» Sat Dec 14, 2013 6:20 am This is just to get a quick burst of initial feedback...basically testing the hook. So if anyone wants to take the time to say if you would or wouldn't continue reading, great. Tentative title is Out of Morrowind.
Romath Telvayn emerged from the temple. He stood blinking in the sunlight. The tears in his eyes may have been a response to the bright sun, but the deep sadness etched on his face suggested otherwise. Slowly he gathered himself, hitched the straps of the pack that held his brother's burial urn, and headed across the courtyard to the gate. The courtyard wall to the left of the gate was older stone, and still bore marks of smoke from the fires. To the right of the gate was new stone, placed since the daedra had been driven from Ald-ruhn.
Passing through the gate Romath entered a city bustling with the efforts to rebuild. Buildings wrapped in nests of scaffolding dotted the plain, along with piles of rubble. Some of the piles were the detritus of hauled away from the structures being rebuilt. Other piles marked buildings too badly damaged to be rebuilt. Scavengers picked through those piles, looking for building materials that could be reused. The lost treasures of those who had lived here had long since been dug from the ruins, mostly, but occasionally someone would find a coin, or some trinket...or the dead.
Her bonemold boots brought puffs of dust into the still air as the Redguard picked up her pace. Romath had seen her coming as he turned to the west, but had not stopped. She hated to intrude, but House Redoran needed every warrior. She couldn't just let an able Kinsman like Romath Telvayn walk away without urging him one last time to return. He stopped with a sigh as she drew alongside.
"I can't serve in the guards any more, Neminda," he said.
"I understand. There are other ways to serve the house Kinsman...other places the house can welcome you."
"I know. Maybe someday. Maybe even sooner than it seems right now. I admit the feeling of...belonging...would be a comfort..."
"You've lost so much Romath. Take your time, but don't lose yourself." She reached out and touched his cheek. A surprisingly gentle hand, for all the callus her sword hilt had raised on it.
He touched her hand as she lowered it. "You're a good friend Neminda. It has been an honor to serve you, and fight at your side."
"We both serve the house Romath, and the honor has been mine." She drew a packet of three candles from her pouch and handed them to him. "For your brothers. Safe travel, Romath."
Romath nodded, and slipped the candles into a nearly full packet attached to his pack strap. Many had served with his brothers and wanted their spirits to remember them. He wondered who would light candles for his own spirit when the day came. He resumed the slow march to the west, towards his family tomb. Neminda watched him go until the rolling land hid him from view.
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The rocky walls of Abernanit glittered with frost. The bitter coast cave had long been used by smugglers and bandits, who had enjoyed the snug interior as well as the seclusion. Those days were over. It was still secluded, but the frost spells the Shaman used to emphasize his points took a toll. The currents in the swirl of magica that envelops Tamriel can cut channels, and frost magic now flowed through the cavern continuously. None of the Nords gathered there minded, or really noticed.
"For the new to rise the old must pass," Olfind Stonefist intoned along with the others. They all knew the lines the Shaman expected to be repeated. Heads bowed as the Shaman continued.
"Brothers and sisters, we are here at the very beginning. None of us will see the end of days. But here, now, while the world eater is still distant, it falls to us to prepare the way for him. Bring the world eater!"
The gathered Nords raised their heads. "Bring the world eater," they said together, then bowed their heads again.
When the Shaman had finished the gathered Nords rose to their feet. The Shaman approached Olfind Stonefist. "Your time has come," he said, laying a frosty hand on Olfind's shoulder.
"It is my time, and my honor."
The two of them moved into a deeper alcove as the rest of the congregation made their way out into the sunlight.
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The betty netch drifted on a gentle air current, then a brief burst from its vents brought it closer to the herd. Three large males slowly pursued, thrashing the air with their dangling tentacles.
Drulene Falen watched the huge gasbags alertly. Netch normally presented no threat to her guar, but the betty netch was obviously ripe for mating and that would make the bulls far more aggressive than usual. She sidestepped slowly to the barrel outside the door of her house.
As the betty went about the business of enticing the males their displays became more urgent. Gas vented and they settled until their tentacles dragged on the ground, coiling around stones and lifting them, then letting them drop. Drulene tried to guess whether the objective was to impress the betty with the sound the stones made hitting the ground, or the rapid bobbing motion of the great gasbag when the ballast fell free of the grip of the tentacles. Not being a betty netch herself she had no clue, and wasn't particularly impressed with either one. It didn't appear that any one of the three suitors was gaining any big advantage over the competition though.
And the netch continued to drift towards the herd.
"Nothing more impressive in a man than picking up a thrashing guar instead of a stone, eh betty?" Drulene muttered under her breath as she drew a longbow out of the barrel. She pulled the coiled bowstring out of her pouch and quickly strung the weapon, then took an arrow from the barrel. The tip of the arrow was not the typical cross of razor sharp blades or the pointed tip of a practice arrow. A broad metal mushroom graced the end of the shaft. Drulene quickly drew the string to her cheek and let fly. As the bowstring sang she quietly said "Good-bye betty."
The arrow struck the heavy leather top hide of the betty netch's gasbag with a resounding thump, and fell to the ground. The startled netch vented gas rapidly, producing a gaspy bleat of a noise and sending the betty rapidly off to the north. The three males puffed up their bags and floated higher while slowly venting to propel themselves in pursuit.
"Good luck guys," said the guar herder as she gathered her arrow. She gave one of the guar a reassuring pat as she returned to the house. She unstrung her bow and placed it neatly upright in the barrel, along with the arrow. When she turned to look again only the very top of one of the netch was visible over the trees.
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