Prologue Part 1

It was not long after the first vernal breeze touched the sailors’ faces, when the massive profile of Vvardenfell lying along the horizon caught the eyes of the lookout. As the news spread across the ship, every sailor, weary but triumphant, was immersed in a sea of joy. Hats and headpieces were tossed into the air; the best barrels of wine saved only for the day were unsealed, and shared among the company.

Amid the celebrating crowd also stood a band of armor-clad, weapon wielding soldiers – the passengers of the ship. Though not unacquainted with traveling on water, they too were excited about the ending of such tedious trip. These Imperials were being transferred to the Imperial Legion of Vvardenfell, whose headquarters, the grand fort of Ebonhart, was the final destination of the journey. The Imperials were in much control of the towns and strongholds in Vvardenfell, especially on the west side of the land. They were fair and loyal, and gifted with the ability to charm another person into admiration. Many were masters of blades, armors and shields, which were to be carried and cherished all the time. However, among the soldiers on the ship, Herald was rather an exception. He wore no armor, and bore no shield or sword; instead he had a bow on his shoulder. Imperial archers were not unusual in Vvardenfell, but being the only archer on the ship was not without a reason: he was a scout. Soldiers like him, gifted with sight sharp as that of a hawk and limbs nimble as those of a deer, were sought by the Legion to be the eyes and ears of the commanders. But no matter how talented, he was no more than a newly recruited young lad, just like everyone else beside him. He was glad to be a scout. Running his fingers through his dark and abundant hair, which he kept clean thanks to not having to wear a helmet, he even felt sorry for the other lads covered by the shinny Imperial armors, sweat, and a foul-smelling odor. Like the slaves freed by the Nerevarine, he thought.

The soldiers knew little, if at all, about their new world, except their captain who used to serve in Ebonhart for a few years. He had been telling the soldiers about his experience during the idle hours of the trip. Even though a captain is not necessarily an excellent storyteller, his listeners often found themselves lost in the vision of the wonderland.

“Vvardenfell is now a much better place than five years ago,” once said the captain, sipping on his cup of Cyrodiilic Brandy, which often left a drop or two on his sloppy beard.

“Well there was a hero; we called him the ‘Nerevarine’. He had the strength of more than ten guars together, and his power dwarfed every mage in the whole Morrowind. He had a sword that would kill any wielder instantly except for him, and a bow that shoots out great lightening bolts from the heaven. He can walk in the mid-air or on the top of water, or stay under it for days without having to breathe… He helped many folks through the darkest of their days, and was the savior of many slaves in the barbaric far-east.”

The captain’s face was shining with a reddish hue as he became excited about the legend (or perhaps due to the Brandy?). Much satisfied by the wonders in the wide opened eyes around him, he continued: “And there was this devil, Dagoth Ur, who committed all the evil deeds in Morrowind. He dwelt in the deep heart of the Red Mountain; his spies and assassins were all over Vvardenfell.

“Then it was the Nerevarine who fought his way through the herds of monsters and ghosts in the Red Mountain, and was finally facing Dagoth Ur himself…” The captain stopped and took another sip at his favorite drink; the hunger for the story’s ending that filled every soldier’s face brought him much delight.

He would then spend another hour to describe how horrifying the monster looked and how Nerevarine fought furiously with it and eventually won the battle, killing the dreadful lord. We don’t have to assume the captain’s tales to be accurate, since he had only heard from gossips passed along from town to town; but the image of such heroic figure was engraved deeply into the hearts of the young soldiers.

And that was what Herald fantasized about at the moment. He turned to his friend, an Imperial swordsman who joined the Legion together with Herald. “Beren,” he said, “do you think we’ll meet the Nerevarine one day?”

“I can’t say,” Beren answered, “I hope he is still in Vvardenfell and is willing to reveal himself; but did you not hear the captain saying, that no one had seen him ever since the downfall of Dagoth Ur?”

Herald fell silent. Then he said with an amused smile: “I don’t really believe in everything he said; there are a lot of contradictions in his tales. I think the whereabouts of the Nerevarine shall ONLY be known by the folks of higher ranks – you know, perhaps those who concocted the entire story.” Both burst out hearty laughter. Herald liked his friend – a short-framed and good-natured lad with whom he grew up in the hometown. They always seemed to share the same opinion and judgments, although sometimes Herald wouldn’t even believe himself.

Nice, D. I like it. I think I've already said this at the official forums, but if I haven't I have now. When do you plan on the next update?

I read this first part!
This sounds great and very nice to read too!

I always liked Scouts... they had a certain quality to them unmatched by anyone else!
Now I'm kind of mad that I said anything about being too much... I want more lol!!! But, I can wait. Thanks for Writing!

OOC: thank you for the comments. If you any negative comments please state them too, even in terms of grammar since English isn't my first language which is Chinese. Also you might want to pay close attention to Herald's personality, it plays an important role later on in the story.

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A few days later on a sunny morning, the ship finally docked at Ebonhart. The soldiers looked up in awe at the magnificent castle, and they were stepping on each other’s heels as they walked into the courtyard in a line – certainly not a straight one. With one side opened to the dock, the courtyard was surrounded by walls and towers built with neatly trimmed grey stones. Though ancient and eroded by countless turns of seasons they had endured, they were still standing upright firmly against the smashing waves of the Inner Sea. Once polished surfaces were now covered by cavities here and there like eyes of gods watching the mortals walking by. Bronze rings and lanterns hanging on the walls added nothing but a sense of graveness. There were many doors but none was labeled, as though any extra decoration would ruin the solemnity of the fort. However the most grandiose figure was the bronze statue in the center of the courtyard. It was a dragon twisting around a spike, with its gigantic wings and clawed feet swinging in midair, as though soaring to the sky. No one – or at least no one among the new soldiers – knew the implication of the statue, though the eastward direction that the dragon’s head pointed to might have symbolized the reverence for the Temple and Lord Vivec. But that was far beyond Herald’s knowledge at the moment.

Herald was surprised by the peace and dullness in a seaport of such importance; no traders, craftsmen, sailors, or even training soldiers were to be seen. There were only Imperial guards patrolling around the courtyard. They wore black light armors and held wooden shields decorated with silver edges and golden figures; their eyes fixed to the distance, as though no one had just arrived; their shiny steel boots stumping the stone pavement were the only sounds to be heard in the vicinity. Nevertheless, the arrival of the soldiers had brought much disturbance to the silence.

The captain led them across the bridge towards the heart of the castle. What caught their sight instantly was a building with a totally distinct appearance from others: it had only two stories, one built with stones and the other with wood and painted white; all the windows had wooden frames, and some were extruding out of the walls. Vines were dangling from the roof, and to the right of the building was the only tree to be seen within Ebonhart. Strange, thought Herald, this house must be occupied by people of great influence.

Passed the lovely dwelling of the “important folks”, even the air seemed frozen as they walked deeper into the fort. The walls were taller and guards were patrolling on the catwalk; every piece of stone seemed colder and heavier. The gloomy surrounding reminded the soldiers of nothing but a prison. Finally they stopped in a small courtyard, in which a bald headed man was waiting for them. He was tall and bulky; a studded leather cuirass enhanced by interlaced steel rings fit tightly on his torso.

“It’s good to see you again, Briring.” The captain greeted him, “And even better to finally have my feet on the solid ground!”

Briring did not reply immediately. He stood motionless and watched the captain trying to settle the soldiers into a nicer formation. “Is that it?” said bald-headed man to the captain, “are these half-baked fools all they have for us?”

Before the captain had a chance to answer, the soldiers had already burst out fumes of anger. “We are not fools,” cried a soldier of around 20 years old, “we have dignity. And no matter whoever you are, you had better respect it!”

“That’s right!” cried two other soldiers, seeming to be friends of the first. “We shall not be looked down at, by either friends or foes!” The rest of the men started to boil as well, though not crying out like the trio.

“Silent!” A ferocious roar brought the complaints to a sudden end. The three soldiers who were defending their dignity fell unconscious to the ground, and the rest were shocked by the power. Through his past experience fighting the Necromancers, the captain could tell that it was the sound-burst spell, but he could not understand how Briring cast three times without any preparation. Though not a spell-caster himself, he knew that there were only a few ways in which the mages cast spells. They may touch and hurt the enemies or throw fireballs at them with their hands, or enchant the spells on their weapons to cast as they hit the target. The first manner would take longer time, for the hands of the caster must perform gestures for different spells. Some mages, though, who were masters of certain spells, were able to cast them as their minds simply commanded, which could have been what Briring just did. However, the captain could not explain how Briring could make such an achievement in just a few months while he was abroad.

“Who do you think you are?” said Briring, while looking down at the terrified soldiers. “When the battles come, you won’t be any more useful than the petty rats! They struggle for nothing but their own lives, and so will you. There is no such thing as dignity for you footmen, only life or death! Now report to Ingokning in the Skyrim mission. One by one. Caelius,” he summoned one of the patrolling guards, “take these rats to the healer.” Then off he walked into the garrison. The captain watched the guards dragging the unconscious soldiers away, sighed and followed Briring. He knew those soldiers had lost their hearing and thus would be discharged from the Imperial Legion.

Herald and Beren couldn’t believe what they had just seen. “That was harsh!” whispered Beren to Herald. “I’ve never expected the legion in Vvardenfell to be like this. But the captain, he must know the difference between the legions here and back in the hometown, why didn’t he tell us about it?”

Herald pondered for a moment, said: “I don’t think he expected to see that either. I saw his puzzled face when the man was raging against the poor folks. From the way they spoke to each other, it seems to me that his rank is not much higher than the captain. And perhaps they knew each other very well.”

“Herald, You always see every little thing around you,” Beren smiled with admiration, “and that makes you a perfect scout.”

Feeling a little flattered, Herald also smiled and said: “That’s indeed what my father had always tried to make me to do. Some times he asked me during dinner, what was on this dinner table yesterday morning, or where his baby Kwama was when we were splitting wood.”

“And what would happen if you couldn’t answer?” Said Beren, hoping to hear how Herald’s father would torture him.

“Well, there would be another long day of splitting wood!”

Ahh, I see you've decided to post things more slowly now. Amusingly enough, I managed to get to this point earlier when I read this. I have to say you got an intriguing beginning to the story so far. I can see this going in many directions and I look forward to seeing which you'll pick.

of course I'm picking the direction that you don't expect after so many years of nurturing by southpark I think I can manage it haha

Yes! Nice addition.
I have no idea where you're going but!
I still know this is a story taking place on Tamriel!
HA! I have figured it out!!!

The door in front of them creaked and opened; a guard stepped out and called for the next one in line. It was Herald’s turn. He followed the guard into the building mentioned by the bald-headed man, the Skyrim Mission. When his eyes adapted to the dim light cast from the candles above, he found himself in a great hall, whose walls and floor were covered by gorgeous carpets. In front of him was a middle-aged woman standing in an elegant robe, with a book and a pen in her hands.

“What is your name, lad?” said the woman, with a voice firm and yet soothing.

“Herald Feariin,” said Herald, trying to stay confident.

“How old are you?”

“Six-teen.”

“And what is your classification in the legion?”

“Imperial Scout, trained in marksman, athletics and short blades.”

“What is your birth sign?”

“The tower.”

“The tower?” The woman seemed amazed. Everyone is born under a sign. Though initially he would not appear differently from others, but when properly guided by experienced trainers, he would manifest exotic powers granted by the stars. But even more importantly, was that a scout with a sign of Tower, which brings the bearer extraordinary perception of his surrounding, would be an advantageous combination.

“Very good.” she spoke as an idea came to her mind, “now take this paper, go through the door behind you to your right, and take it to Heidmir.” She tore off the page that she was writing on, stamped it with her ring, and handed it to Herald.

Bewildered, he took the paper and followed her direction. In the room that he was told to enter, was a large table, behind which sat a man. He was also bald-headed, but had a brown beard railing along his jaw. Though also decorated by carpets, the room looked rather empty.

“Greetings,” said the man, “who are you?”

“I am Herald Feariin,” said Herald, “I just arrived from the Isles of Zune, a new transfer. Ingokning told me to bring this to Heidmir.”

“I am Heidmir.” Said the man, and took the paper. When Heidmir was reading it, Herald took a glance at the table. It was rather clustered, by silver pitchers, plates, cups and bowls, and two silver candlesticks, which made it more like a dinner table. In the front, however, was something Herald did not expect to see: a skull.

“Very well,” said Heidmir, “I can see that you are very gifted, and the Imperial Legion needs someone like you. Now, let me ask you a question.” Heidmir paused, raised himself and looked into Herald’s eyes. “Do you know about the Blades?”

Herald was shocked: of course he knew about the Blades. He could never forget how his father told him, when he was dying, that he must find a way into the Blades to retrieve the family artifact, the “Feariin Spirit”. The image of his father again emerged before Herald, a man intelligent and brave, yet poor and deaf. He often sat with Herald on the edge of the rocky cliff, where no one cared to come, and told him the story about the Feariin Spirit.

“It’s a long sword,” once said the father, “looking no different from the common weapons carried by the guards; yet it contains a big secret. I don’t know what it is; neither does your grand father. He had tried all he could to find out the secret, but nothing had been accomplished before it was gone. That was the year when I was twelve, in a cloudy morning.” The father stared into the horizon, as if the scene had reappeared in the distance.

“When I woke up, the house was strangely quiet. I did not smell the breakfast being cooked, or hear anyone speaking. I entered my parents’ room, and found my mother laying on the floor, slain; my father was barely alive, but all he told me before he died, was that ‘they’ had taken the Feariin Spirit, and I must join the Blades to find it back, and take vengeance for the slaughter. I did what he said, joined the Imperial Legion, and tried my best to enter the blades. But it was in vain. During a mission against a gang of Necromancers, I got hit by a sound burst spell, and lost my hearing. Then I was discharged from the Legion, never got a chance to carry out a single deed about the Blades and the artifact.”

Herald’s father had kept in secret the way to identify the artifact, though, fearing that someone else would take advantage. Only till he realized that his days had ended, and that Herald had grown, he unveiled the secret to his son.

Herald had a feeling that the Blades was about to open its door for him. “Yes,” he answered, “I have heard this name in the taverns. There are rumors all around, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Well,” said Heidmir, “here in Vvardenfell, the Blades are the secret agents of the Emperor. They are under the Emperor’s direct control, serving as his eyes and ears in the provinces. No wonder it stirred up fear and speculations among the multitude. However, that’s all I can tell you at the moment. You are scout, and you were born under a sign of Tower, which is very suitable for the tasks that the Blades shall face. So, my question is, do you want to join the Blades?”

Herald could feel his heart beating: what denied his father life long now had opened to him so easily. “It is my honor to serve the Emperor.” He said, trying to appear calm. But his little tricks had no effect on Heidmir who has been recruiting Blades all his life.

“I’m glad, young man, to hear about your faith for the Emperor, and I can see you are very excited too. Before you become a Novice of the Blades, however, you must be initiated by Caius Cosades in Balmora. He is one of the spymasters of the Blades, aged and wise, so be respectful when you speak to him. He is always in common clothes and lives in a humble house, but you can ask around in the town to find out where he is. I will write a letter, which you must take to him; otherwise he will not reveal himself.” Heidmir sat down and started writing.

Herald was still standing as straight as he could, unsure about his future. Now, I have done everything my father planned. He thought, what’s next then? How should I find out where the sword is? He never gave me any clues. Perhaps I should just keep going, and see where it leads. He looked down, and saw the skull again. It was well preserved; some regions on its forehead were dark-brown, as if it had been burned. Then Herald noticed that the dark-brown bone fragments formed a faint pattern of two horns.

“Take these letters,” said Heidmir, “one to Caius Cosades, and the other to Agning in the Six Fishes. He will provide you the supplies that you will need on the road. And here,” he handed Herald a few sheets of paper, “is the direction to Balmora and a map of Ebonhart. You can rest at Six Fishes tonight, and begin tomorrow. Be careful on the journey, there could be dangerous animals along the way. Use your wit.”

“Thank you,” said Herald, and bid farewell to the old man.

“One last thing,” said Heidmir, “you should always keep your identity as a soldier of Imperial Legion, or even better, a common man if possible. No one, including other Blades members unless necessary, shall know that you will be a member of the Blades. You will take the oath of secrecy at Caius’s, but for now, be very careful.”

Herald was in a hurry to see his friend Beren, but he found no one in the courtyard when he rushed out the Skyrim mission. It was still as quiet as always, except the tut-tut sound from the guard’s steel boots.

“Excuse me!” He said to the guard, “do you know where the other soldiers went?”

“They have left, they were sent to Fort Darius on a ship.”

Herald felt lost without his friend. But he had nothing to do about it; he was a soldier, and only a soldier. Now let’s find out what Agning has for me. He thought, and walked away to look for the Six Fishes.

He followed the map given by Heidmir, and soon realized that Six Fishes was just the strange building that he saw a few hours ago. Now I shall discover who those important folks are. He thought.

He opened the door with his inbred curiosity. “It’s a tavern!” was the surprise for Herald. There were soldiers and sailors drinking by the tables and talking aloud, and there was tavern music and the charming fragrance of aged wine. In contrast with the depressing silence outside, it was a garden of joy.

“Well met!” The bartender greeted him, “What may I do for you, sera?”

“Eh… I’m just looking for Agning, and I have a letter for him from Heidmir.”

“I am Agning. Ah! I guess he’s sending you to fetch some supplies from me!” The bartender smiled, and took the letter.

“Alright… items for restoring fatigue, health, curing common disease… well, I say all you need is food.” He picked out the goods from the baskets behind him as he read the letter.

“These are bread and Nixhound meat, for ‘restoring fatigue’; this is marshmarrow, it will cure small wounds. Oh have you had any of them? No? Sounds like you are new to here, outlander. And… potion of cure common disease, I doubt you will need it, but just for safety purpose. Also… one hundred gold pieces.”

“One hundred?” Herald was surprised, “am I going to need that much?”

“Well,” Agning looked out of the window, “may I ask where you are heading?”

“Sure.” Herald handed him the map.

“Ah… to Vivec on foot then ride the silt strider to Balmora. The silt strider will cost thirteen or fifteen Septims, depending on the weather; and I think the rest will be for your free spending, which is very generous of old Heidmir. Keep it, and use it wisely.”

Herald thanked him, and packed up the supplies. Then he realized a problem: he had no weapons. He had a bow, but no arrows; his short sword was taken from him by the legion before he left the islands of Zune.
I could use the extra gold pieces on something sharp, he thought, and then asked Agning: “Do you have weapons that I can buy?”

“I don’t sell weapons… but you may try the garrison. That’s where the weapons are maintained.”

“Blessed be your kindness!” said Herald, “We shall meet again!”

In the garrison, Herald found his weapons from the smithy working for the Imperial Legion. He bought a steel short sword and twenty steel arrows, which cost all of his gold except a few for the silt strider. Then he returned to the tavern for his first rest on the solid ground since a month ago, and by the time the sun rose, he was all ready.

Hey! Nice addition.
I can kind of see where this might go now. Very intresting little story there; with all that mess and what not.
It's good indeed. I'm glad to see the Blades in it now and what not!
Btw, where is the island of Zune?

lol island of zune is nowhere. It's a little island in the sea between vvardenfell and the main land. as you can see later on, I added tons of content that's not in the game.

btw I don't think you are really seeing where the story might go I haven't given enough clues yet

Prologue Part 2

It was a pleasant day for Herald. A brief rain in the early morning, which was a common weather in the region, turned the ancient walls of the fortress into dark grey; the sky was still hiding behind the clouds, but bright sunlight breached though the fissure, leaving blurry traces across the misty air. The sea was glittering under the sunlight, as though someone had sprinkled thousands of golden beans on the water. Growling waves slapped and brushed the shore, bringing sea breezes mingled with the fragrance of ocean, and the sweet, still fresh memory of Herald’s home town. He left Ebonhart through the north gate, and began his journey on the vast soil of Vvardenfell.

Only a few dozens of steps away from the gate, he heard the sound of quarrelling from behind. He looked back through the morning mist, and saw an Imperial guard dragging a man with a long tail and a head of a jaguar.

“What are you grabbing me for? Let me go!” said the jaguar man, but the guard seized his hands and kept him from struggling.

“I will,” said the guard, “but not yet. Not until you return what you’ve stolen from me.”

“I didn’t steal anything. Let me go you wicked scamp…”

“Wicked scamp? Listen, this is Ebonhart, not some farm town. I'll show you how wicked we are…”he paused, as though noticing some slipped words. He quickly searched the clothes of his screaming captive, and seemed to have found what he wanted.

“Now get lost! If I see you again, there shall be iron bars between us!” The guard said, and walked back into the fortress.

This guard is quite merciful. Thought Herald, Stealing from an Imperial fort? What a dire crime.

The jaguar man stumbled towards Herald along the muddy path, mumbling something that seems only he could understand.

“Ah ha, so you are here waiting to catch me, admirable 'chief' of the great Imperial Legion,” said the jaguar man as he saw Herald, “now how about making a deal with me; let me go and I’ll let you have my loot.”

“I’m not here to catch you,” Said Herald, trying not to laugh, “and I believe the guard has already taken your loot away.”

“No, not at all. See, I’m not like those common thieves; they are too lame even to be called thieves. When I steal, I always know what I want; if I know what I want, I’ll have replicas of what I want. All he had taken was the fake one. Now, if you let me go, you can have the real one.” As he said, he took out a soul gem and let it glow under Herald’s eyes.

“I’m not here to arrest you,” Said Herald, “and I don’t want your loot either. Look, if you tricked the guard with the fake one, how can I be sure that the one you give me is real?”

“Clever head,” Said the jaguar man, and took a good look at Herald. “if you are not here to catch me, what are you doing? Oh I see, you are a thief too, disguised as a soldier, right? Yea, that must be so. Now stay away from me. Don’t even think about my soul gem… Well, you do look like one of those lame thieves. Sanja is not afraid of you…”

Herald had never seen such unreasonable person in his life. He decided to change the subject of the conversation, otherwise the jaguar man might be eventually calling him a “scamp”, or even something worse. “So did you say your name was Sanja?” He asked.

“Yes, I’m Sanja, and Sanja is me. Well, I must be going, to Balmora. Where are you going? You can come with me if you want to, just stay away from my soul gem… I’ll sell it to the mages, for a lot of money… Then it’ll be time for some well earned Skooma… ha ha!”

Herald had nothing to say. I’m going to Balmora too, he thought, this is indeed a difficult company to travel with, but it could be better than traveling alone.

Sanja always walked behind Herald, in fear of losing his soul gem; Herald, on the other hand, had never worried about having a thief around him, and he certainly had nothing Sanja would be interested in. He’d rather enjoy the beautiful scenery of the seashore, or inspect the wild plants growing aside the road that he had never seen. Unlike his hometown, Vvardenfell seemed to have many more trees, and Herald could only recognize a few of them. One was Hathel, whose trunks are stocky but get thinner near the top, as in the shape of a broad sword; the other one was Tadorna, which were always split into two branches near the root, and therefore often mistaken as two trees. Both throve in Herald’s hometown, where people built houses with Tadorna for its unswerving shape and sturdy fibers, and carpentered furnishings with Hathel for its fine texture. Between the trees, various bushes grew in clusters over the short grass and mosses. Some were taller and reaching out broad and sharp-edged leaves, while others were smaller in size but larger in number. Some bushes were blooming, with either purple flowers shaped like stars, or bunch of pink sprouts, or cluster of small yellow florets, and all were releasing pleasant fragrance into the air. The most fascinating plants for Herald, though, were the gigantic mushrooms rising three times as high as him. Herald remembered the Captain speaking of them, and naming them the Telda.

Finally the clouds had retreated from the sky at noon, and sunshine started pouring through the thin layers of leaves. The path began to deviate from the seashore and cut deeper into the woods, and the air grew moist and warm as the muddy path was heated by the sun, making Herald difficult to breathe. He stopped and turned back, and said: “Sanja, let’s walk by the seashore, the steamy air is making me weary.”

The moisture did not trouble Sanja at all, since his ancestors had long lived in the thriving jungles of Elsweyr; but what had been troubling him was his stomach. “Sanja is hungry,” he said, “Sanja needs food. Do you have anything to eat?”

“Yes, I do.” Herald opened his pack and handed Sanja some Nixhound meat.

Sanja put the dried meat under his nose and smelled at it, then tossed it away. “This is disgusting,” he said, “must be from the moldy warehouse in the Imperial Garrison. Let’s go to the seashore, a feast is waiting for us!”

The seashore was in fact only forty or fifty yards away. Herald noticed that this portion of the shore was gentle and flat, with seaweeds, pebbles and large rocks scattered all over the sandy beach. “It feels much better here,” he said, “and I will stop and have my lunch…”

Suddenly Sanja started running towards a lump of rock sitting quietly by the edge of water, leaving the bewildered Herald behind. As he approached the “rock” covered by mud and sand, much of Herald’s surprise, it began to raise itself. A pair of huge claws appeared from under the creature, and Herald could also see its short legs stretching out, ready for battle. Sanja kept a short distance from the creature, while strafing left and right, attempting to seduce his opponent to attack.

Herald had just realized that the creature was a mudcrab, though looked quite different from what he had seen at home. He had been hunting for them before he was recruited, but they were smaller and did not have the massive carapaces on their back, therefore much easier to penetrate with spears. Now he wanted to see how sanja would kill it with bare hands.

Suddenly the mudcrab rose upon its front legs, and its claws thrusted towards sanja and clapped. Sanja stepped backwards, still looking for an opportunity. The creature roared in rage, and advanced towards its enemy. Sanja didn’t wait longer, he took a jab with his clawed hand at the mudcrab, and just as it leapt up and attacked he quickly slid to its back, where the mudcrab had left unprotected. At the same time Sanja grabbed the edge of the carapace, lifted with all his strength and turned the mudcrab over. Lying on its bulky carapace, the mudcrab could only swing its legs and claws hopelessly in the air, what once was its protection now became its doom.

“Well done!” said Herald, “This mudcrab is huge, and truly ferocious!”

“Indeed!” Sanja raised himself and smiled with pride, “claws and daggers are all we have; yet no Imperials, with however elegant swords and amours, shall defeat us! Rise, the talented Khajiits of Elsweyr!”
Listening to Sanja’s prideful acclamation, Herald laughed in his heart. For God’s sake! He thought, all you have defeated is just a mudcrab.

After a refreshing lunch of crab meat, the travelers set out on their journey again. They had a few conversations, mainly with Sanja complaining about the wickedness of the Imperials. Herald kept Heidmir’s words in mind, so he replied with caution, and carefully hid his identity from Sanja. His weapons were wrapped up in clothes before leaving the fort, and they were now carried on Herald’s back like a bedroll. When the sky was painted red by the setting sun, they decided to find a resting place in the outskirts of the woods. They set up beds with grass and leaves, and had a brief supper with Herald’s preserved food. As the night grew old, the twin moons hanging on the tip of the trees glowed with a pale light. Even though the moons were larger than the sun in the eyes of mortal observers, they were no brighter than the glimmer of the thousands of the stars surrounding them. The surface of the moons was covered by the shadow of distant mountains, where, as said in the myths and folklores in Herald’s hometown, Gods of immeasurable power dwelt and amused themselves by steering the lives of the mortals. “We are not who we are.” once told by an old priest in the village, “we seem to have our own judgments, but we don’t. We are trapped in the plane of Nirn, surrounded by Oblivion and the planes of immortals. Whatever we do, we think, or perceive, are observed by the Gods of other worlds.” Herald was fascinated by the tales of Gods and demons that were beyond his everyday life, though in such a small island there was not much to learn.
Herald laid himself on his cozy bed, but a day of traveling on foot had made him too exhausted to fall asleep easily. His knees were sore and cold, which made him wishing for a bon fire. He turned around, and saw Sanja sitting upright in his bed, and playing with the soul gem. He decided to start a conversation.
“Sanja,” he said, “I remember you mentioned Elsweyr, what is that?”

“Elsweyr? It’s the heaven. All covered by jungles, rivers running through, and there’s moon sugar everywhere. That’s where we Khajiits live without the disturbance of a single Imperial, those annoying creatures. I say even the moons are brighter in Elsweyr.”

“So did you come from Elsweyr, or have you traveled there before?”

“No, no. I have never been to Elsweyr. It is not possible. Look at this.” He raised the sleeve of his shirt, and revealed a bracer on his left arm. Unlike other common iron bracers (or even the ones made with precious metal), it had a pearlescent appearance, and was shining with faint blue light despite the darkness of the night.

“That is beautiful!” Herald praised with surprise – he had never been anything that would shine in the dark. “Did you steal it too?”

“Steal it?!” Sanja suddenly rose upright, “how would anyone for God’s sake steal such a horrible curse?!”

“A curse?” Said Herald, he had no idea why Sanja become so angry, and why such a beautiful bracer would be a curse. He apologized, but couldn’t wait long to ask Sanja about the bracer’s curse.

“This bracer is from my master.” Said Sanja, “No, former master, because Sanja is now a free man! He’s the cruelest person in all Morrowind. He deserves that. Every slave in his household was forced to wear this bracer, cursed to put crushing weight on our body so we cannot escape.”

“But how did you get away while still wearing the bracer?”

“No, I did not get away. An adventurer wielding an oddly shaped katana broke into the plantation and killed the master, then found the bracer key and freed us. The key unlocked every bracer except mine. He searched every corner and dead body but didn’t find any other keys.”

“So how did you escape from the curse?”

“Well, the curse is still there. The adventurer taught me a way to make potions that can fortify my strength for a few days. But the major ingredient, Ash Yam, only grows under the ash storm of Red Mountain.”

“That is indeed rough luck,” said Herald, feeling sorry for Sanja. “But I think many other plants may strengthen you, too. I wish I knew anything about the secrets of Alchemy.”

Sanja suddenly turned away and looked at their pile of bags, as though something just caught his attention. Herald followed his sight, and saw a giant rat biting on his pack of food supply.

“Annoying creatures!” Murmured Sanja, and raised his right hand. Then much to Herald’s surprise, a piece of rock jumped from a few feet away right towards Sanja’s hand. He grabbed the rock from mid-air just like picking it up from the ground, and hurled towards the rat, crushing the creature’s skull.

“That’s splendid!” Cried Herald, “How did you do that?”

Delighted by Herald’s admire, Sanja played a few more tricks with the rock, and said: “Telekinesis, ya’ know? We Khajiits’ favorite spell.”

“Telekinesis?” Said Herald, “I heard that it was only a myth.”

“Nay, it’s a simple trick. Anyone can learn it if he desires. But he must be able to concentrate his mind, and his willpower must surpass the weight of the target.”

Herald was deeply intrigued by the “ease” of casting the spell. He chose the smallest stone nearby and attempted to lift it with his mind like the way Sanja did, but nothing happened.

“Come on!” said Sanja, “It’s a spell, you have to speak something. Are you taking yourself as the Archmage of the Mages’ Guild?”

“Of course not!” said Herald, “But you have never told me what to speak.”

“Fine, fine. Shut your eyes, and say ‘Dalaiá er avásh’. Then look at the stone, and concentrate your mind.”
Herald tried several times, but the stone, only the size of a Septim coin, was still sitting quietly on the dust. Apparently Sanja was far from a good trainer: he had soon got irritated by Herald’s “folly”, as he worded, and turned the interest to his warm bed.

The hell with telekinesis! Thought Herald, I’d rather chop the rat in half with my sword. He lay down on the bed again, and tried to gather his thoughts. There had been much odd events since the arrival. The deafening roar of the bald-headed man, the effortless admission into the Blades, the abrupt departure of his fellow soldiers, Sanja’s unpunished crime and the adept use of magic, all had brought him the impression of Vvardenfel as an uncanny and yet enchanted land of marvels. He did not know his goal. The task his father left him seemed impossible to complete, and in fact he did not really care about any family artifacts. To him, life ought to be mundane; there were more important problems to solve than those dreamy things. Like slavery. All shall be clear one day. He thought, and yielded himself to the sweet dreams of hometown.

please criticise my writing if you don't mind... I haven't got any negative comments yet lol. is the story too slow and boring?

The only thing I would say is don't post so much so quickly. Give you readers time to digest what you've written. I'd say only post one chapter a day, and even then that's too much sometimes...

hmm ok I'll update again on tuesday, lol

My one concern centers on Sanja's description of his homeland. I believe for the most part the Khajiit homeland is mainly desert. I forget if there really is any jungle there unless it's along the borders of the Black Marsh or the Valenwood.

Thanks Metal Mallet for the comment, I wasn't really trying to be accurate with the lores and I kind of create things along the way (with magics, names for the trees, and later some structures within the government), but I'll watch out for geographical inconsistancies.

The next day of travel was rather tedious. At noon, ghastly morphing dark clouds spread over the sky like swarms of insects, and pounded the travelers’ ears with deafening rumbles and bursts. The air was particularly clear; yet trees were swung, and bushes were flattened by the waves of relentless wind, filling the air with resounding crackles of leaves. A storm was brewing, and didn’t wait long to unload its burden, and turn the land below into a flooding swamp. The travelers returned to the woods to seek shelter, though the humble crowns of the trees offered little cover from the raging storm.

When the sky was as dark as night, they had reached the edge of the woods, but the storm showed no sign of ceasing. In front of them laid a vast field of bushes; Their leaves and foliages swung back and forth under the wind, forming crests and troughs like waves in the sea.

Sanja stopped before the bushes and examined them. “A marshmerrow farm!” He exclaimed, “There must be farm houses nearby.”

A lightening bolt revealed the wraithly shadow of a small cottage on the other side of the field. They gathered the last strength to break through the scraping branches over the muddy farm land, as if the cottage was the last hope. Apparently the farm had been neglected for a long time, for the gaps between marshmarrow bushes were filled with tall grass and other short plants, some with long stings. Each step must be carefully taken, and they must stop often to free the clothes caught by the stings.

When they reached the cottage, darkness had engulfed all, and their steps were only guided by the flashing lightening bolts. Herald knocked at the door; the sound of the pouring water was so intense that he doubted anyone inside would have heard it. No one came to open the door; he pushed, and it was not locked.

The travelers stepped in and shut the storm behind the door. “Sorry about the disturbance, my good master.” Said Herald loudly and politely, “We are travelers from Ebonhart, and we were caught by the storm. Very grateful we’ll be, if we may take shelter here for a night.”

No one answered. Herald held his breath and listened, no snores could be heard from sleeping men (or creatures).

“They must have sealed the windows,” complained Sanja, “or there are no windows at all! I cannot see anything, not even the lightening.”

“No need for light if all we want is rest.” Said Herald, and probed the surrounding with his hands. There seemed to be some wooden crates, sacks, barrels piled up in the corner, and a large bed lying against the wall. They set the packages and wet clothes down in the corner with the crates and sacks, then dropped into the bed and indulged in the well-deserved night of rest.

Herald could not remember how many hours had passed before Sanja woke him up, and whispered next to his ear:

“Under the bed, quick!”

As he said, he slipped into the narrow space between the bed and the floor. Herald was bewildered, but followed sanja and hid beneath the bed, with his head still dizzy and sleepy.

Suddenly the door was kicked open, several men stepped inside.

“Finally an end to the horrible torture!” One spoke, with a queer voice as low and coarse as the sea storms in Herald’s hometown.

“Nay.” Said the other, with the same queer voice. “I doubt the storm will cease any time soon, and we must return to the cave by noon, for the merchants will arrive then.”

“Which means more torture for the poor little Quaynd, HAHAHA!” The third queer voice spoke, then he lit his travel lantern.

Under the dim light of the lantern, Herald could see their muddy feet pounding on the floor as they paced around, squeezing out yellowish water from the bottom of the boots. That's funny, he thought, they are just travelers like us. Why should we hide from them?

“Yea, Eshyo, keep laughing.” Said the man named Quaynd, “Look at yourself, are you any cleaner than me? You may sleep in the field tonight if you enjoy the storm.”

“Be quiet!” Said the other man, “Without you two troubling me, I would have already arrived at the cave by now. Wait, what is that? Catch it!”

As swift as the hunting eagles, Quaynd and Eshyo hopped next to the bed, each grabbed the shoulder of a boy, and pulled him out from under the bed. It was Herald.

Herald had decided that the three men were common travelers, and there was no reason for him to hide. So he crawled out to greet them, and of course did not expect to be welcomed this way.

“What is this?” Said Quaynd, “looks like an Imperial to me.”

“I believe it is an assassin!” Said Eshyo, “It was hiding under the bed and trying to ambush us!”

“No, you have mistaken, my kind sera!” Said Herald, “I’m just a traveler. The storm…” He looked up, and the terrifying scene stopped the words at his lips. He had never seen people with such appearance: all three faces were dark grey, and all six eyes were burning red. Two men were wearing crude sack cloth shirts and pants, and the other man was in a green robe.

“Traveler?” Said Eshyo, “Then why do you hide under the bed?”

Herald had no answer to the question. Obviously he hid because Sanja told him to; and since Sanja was still hiding, he did not intend to reveal him. Herald looked around, and saw his bow and sword lying in the corner. An idea came to his mind.

“Indeed,” He said, “several bandits broke into the house while I was resting, and I barely hid myself before they lit the torches. They have just left a short while ago, and I heard that they were coming back soon. Look!” Herald pointed at his weapons, “their weapons are still here!”

“Bandits? Indeed!” Said Quaynd, “There are no bandits. WE are the ones who rule this place!”

“Bandits…” Said the man in green robe; “must be Hainab and his outcasts. We have no business with them, and I’d rather not meet with them either. Let us get ready to leave!”

“Leave?! Not again, Tedril! I haven’t even sat down yet! Not for the entire day!” Eshyo complained; then he turned to Herald and released him. “You lucky little sneaky maggot, we’ll let you go this time. Don’t ever let me see you again!”

“Wait a second,” said Tedril. His red eyes scanned Herald from head to feet, “He’s got some strength. I think the merchant will pay us a good price, don’t you think?”

“You are right, Tedril.” Said Eshyo, “And methinks it worth much more than those Khajiits and Argonians. Ten bottles of Skooma, yeah?”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Said Tedril, “Catch him and take him to the cave!”

Herald suddenly realized that these men were the slave traders. When he joined the Imperial Legion, he learned that slavery was banned by the Imperial Law, and yet it was still secretly in practice. But he never knew that he would one day be captured by the slave traders.

Eshyo stepped forward and wrapped his hands around Herald’s neck, hoping to choke him unconscious. Without hesitation, Herald raised his right arm, twisted his body to the left and dropped his elbow upon Eshyo’s arms. No matter how strong ones arms are, his wrists are always the weak point. Eshyo could no longer hold on to Herald’s neck, and was forced to release him. Before he had a chance to retrieve his hands, Herald stepped up and delivered a powerful blow at Eshyo’s face with his elbow.

Eshyo fell back groaning in pain; apparently his opponent wasn’t as easy as he anticipated. In fact, Herald had spent many years training hand-to-hand combats with his father. Though not as effective as the iron-molded weapons on the battlefield, the hands of a master can be much more deadly during close encounters.

But Herald was not yet a master. He wanted to fetch his sword just a few steps away, but did not notice that Quaynd was approaching him from behind. He felt the chill of the blade on his neck before even raising his foot, and was captured.

“Welcome to the real world!” Said Tedril with a wicked smile, “Gone are the days of sunshine and flowers, and you will enjoy the new life in the Ashlands. Our merchants will arrive in the morning, and show you the way to heaven!”

“That’s enough, Ted!” Said Eshyo, who was still rubbing his nose to relieve the pain; “You rehearse that useless line every time we catch something. Now let me give it a warm welcome of my style!” As he said, he hurled his fist at Herald’s face with all his power. Herald felt his brain smashing against the skull, and his vision was soon filled up with flashing stars. He fell to the ground, and the only thing he remembered before losing conscious, was that the space under the bed was empty.

I'll post his adventure with the slave traders later.

The northern half of Elsweyr is made up of desert while the southern half is made up of tropical rainforest. If you followed Marcel Rhodes' story about Khajjit (A Study in Velvet) I believe it's mentioned that the protagonist is from the South while his companions are from the North.

Prologue
Part 3


When Herald woke up, he was surrounded by darkness and the growling of thunderstorm, which seemed to come from a distant world. He felt the scathing pain in his head from the strike, but soon it was taken over by the cold and damp that was persistently cutting into his body. It was like millions of needles piercing into his bones, yet the skin was too numb to feel the pain. He attempted to stretch his limbs, but none of them could move. At first Harold thought he was paralyzed; but when his strength had recovered a little, he realized that he was tied and had been put into a sack. As his sense returned gradually, he could smell the decayed grass and dead clams that the sack had formerly contained, reminding him that the sack could have belonged to a pearl diver. He felt a flat board under his body shaking and bouncing, which seemed to be a cart rolling on a muddy and stony road. Slowly the memory of his encounter with the slave traders returned to him, and it didn’t take long for Herald to recall their conversation: the slave traders were taking him to their cave and would probably sell him to “merchants”. Not much I can do now to escape, he thought, for the string that tied his feet and hands was damp from the rain, and cut into his flesh like sharp razors.

Only a short moment later the cart halted. Some vague conversation reached Herald’s ears through the storm.

“Hurry! Hurry Quaynd! Open the damned gate!”

“I’m trying! It’s too dark! I can’t find the key hole!”

Hurried by the other slave traders, it seemed Quaynd only became slower. Finally as the gate creak opened, the cart was moving again, and the rain seemed to have ceased. Apparently they were inside a cave.

“Get him out!” Said one man; the other two grabbed the bottom of the sack and lifted it up, and dumped Herald out upside-down. His head fell on the rock below, and he cried out at the crushing pain. He tried to reach the wound with his hand, but the wet string held it firmly behind his back.

The cave was dimly lit by a few torches fixed on the wall; Herald could barely discern the faces of the slave traders. Quaynd and Eshyo lifted him up from the ground.

“Do we have any spare room in the slaves’ quarter?” Asked Tedril; his green robe was steaming like being toasted. Herald watched in bewilderment. What is he doing? He thought, is his robe drying itself?
“I think we do…” Said Quaynd, “a few cells at the end of the row.”

“No, we don’t.” Eshyo argued, “Don’t you remember a thing? Just two days ago we caught three of those lizard men. And no, I’m not risking them to escape by putting two in a cell.”

“The merchant will be here tomorrow, and I’m sure he will take him away. Just lock him in the storage room. Eshyo, your task tonight is to watch him.”

“Watch him? I have been walking all day, Ted, I really need some rest! He’ll be fine in the storage by himself…”

“You dare arguing with me?”

“… No… I will take care of him.” Said Eshyo, staring at Herald as though he had killed his parents.

“Good.” Said Tedril, “Quaynd, free his feet, and escort him to the storage room with Eshyo. Make sure he’s incapacitated.”

Herald was glad to be on his feet again. When the string tied around the ankles was loosened, a stream of warmth rushed into his feet and melted the numbness. Very soon the warmth turned into thousands of needles piercing his skin; unprepared for the sudden pain, Herald fell to his knees.

“Get up! Are you waiting for someone to carry you?” Yelled Eshyo, and kicked Herald in the buttock.

The cave was not deep, but Herald’s hurting feet took them much time to reach the storage room. Along the narrow corridors, a few oil lamps were mounted on the wall to illuminate the darkness; mixed with fume, dust, and the odor from dead creatures, the air was almost unbearable to breathe. The only comfort for Herald was the nearly straight route, despite the two forks they encountered along the way. He quietly memorized the surroundings of each turn and break, though he had no clue how to escape from this living hell.

The storage room was no more than a barred area in a stone chamber. A wall built with intercrossing wood strips dissected the room from the middle, and turned the inner half of the room – the “storage room” – into a caged prison cell. A door was opened in the center of the wall, allowing a passage through the stocking area, which eased the extraction of goods. Though the other half of the chamber seemed to be excessive, it was a common arrangement among the merchants’ warehouses, and even Imperial strongholds. This part of the room was often used as a temporary storage for less valuable or durable, and frequently moved goods. When items were to stay longer or must be well secured, they were placed in the “prison cell”.

However, when Herald entered the storage room, escorted by Quaynd and Eshyo, he didn’t see the prosperity of fortunate merchants; only a few barrels and urns, covered by dirt, were sitting in the dark corner. In the inner cell, a large wooden crate seemed to be the only inventory.

“We need to move that box.” Said Quaynd, his eyes were fixed on the wooden crate.

“For Azura’s sake, Quaynd! I’m too exhausted to move anything, even my own legs! The crate is locked and this little creature has no way to open it once he’s locked up.”

“Shhhhhhhhhhh!” Quaynd turned around and scanned the dim corridor behind him, then shut the door to the stone chamber. “You must stop mentioning the Prince, before we both get killed!”

Eshyo seemed to realize his mistake; unlike usual, he did not argue with Quaynd, and turned his anger to Herald.

“Hey, you!” He said, “Don’t even think about that crate! The merchant will come in just a few hours, and if you behave well, we’ll sell you first. Hehehehehaha!”

Quaynd walked towards one of the barrels in the corner, and opened it.

“Eshyo, are we out of bracers?”

“Perhaps. Ted probably forgot about the Argonian we caught yesterday, she’s wearing the last bracer.”

“But Ted wants us to incapacitate him!”

“Not a problem!” Said Eshyo, while walking towards Herald with a hideous smile; then he raised his fist.
“No, Eshyo, we can’t hurt him any more before the merchant has paid the price. It will be fine to leave him without the bracer; as long as you keep an eye on him, that is.”

“You mean I have to stay here and watch him, while YOU go take a damned rest? No way! For Azu…”

“Correct, this is indeed what Ted had told you to do; and I don’t think I will get any rest either, Ted probably has work for me too.” Said Quaynd, and left the stone chamber.

Doubtlessly, all the anger in Eshyo’s chest would be released onto Herald. He threw him into the storage room, slam shut the door, and hanged on it the biggest lock he could find in the barrel. But still he seemed to be nervous, pacing back and forth in front of the cell, as though Herald, who might appeared to him as a full barrel of Skooma, would escape from him right under his nose. Herald found himself a comfortable position on the wooden crate, and listened to Eshyo murmuring foul wishes for Quaynd and Tedril – apparently he was not worried about Herald escaping, but vexed by the maltreatment from his fellows.

question: do you think the use of words and phrases sound weird? I'm trying to make the language sound less modern, but do you think it's working?

I like this very much so far. Very well written, an interesting plot (so far anyway - still early), nicely drawn characters. Yep, on my "to watch" list now.



Can't say that I'd really noticed to be honest It certainly didn't come across as intrusive or out of character - which is a good thing. Keep it up, this is looking really promising.

lol thanks. unfortunately, after one more update we'll have to wait till I finish writing chapter one, which I haven't started yet.

Finally Eshyo sat down on a barrel, and soon started snoring. A day and night’s fatiguing travel had certainly exhausted him. Herald, though not less fatigued, had no interest in his possibly the last good night of sleep. He could hardly believe that he was going to be sold as a slave, while his new life as an honorable Imperial soldier had just begun. He knew exactly what Tedril meant by “incapacitating” him. It was the cursed bracer worn by Sanja, which drains all the strength from the wearer, leaving only enough to perform the works assigned by the master. Though the slave traders were out of bracers, the “merchant” coming to buy him would certainly not let him walk around without it. He must find a way out of there, before it was too late – only a few hours left.

He searched around the storage room; there was nothing firm enough to break the wall or the lock. He examined the wooden crate; it was secured by a strange lock mounted inside the crate, leaving only a lock hole on the lid. The edges were reinforced by rusty iron railing. At the corners of the crate where railings meet, the joints seemed very sharp. Herald felt the string tying his hands together with a finger; it seemed to be braided with grass. Might as well free my hands with it. After being soaked in water all day long, the string was very easy to cut. While caressing his injured wrists, Herald was looking for a way to get through the wooden fencing. He thought about breaking the door with brutal force, which was no difficult task for him, but the noise would certainly alarm Eshyo. Maybe I should wait till the merchant get here, he thought, then I can fight my way out; or even better, the merchant might forget to bring his bracers.

Sitting back on the crate, Herald managed to calm down with the breathing exercise taught by his father. “The voidness of the mind is the key. Our mind is always filled with thoughts and memories of trivial matters surrounding us; without clearing them, it cannot concentrate on the intended task, be it lifting a burden, swinging a sword, or casting a magic.” He wanted Herald to practice the breathing exercise every night, which he invented to help vacating his mind of trivial thoughts. However as a child, Herald had neither the patience nor the passion for the exercise, and often cheated through it, thinking about games he would play with friends. At this moment, though, Herald could only hope that the exercise would recover him faster from the exhaustion. He took a deep breath, relaxed every single muscle in his body, and imagined a golden sun suspending between his eyes, shining warmly on a peaceful ocean in his stomach. The sun would slowly heat up the ocean, which in turn formed warm streams flowing through his limbs. “Your smooth breath can help ridding the superfluous thoughts encumbering your mind.” He repeated his father’s words, and his breath was so slow and gentle, that even a feather hanging in front of his nostril would not be disturbed. Though everything he saw, the sun, the ocean, and the streams were all imagined in his mind, the effect was surprisingly strong: his legs were no longer sore, his hands were no longer shaking from fear and cold, and his mind had never been as free as it was.

After a while, Herald slowly opened his eyes. He no longer needed the projected image to keep his mind free, and intriguingly, the cave seemed a little different. Thought still dark and odorous, it was no longer depressing; though still as quiet as winter nights, Herald could hear every little noise made by the tiny creatures crawling beneath the ground. He felt his mind was expanding out of his body, dissolving into the world surrounding him, and became part of it. Eshyo was still half lying on the barrels, snoring as loud as the thunders outside the cave. Only if I could read his mind, thought Herald, trying to amuse himself, then I would know what he’s dreaming about. Suddenly, an object in Eshyo’s hand caught his eyes. It was a large key, dangling loosely on one of his relaxed fingers. Must be the key to the lock on the cage door! He thought. If I can get it then I’ll be free! Then something strange caught his eyes.

The key seemed to have moved a little.

There’s wind in the cave? Oh, that’s not possible; it must have been an illusion. Suddenly a word popped out into his mind: telekinesis! He remembered the spell Sanja had taught him:

“Fine, fine. Shut your eyes, and say ‘Dalaiá er avásh’. Then look at the stone, and concentrate your mind.”

Herald tried once again the trick which he failed innumerable times, at the key. It worked. Herald was in control of the key, and though only for a very brief moment, he managed to take it off from Eshyo’s finger. When the spell wore out, it fell on the ground with a happy clink.

Being a novice of any spell casting, Herald could only move the key for less than a foot, before he had to cast again; and as the spell drained his energy rapidly, it moved slower and slower. But eventually the key reached Herald’s hand, and in just a few minutes, he was no longer in the storage room.

Guided by his memory, Herald advanced quickly along the corridor leading out of the storage room. Every turn was familiar, and the forks could not be missed. From the training he received as a scout, jogging quietly was no challenge for him. Inspired by the night-walking creatures, the scouts believed that their bare feet could provide the best silence, for the force of each step was spread across every piece of muscle on their legs. However, many masters in stealth movement insisted that a well made pair of shoes would be more effective, while also protecting the wearer’s feet from ridged terrains. No matter who was correct, Herald had no choice at this moment about whether to walk with shoes on, as they were left in the farmhouse the night before.

It seems like the slave traders were not expecting his escape; there was nothing alive along the way. The escape seemed quite easy, so easy that he felt auspicious. Soon his fear was proved to be rational. A heavy iron door blocked a narrow corridor, but he could neither find a handle nor a key hole to open it – and nor could he open it at all. The villains were apparently cleverer than he expected: the entrance was meant to be an entrance only, so that escaping slaves would have to venture their way through the darkness and danger of unknown passages deeper in the cave. Such device was not unacquainted by Herald; the secret escapeways under the Imperial castles were often set up in a similar fashion so enemies could not sneak into the castles through them.

So be it, thought Herald. He turned around, and headed towards the forks. There were only two branch passages between the storage room and the iron door, and as Herald discovered, one of them led into another one-way iron door which he could not open, and the other, into a collapsed dead end. Where did Quaynd go, as there seems to be no way out of the corridor? Bewildered, Herald paced back and forth along the passages. Time was passing, and Eshyo could wake up and catch him at any moment. Could there be a trap door or a hidden entrance at the dead end? He returned to the collapsed rocks, examined every nook and cranny, and attempted to move every piece of stone, but nothing seemed interesting – except a few footprints on an oddly flat sandy area near the sparkling oil lamp on the wall. The footprints were fresh, though very shallow, and the fact that they did not have toes assured Herald that they were not his own. But most intriguingly, they were all pointed at the oil lamp! So, someone stopped at this dead end, and inspected the lamp. Thought Herald, and did the same thing. Was the person adding oil to it? Apparently not, the jar is almost empty. Then it must be some kind of gear to open a secret door! Herald was so proud of his discovery that he almost laughed loudly. Those pathetic slave traders are no match to an Imperial scout!

He grasped the lamp firmly and tried to move it. Just as he expected, the lamp was easily pull out from the wall, then made a snap and was again held in place. Herald turned and looked at the large rocks forming the dead end, where he expected the miracle to happen. Nothing seemed to be moving, but he heard a slight crackling noise above his head. Having yet a chance to think about what was happening, his well trained instinct had already force him to spring backwards with all the energy he could gather in a blink of time. A massive piece of rock fell from the ceiling, and with but a muffled punch, landed on the sand where Herald was standing.

Frightened by the deadly trap that almost killed him, Herald gasped and began to feel his heart pounding as brutally as the fallen rock itself. Again, they are indeed no match to an Imperial scout. Thought Herald, and examined the trap. It was indeed a part of the ceiling, round and flat, like the grinders in a windmill. Four thin but sturdy chains linked it to the ceiling, which must have been used to lift the rock back to position. An idea entered Herald’s mind, as he gazed upon the dark breach in the ceiling, left by the rock: this could be how the slave traders exited the corridor! They stood on this escalator, triggered some device, and poof! Out of here they were! He placed himself on the escalator. But where’s the device that triggers the lifting? Oh yes, the lamp! Herald grasped the lamp again, and felt that the only way it could move was back into the wall. He pushed, but nothing happened. He stepped off the rock quickly, fearing another trap, though it did not take place. The lamp seemed to be of no use. The hell with the escalator! Herald took a few steps back, with a short sprint he leaped on top of the rock; his left hand caught the edge of a cavity on the wall and pulled himself up, while his right foot aided with a downward thrust against the wall. The trainings paid off handsomely, his right hand clenched upon the edge of the breach just as he began to fall.

Climbing up to the “second floor”, Herald found himself in a dead end of another dimly lit passage. At the other end of it, though, there seemed to be a large bright room. He moved carefully with his back against the wall, while sprinting quietly from shadow to shadow. When he reached the end of the passage, he could only curse the one who built the cave. The large room in front of him seemed to be the hub of five passages spiking out like the rims of a wheel, each connecting the entrance of a passage to the platform in the middle of the room with a hanging bridge about the length of a man. Around ten feet underneath the platform and the bridges was a puddle of water. Clearly, it was built so that one had to pass through the platform to reach another passage, and both the hanging bridges and the water below would reveal the trespassers with a lot of noises. The room was lit by four torches on the four corners of the platform, on which there were a bed, two hammocks, a table, a few crates and barrels, a soundly sleeping Tedril in the bed, and a busily working Quaynd at the table. Luckily, he was not facing the passage in which Herald was standing.

It’s time to show the true color of a scout! Thought Herald. He knew that if he was able to reach to the platform, then he could move around by holding on to the edge of the wooden floor. But how can one pass the bridge without making noises? Herald’s sight rested on the railing strings on the side of the bridge for travelers to hold on to. They were merely tied to the wooden posts at the end of the bridge, and would not make noise if one hung upon them. Herald did not hesitate. He first lowered himself down at the edge of the entrance, with his hand holding the post and his body in midair, then grabbed the railing string, and slowly shifted his weight upon it. The string supported his body steadily and quietly. When he had both hands on the string, he moved further on, and finally reached the edge of the platform. It was such a relief that he felt he was standing on the solid ground again.

Now he must pick an entrance. There were five entrances, with one belonging to the passage he came from, and four others. One of them must lead to the cave exit! Herald decided to try his luck, and picked the passage immediately to the right – the only other one ouside Quaynd’s sight.

As soon as he stepped into the engulfing darkness of the corridor, his keen intuition stirred up in him a deep sense of grief and agony. Maybe it was the air that turned eerie; or perhaps some unperceivable sorrowful groan was insidiously plucking his heart. He wanted to turn back, yet his curiosity kept him moving on, until he reached the end of the passage, and found a closed trap door on the ground. Herald could hear someone weeping.

He lay down on his stomach, and carefully lifted up the trap door a little. It was heavy and moldy, but the hinge was as smooth as new. Intolerably foul smelling air flooded out of the gap, almost making Herald vomit. He peeked into the gap, and there, he found the most horrible scene he had ever in his life beheld.

Herald closed the trap door, and sneaked back to the entrance. He rested in a smear of shadow, trying to think what to do next, but the vision haunted him like a nightmare. The very night he could be there himself, inside a living and wriggling plant, surrounded by giant tentacles like a cage, among many other such creatures each with a slave inside, dead or half-dead.

Still fighting with the nausea, he observed the slave traders’ “living room” carefully, hoping to find clues about the direction of the exit. The furniture, crates and barrels were all placed in the corners of the platform, leaving convenient space for traffic through the bridges. Herald asked himself: in a small house, where would you see the beds and the tables? The answer was: to be safe and warm during nights, one often placed the beds in the far end, away from the door; and to be convenient during the day, the tables were often placed near the door. So, if the platform was a house, where would the “door” be, according to the location of the bed and the table? Herald’s sight stopped at the bridge next to Quaynd, and far away from Tedril’s bed. One would never feel comfortable sleeping next to the door.

Suddenly the sound of hasty running caught Herald’s attention. Eshyo’s stumpy frame emerged from the passage leading to the storage room. Obviously, he had woken up and found his bird flown.

“The Imperial!” yelled Eshyo, waking Tedril up, “the Imperial has escaped!”
“What?! How did he do that?”
“I don’t know… My key is gone!”
Herald remembered that he still had the key.
“Your key? Which lock did you use?”
“The biggest one…”
“Oh you blighted fool!” Tedril paid Eshyo a loud and crispy slap on his face, “that’s the same lock as the one on the crate! Who cares about the worthless Imperial, the crate’s got all our lives in it! All three of us!”

“Well… you got another key to it right?” Eshyo caressed his swollen cheek, “We can check if it’s still in there, he shouldn’t know it’s the same lock…”

“Alright, we’ll go and see. If it’s gone, you are the first to be sold in place of the Imperial.”
Eshyo and Quaynd followed the outraged Tedril into the passage. Herald rushed onto the platform, and headed for the bridge he was looking at. He had no doubt that it must be the way to the exit, because when Tedril first heard about Herald’s fleet, he turned and glanced at it – he must be expecting the merchant to come from that direction!

But when he saw the tools and weapons leaning against the table, he stopped to ponder about a way to revenge those villainous slave traders. If he followed them, and waited until they were in the storage room checking out the crate, then he could seal the escalator, and trap them in the dungeon forever! And then, he would free the slaves, and become a hero celebrated in many towns and villages, like the Nerevarine. But he frowned and hesitated upon the thoughts of those slaves. The vision was back to him, the monstrous plants, dead bodies, the slaves weeping and mourning for them, the fetor of decayed flesh and excrements... It was not living hell, it was hell itself. Herald would never go back to such place again. I’ll just go to Balmora as quickly as I can, he thought, and tell the Blades master; he will send men to straighten it out.

Having his mind made, Herald dashed into the passage leading to the beautiful world outside, which to him meant even more than the heaven. His instinct never deceived him. The cave became brighter and brighter, as his spirit did; and when he finally saw the day light breaking through the wooden gate up ahead, he felt his right foot caught by a string.

A trap! Having no time to think, Herald concentrated all his strength on the legs, and leaped forward as far as he could. But it was still too late; something long and dull hit the back of his neck, and knocked him out.


End of Prologue

Nice story mate, I'm thinking about putting one up myself.