book of Acts of the Apostles. The empire can see that this kind of thing would be dangerous, that you can do anything and find forgiveness through Necromancy. Or if anything terrible happens to you, you can have justice through Necromancy. The characters are from all walks of life and treat people in various different ways, but they become somewhat enlightened once they realize the true nature of life and death.

My view on it though is that the events happened, but the letter was calculated for a dual purpose. To try and get his son to come back, and as propaganda. The zombie sent to deliver the letter was supposed to kill the son if he outright refused. The empire coming across this that many years later couldn't prove it, so they just decided to get rid of it.