QUOTE
Close Your Eyes . . .
. . . And . . .
. . . . Smile and Dream . . . .
The sound of the blacksmith's hammer pounding against refined steel echoed along the sounds of metal footsteps, languages of anxiousness spoked between grizzled veterans of several battles and the voice of a drillmaster berating the recruits one final time. The hooves of horses smashing against the ground while the riders tried vainly to calm their horses because. . . Because the Battle of Bruma is about to begin, and many of them wouldn't come home. Even the war hounds and tamed beasts seemingly knew this..
For those who can . . . They're bringing some spoils of war. Mainly, dismembered arms, unhealable wounds and scars. This is why they are preparing for the Assault and the Great Gate. One particular soldier of Chorrol, Renaldius Dulin Volyrius, was not preparing his gear, not praying at the chapel of Talos or conversing with his fellow warriors. Instead, a parchment of cheap paper, a bottle of ink, Tamika's 412 and a quill is laid before him and his cyan eyes regarded each and everything.
He would write a letter to his beloved in Chorrol, awaiting his return. But the truth is, he is certain he will not return. Sure, the mighty Hero of Kvatch and the emperor-to-be Martin will lead in the front, but this is Oblivion they're talking about. Shaking his head to vanish such hopeless thoughts, he picked up the pen and slashed at the paper, wild and elegant. Eloquency wasn't his trade, but there is a chance that this would be his last letter. So, straightening his back, slugging his shoulders, he continued.
----
"My dear Maria,
It is with a heavy heart that I write this to you. The Mythic Dawn, the cult that assassinated our dear Emperor, are planning to open a Great Gate at Bruma, and the illegitimate heir, Martin Septim, is allowing them to do it! It sounds crazy, but he said in a speech that the disadvantage of our situation is going to be the key to our victory to finally end this madness. And hopefully give us an Emperor.
But that isn't the reason I write this letter. ( This part of the letter is stained with water. . . Tears. )
Do you remember how we met? I was a thief at that time and I, to this day, don't know what motivated me to a life of crime. Mainly because I'm iliterate and pick pocketing was the only thing I can do. . Until one fateful night.
A young lady of stunning beauty walking around alone in the middle of night, looking lost. It was the epithome of 'Come-hither-and-have-your-way-with-me!' . . . Really, you would've been mugged by those. . . perverts in the dark or worse! Good thing I bumped into you, that made those 'lurkers' back away. Fortunately, you and I only fell on our backside, no injuries suffered. The moment I rose up and stared at your angelic green orbs, soft chin, plump lips and fiery mane of a hair . . . Time froze.
I knew one thing after we parted ways. You stole my heart and you were to be mine, and I yours. Of course, with me being poor and knowledgeless, I thought at first that it would be a fruitless endeavor, like reaching the Sun with an outstretched hand. But Love made me do the most strangest things, while it is considered a vile sin for criminals.
I turned myself in.
I admitted my every wrong, and promised to right them. Did you know that if you're a criminal and surrendered yourself , you'd get a boon? Like, a nice meal for the rest of your bid or reduced time? In this case, I chose to join the local guard. They laughed, critisized my scrawny body and meager skills but agreed. They can always use the extra hand. They taught me how to read, how to write and how to handle a sword. In a few months time, I was already a promising guard.
Then, you showed up in the hours before midnight, and came rushing up to me literally screaming in my face: 'Some bandits are harassing a beggar in the outskirts of the city! Help him!'.
The beginning of our Fire, burning down any negative emotions between us, warming us up with it's angelic conflagration. ( a sketch of a heart burning is drawn ) Many of the upper-class criticized you for making me your friend, but you paid them no heed. Then days became months, while our friendship bloomed like Dragon's Tongue under the fiery observation of Magnus the Sun. In time, it grew more. Friendship turns into infatuation, until we told each other about our blossoming love. Do you remember the way I confessed?
I sang.
I sang of summer, autummn and winter. I sang of every flower there is. I sang of the heavenly Aetherius and the stars. But most of all, I sang of how they pale in comparison to you. I sang of us under an Oak tree, holding hands, watching the clouds, wondering what was it like in the greater sky. I sang of us living in peace. . .
Peace.
Tell me, my dear Mariah, what is the definition of the word? Not the specifics, but the meaning. It seems that the meaning of this word is gone in this world. Why can't it return? Why can we not leave in peace? Why can we not make our future bright, make each other happy? Believe me, my love, I will do everything there is to make real the latter.
Oh, the empty words we were saying. The meaningless games we were playing. Let us be honest to the each other, tell the truth. And let that truth be harsh and unforgiving. Such is life.
I'm not coming home.
I'm not coming home to smell the radiant fragrance of your body, to hear the laughter of children playing. . . I'm not coming home to your soft arms. During our travel to Bruma, I thought of our future. I thought of marrying you, make children, retire to my current job and be a carpenter. . . But reality made it's touch. It will never happen. I cried. Cried, cried and cried. Cried alone in my tent. I cried because of you, me and our broken love.
Find a good man, Mariah. A man that will take care of you. A man that will not leave you. In this and the other world, I shall and will regret ever leaving you. How foolish of me to leave the flower to the flood. I- ( ink is splotched in this part of the paper) I hear the bells.
I must go. Pray for me, my love, for Armageddon awaits. If you ever feel sad and forgotten, close your eyes. . .
Close your eyes and dream of me. Dream of me smiling, holding your hand and taking you to our special place. I do the same too, in my sleep in the Afterlife.
Until the End of Eternity,
Renaldius Dulin Volyrius, Guard of Chorrol, Soldier of Bruma and Martyr of Mariah Roxc'Ane.
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The Battle of Bruma was won, but the Cyrodils suffered many casualties. Renaldius among them. Curiously, this letter never reached Mariah, with the Breton waiting for the Imperial coming home. She never left the Roxc'Ane manor, when rumours of an old lady waiting for her love started flying. Forever. Coincidentally, a storm blew in Bruma, ravaging the city. Then, Mariah suddennly died. Her body was recovered by the local guard, she was smilling and in her hand was a letter. A letter of 50 years. Renaldius' letter. To this day, it is a mystery how Mariah got the letter.
Her family persuaded the new Count of Chorrol, Sazaerius Valga, to build a statue of the two lovers, in replacement of the broken statue at the front gate. It portrays a Chorrol guard kneeling before a Lady, apparently singing. At their eyes were holes, and water flowed. A memorablia is written on the lower base of the statue, it reads:
/'({<><><*><><><>})'\
'Renaldius Dulin Volyrius,
Brave Son of Chorrol,
Protector of the Law,
Soldier at the Battle of Bruma
And Martyr
Of
Mariah Roxc'Ane,
Daughter of Chorrol,
Of Royal Blood
And Loyal Lover
Forever More
/'({<><><*><><><>})'\
May They Rest In Peace And Meet Each Other In Sweet Aetherius.
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It was 74 of the Fourth Era, and all is well in Tamriel. But not for some stuck-up tart in Chorrol. Roneldyn Vroy, an enterprising thief, thought so as he fondled the large pearl in his effeminate hands. He was going to give it to his lover, Marilyn Roxxane, but thought twice. It would be suspicious to give a large pearl while at the same time, news of a noble's coffers was raided by a thief, so he made his way to a jewelry shop.
Chorrol's popuplace sky-rocketed after the Crisis. Mostly Redguard pilgrims heading for the Imperial City to see Saint Martin. After their travels, many would settle near Hammerfell, particulary Chorrol and the Colovian Highlands. Those who live in the latter would construct villages, with monasteries built for their respective religions.
In this case, Chorrol's populace is mainly built by Redguards. Many would open shops, weaponsmiths, restaurants and jewelry shops. Like the one Roneldyn is heading for. Waglow's shop was formerly a general goods store, ran by some Argonian.
Apparently, her daughter went missing and never returned. So, she killed herself by setting herself on fire. Since then, it became an eyesore in Chorrol, until Waglow the Redguard came. The shop's rooftops were modified, replacing rotten hay and wood for steel and glass. The same goes for the walls, with the windows tinted in violet coloring. The door itself rivaled the rooftops, it is made in ebony, while designs spoke of leaves, flowers and birds etched on the sides.
As usual, Roneldyn entered the establishment while admiring the mason's work. The interior is more grander the exterior. To the entrance's left was a stairs leading to Waglow's private chambers. To the right were paintings of castles, forests and mountains hung by the walls while a legion of display cases boasted the proprietor's goods, most of it 'donated' by Ronaldyn. A chandelier made of gold illuminated the lower levels of the building, including a Redguard intensely observing Roneldyn.
Waglow, a fence for the Guild of Thieves, didn't like it when independent ones lurked in his shop, since the Guild itself hates 'lone wolves'. He knew that Roneldyn is independent, but he was special. A friend, best friend, despite history between them. But old habits die hard, very hard indeed. He kept cautiousness on his side.
The Imperial stroded to the Redguard like he owned the place, dug into his pocket and threw a large, flawless ill gotten jewelry at the chest of the observing Redguard. Said Redguard barely catched it and when he did and layed his eyes upon it, he glanced slyly and suspiciously at the ever-so-innocent teenager. The Imperial even whistled. A few minutes later, both of them laughed.
"Ahh, so. What can I do for you, Vroy?" the older of two asked, while examining the pearl in his hand. It certainly belonged to a noble, but how is that a problem? Several of his merchandise is 'eagerly' given by the boy in front of him now. He certainly made a good fence in the Guild of Thieves, and Roneldyn a good donator. His examining abruptly stopped when Ronaldyn spoke up.
"Make it a necklace, you fleetlytz." he grinned at the Redguard, waiting a retort and starting a war of words.
"Sure thing, you butt faced lance-sucker," It was Waglow's turn to grin at the horrified look of Ronaldyn's face. It seems the Imperial is ready to puke at any given moment. He knew some secrets. Secrets so dirty, that Ronaldyn himself is shamed, and that says something. "But it'll cost ya. Two septims and three hundred drakes, and that includes modifications." Waglow's tone became serious, eyeing the Imperial. Said Imperial felt his eyes bulge out. Two septims and three hundred drakes?! Time for his thieving instincts to kick in. Childish behaviour, too.
"Aww, come on, Waggy. Remember the time when I risked my well being for your dog in your burning house? Saved your wife from your . . . dangerous throbbing rod- dagger I mean?" Then, Ronaldyn's voice became a whisper. "... Yes, dagger, that's the word. So short, so.. small.."
"Oh, I remember that one. Kicked the door down, avoided some burning logs before finally reaching Luggry's pen. You abandoned him, and raided my savings! My house burned, Waggy's loyal doggy woggy died and thanks to you, I became penniless! ...At that time of course. And my wife! We were having some... midnight snacks, mainly cheesecakes and beefcakes, and at the same time you were sneaking around in my shop! You thought that she's being raped, now didn't you?"
"Come on, pleeeeeeease? I'll be a good boy, me pwomise. Weally, Wagrow, Ronaldyn be a good boy, no mow steawing, no mow fighting. Wub, Ronaldyn. Oh, that also comes with High Rock creaming on top, yes? Pwease!" his voice cracked, and Ronaldyn's eyes became melancholic saucers. His hands grasped each other, and he kneeled. "Pwease, pwease, pwease? Good canary will behave good, real good. Waggy, have mercy on good canary- I mean boy! Pwease!"
"Alright, alright. Just stop with that voice, it makes me want to slap your boat, call you Kimberley and wish you were born a girl. But just this once, you hear?"
"Me wub Waggy da Wedguard, cowtesy of Kimbewee! No, really, thanks. I owe you one, man."
"You owe me once? It's- I lost count, really. Now, get out of here. Come back tommorow, your necklace should be waiting for you. Oh, and Ronaldyn? I know what you did with Delilah and his brother, a little black bear, a tamed troll, some peculiar looking gears... You're not the only one who have some sneaking and hearing abillities."
Waglow's grin grew to godly propotions, while Ronaldyn really did puke, spitting his lungs out. In fact, he did it at the counter. Waglow narrowly avoided the vile bile in the nick of time. Laughed like a cat, and grew fat. That's what happened to Waglow.
"Aww, did Waggy da Wedguard traumatize the good wittle boy? I'll give you some advice. Consider me as Dagon's urine, and you a child playing with me. Don't play with Dagon's piss unless you want to get burned... Wait, that's not right.. But then again, this conversation is dirty! You started it!"
Waglow can literally bet that he laughed for a full twenty minutes when he saw the look on Ronaldyn's face when the Imperial looked up.
It looked like the teenager saw Waglow rape some minotaur, grew a tree on his ears, cannibalized his legs and proclaim himself the Emperor. Shock, with a salty touch of shame, anger and embarassment, of course.
Trying to pour more salt into the wound, Waglow positioned himself like a pouting girl. Hands on hips, eyes narrowed and the lower lip sticking out. Then, he sent a flirty wink at the Imperial.
Ronaldyn's eyes widened in horror, his skin became violet pink, up to his ears and he ran. A high-pitched lollygagging followed his footsteps.
"Ahh, the dirty minds of teenagers. Can't they tell jokes and secrets apart?"
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The Next Day,
---------<><><><><><><><><><
A cloaked Imperial eyed the statue in front of him with cyan eyes. Somehow, Ronaldyn feels a line tugging him to this work of stone, particualry the Chorrol Guard. It is ironic, really. A criminal feels connected with someone who protects the law. His thoughts suddenly switched to familiar footsteps behind him. That, and the perfume fit for an Empress, did nothing to counter his suspiscion.
Marilyn.
He then felt two arms wrap around his belly and a hot moisture on his neck. He raised one arm to his lips, and savored each moment. Only in times like this, he allowed his feelings to control him fully. He turned around to see a similary dressed figure under the moonlight, only more feminine.
"Mari, did you get the gift I got you? Did you like it?" He rushed at the questions, while embracing the tall Breton. Her soft body against his chest, it felt like Aetherius. Seconds turned to minutes, and he heard a soft cough. It was his cue to release her.
"Of course, sweetlips. And I must say, it looks beautiful. In contrast of my pale skin. Thank you, Ronn." her voice is like that of an Ada singing for Akatosh, and Ronaldyn wouldn't be suprised if it was fact. He pulled her hood and once again, became immersed. Short sapphire hair hanging at the nape of the neck, green orbs staring intently at his brown ones and her lips seemed to be teasing his. If the guard at the gate wasn't there, he would smother hers with his.
"I'm glad. Now, what is it you want to talk about?"
"I've been studying, and found something. . . interesting. Tell me, do you believe in reincarnation?"
"More or less."
"Listen, my love. Do you know a man named Renaldius Dulin Volyrius and his lover Mariah Roxc'Ane?" Ronaldyn raised an eyebrow at the latter's name, but let Marilyn continue. "Now, I did some research about the couple. Apparently Renaldius was a thief, like you, and Mariah a noblewoman, like me. And the names. If you shuffle Renaldius' name you'd get Ronaldyn. And Mariah's first and last name sounds exactly like mine. Is it coincedence or some twisted irony?" it took minutes for Ronaldyn to digest what he heard. He glanced at the statue and paled. Surely it couldn't be... But the names, occupations.. His skin turned snow white when he looked closely at the face of Renaldius. A complete copy of himself, albeit more older and stony.
"Are.. Are you telling me that we. . We. ."
"Let me ask you again, my love. Do you believe in reincarnation?"
".... More or less. Now, le-let's not talk about such things. Did you know that I love to sing? My voice can rival yours, darling."
"Oh, really? I guess that your singing lessons has not been naught, it seems."
"How did-, anyway. My song is about the seasons. Y'know, summer, winter and autummn."
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A newspaper boy with raspy voice:
"Ureni lives! Ureni lives and he published a new story! Read all about it! Some twisted twist at the end! Read all about it! When can he stop publishing such nefarious work!? Maj. Gen. Ashtram wrote a letter to Ureni, containing venom and threats! It says:
'Stop such dirty works, sadist, or you will feel the ... kinky touch of justice!'
Ouch! Read all about it! Oh, I'm the long dead Ureni Ashtram by the way. Read all about it! Also, the sidelines include Necromancers mimicking a bigot Daedroth, a Funky writer and a Dunmeri God of Kink and Rainbow-Colored Underoos! A Dunmer by the name of Kyapthen Obvouse said; 'That group of necromancers ain't got no originality! Too fake, too dumb to make their own! They should be lynched beyond recognition!' Read all about it!"
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Jokes, aside, how did I do? This is my first time to write a short story, and I actually feel proud of myself. This was supposed to be angsty, but comedy's ... funky daggers sneaked some attacks on my back! I guess all of my story will have some wuffy in them... You readers laughed more than you felt sad, right? I thought so!
R&R PLEASE!
Help me further by nit-picking?
Next stop: "Ureni's Jokes in TES IV: Oblivion, Including the Members of the Claymores- no Blades"!
