Wither - A Dalmerian Tale
The sun was already setting over the top of the trees far to the west.
The rolling hills and shallow streams coated in the bright orange light of the fading evening sun, glistening like gold to the eyes of whoever beheld it. A road cut its way through the land, running through the grassy hills and tiny meadows of trees, stretching from east to west like a long snake, or perhaps just the skin of a snake, long since forgotten by its previous owner and left to its own demise.
On a hill that the road passed over was the lone figure of a person, silhouetted against the setting sun, a black pillar parting the bright rays of golden sunshine. The silhouette was moving, although if someone had seen it from afar, they could’ve sworn it was standing completely still. As the figure slowly made its way down the hill and out of the crimson skies, details emerged from the blackness that had previously portrayed its existence.
It was a lonely traveler, a man, making his way down the hill. Heavy leather boots made deep yet soft sounds against the cobblestone street. They stopped just below their owners knees, followed directly by a pair of dark beige pants, somewhat filthy and grimy, with stitches running up the sides. Simple clothing, for a simple traveler.
Above the waist ended that simplicity with a black belt, strapped around the lower edge of a dirty gambeson vest, which had probably been white once, the hue now long since faded. Beneath it, the man wore a dark burgundy tunic, which he had found to be far too cold for the chilly autumn air. A sword hung from the traveler’s right hip, the blade clanking slightly inside its scabbard with each new step he took.
A backpack hung loosely over his shoulders, and just like the rest of the man’s clothing, it had seen better days, stitching and patches adorning various parts of the bag.
Devin Forrester trudged on down the winding cobblestone road, letting the sun’s last rays warm the harrowed skin on his face. He’d always liked the sunset, ever since he was a little lad, growing up in Linden, far to the east. His father, Derrick Forrester, had been an honest, hard-working man, and his trade as blacksmith had earned his family a steady income and enough gold for a rather big house down by the river.
“Only the best for my wife and boy,” his father had said once.
A particularly cold evening of Devin’s eleventh winter, his mother had gone into labor. The birth had not been an easy one, but at the end, it produced a precious little baby girl, who came by the name of Alina Forrester.
Sadly, the child came at the cost of its mothers life, and as the first beacons of the sun shone through their bedroom window, Anna Forrester drew her last breath, before falling into eternal sleep.
Her husband was devastated, and so was Devin. This tragic death marked the end of his father’s honest life, as his deepening grief made his work falter. Come summer, and he’d lost his workshop and forge. Destitute and desperate to fend for his two children, Derrick took odd jobs wherever he could find them, and sometimes, one could see his son begging in the streets.
By next winter, Devin’s father had somehow come into contact with the wrong kind of people as he slowly declined into a husk of the man he once was.
Devin had been home alone, taking care of little Alina when he heard a knock on the door. The little boy scrambled to the door and slowly opened it. Outside stood a man dressed in matted and dented steel armor, a fearsome helmet with thorns resting under his arm and an unsavory kind of look upon his face.
“Salve. You the son of that Derrick Forrester, boy?” asked the man with deep, gravelly voice.
“Aye, sir,” said little Devin. “But Pa’s not in now, maybe-“
Devin was silenced quickly as the burly man pushed his way in through the doorway. Now that he was closer, Devin realized just how massive the man was, beastlike in his young mind. The top of the man’s filthy scalp almost touched the ceiling.
The young boy meekly protested to the man’s intrusion, but it fell upon deaf ears. A loud smacking sound filled the room when the palm of the man’s hand struck Devin square across the face, sending the boy tumbling to the floor. The armored man stood over him, his face indifferent, as if he took no remorse in what he had just done.
“Now listen ‘ere, you little brat,” the beast of a man said to Devin. “You’re gonna tell your father that we want our money by next week, right?” His voice had a thick accent, one that Devin didn’t recognize, which told him this man was probably not a local.
Little Devin nodded quickly, his face still burning from the slap. “I will sir, I promise!”
“Good, good,” said the man. He made a move to leave the house, but his eyes suddenly stuck on something. Devin knew what it was, and dreaded what would happen next.
“Well, well…” The armored man said with a deep chuckle as he made his way towards the crib in the corner. “What do we have ‘ere, eh?” He stood by her crib and look down at the little infant. “A right bastard, I bet.”
He reached his hand into the crib.
“Stop it, please!” Devin pleaded from the floor. “Don’t hurt her!”
Alina started crying as the man hoisted her from her crib, holding nothing but one of her tiny legs in his enormous paw.
“Who did your father fuck to produce this ‘ere runt?”
“Put my sister down, please!”
The massive man only turned to look at Devin, still holding the crying baby in his outstretched arm, the same way one would hold a smelly bag of trash. Against Devin’s protests, the man left the house without another word, carrying Alina with him.
Devin never saw the man again, nor his little sister.
No more than eight days later, Derrick Forrester was found floating face-down in the river. Devin was sent to an orphanage, where he spent many years in his solitude and grief. He grew to become a troublesome boy, and because of this, never came to an adoptive home. When he came of age, Devin was allowed to leave the orphanage, and chose to set out into the world to make a new life for himself, wherever he could find it.
Countless years had passed since that day, and Devin, now in his late fifties, found himself traveling down this lonely cobblestone road towards a destination he wasn’t even sure existed.
He took a quick glance over his surroundings, reveling in that small little respite of purest green. All around him, the landscape was dotted with little hills, covered in thick grass. Small streams poured across the grasslands, and when he listened closely he could just barely make out the sound of running water.
Off in the distance in front of him, he could see the outline of the Belda Mountains, cutting a broad swath across the entire kingdom, north to south. He looked to his right, and felt a frown grow upon his face as he watched the skies to the north, where dark clouds had begun to form. The wind was blowing in his direction, and knowing his luck, the clouds would soon drown him in a dreadful deluge.
Devin hastened his pace, hoping to at least reach the trees in the distance before the rain hit him. Of course, he had a traveling cloak in his pack, but he doubted it would last him very long if the weather became as bad as he thought.
His feet ached from the long walk across the land, but the old man pushed such trivial matters away. Sore feet, he could live with. Being drenched in the middle of the Wild was however not. He could already hear thunder roaring somewhere to the north, telling him the clouds came closer by the minute, and would be on him any moment.
The man kicked into a jog, and in a matter of seconds he had reached the tree line.
Dead leaves dotted the path before him, an endless veil of beige and red as the winter slowly reared its cold head in the distance, chasing away all traces of the once warm summer. He was glad that it was still autumn at least; making this journey in the winter would’ve been a death sentence. Not that he was particularly fond of the journey in the first place, but he took it anyway.
There was no sound of birds that day, no chirping or playful rustling of the bushes as the thrushes nestled or collected berries. Devin pushed on, his only company being the sound of the wind in the tree tops, and the crackling sounds his boots made against the path of broken leaves.
Somewhere above the trees, the sound of crackling thunder reached his ears, this time much closer than last time. It seemed the storm was moving faster than he first had thought. Devin quickened his pace further as the first drops of the cold autumn rain hit his shoulders and scalp. He contemplated pulling his cloak out of his pack, but before he could make a decision, something became visible between the tree trunks before him.
It was the frame of a small building, nestled to the left of the path. When he came closer, Devin saw that it was an old house built in grey bricks with plants and vines growing from underneath the tile roof.
Devin jogged through the open little gate in the front and approached the door. A small wooden sign hung above it.
Moon-Leaf
Inn
He sighed in relief as he read the words, and couldn’t help but just stop for a moment at the threshold to collect himself. He’d almost started to doubt that the place even existed, and so he was thankful that it did. Not only would his journey not have been in vain, but the inn would offer food, comfort and shelter from the rain.
Hopefully.
Once inside, the old man stood perplexed for a few seconds as the implications of what he saw sunk into his mind. When he took this job from an acquaintance in Linden, he’d been told to expect a couple of Dark Elves in the inn that would approach him with further details.
A couple of Dark Elves. Just two; no more, no less.
Now, Devin found himself being the center of attention at the inn, watched by countless bright red eyes, not a single one blinking or looking elsewhere than at the lone human that had entered their mist.
They said a couple of elves. Instead the inn was packed with nothing but Dark Elves, every single one pale as the winter’s first snow, brows furrowed beneath hair black as ravens. Walking through the staring patrons towards the proprietor standing behind a small desk, Devin coursed this predicament.
He’d been promised complete discretion, his name and face remaining unknown to anyone not directly involved in the affair. Amidst the ever watchful elves, one human man stuck out like a Wyvern in a coop of hens. Devin promised himself dearly not to trust another Dark Elf again. A lesson most people learned early in their lives, but Devin wanted to believe the best about others. Clearly, he thought, that had been a mistake.
“Any rooms available?” He asked after clearing his throat once he reached the owner.
They both looked at each other intently, both trying to discern if the other one was to be trusted. Just like everyone else at the inn, the owner was a Dark Elf, and by the dark shade of his skin, he was of very old age. Perhaps too old to run such an establishment, Devin thought, but kept it to himself. No use in upsetting the elf.
“Well… just the one, actually,” the elf answered after a few moments of silence and scrutinizing looks. “Forty ridales, and it’s yours.”
“I’ve only got gold crowns,” Devin said as he hoisted the pack of his shoulders and placed it on a stool by the desk. “Didn’t know this was an all-elf in, never occurred to me that I would need any other currency than my own.”
The dark elf scoffed. “You humans are all the same, not enough grey matter to know your place.” Devin gave him an angered glance. “No respect for other races. Fine, then crowns, then.”
Devin pulled a small leather pouch from the insides of his pack, opened it, poured out a collection of small gold coins and began counting. He didn’t say anything about the elf’s remarks, it was best to just remain quiet and go with the flow. Being thrown out was the last thing he needed. Or worse, a fight.
“Oh, and, uh… the crows called me here.”
The owner gave him a confused look. “What was that?”
Devin tossed the ten coins unto the counter before looking the old elf straight in the eyes. “I said: The crows. Called me here.” He raised his eyebrows after the sentence.
“Oh. Oh! Right… just five coins, then,” the elf said quickly before scooping up half of the coins, leaving the rest for Devin.
“Very generous of you, friend,” Devin said as he threw the pouch back into his pack. “Very generous indeed.”
“Your room is up the stairs over there, the last door on the left down the hallway.”
Devin nodded. “I’d like to be left alone. The journey was long, I need some time to rest and recover.”
“But, of course,” the elf answered.
Without another word, Devin flung his pack over one of his shoulders, and made his way back through the inn towards the staircase, doing his best to not meet the eyes of the other elves surrounding him. He quickly found his room, and once inside he quickly shut and locked the door behind him.
The old man hurriedly pulled the curtains in the window, shutting out the now raging storm outside. He tossed his pack aside, and then undid his belt. Carefully, he removed the belt and scabbard before placing it on the bed with great care. The blade was all he had of value and he treated it like a blade of kings, never letting any unnecessary harm befall it.
Once he’d wrapped the belt perfectly around the scabbard and placed it on one side of the bed, the pommel of the sword just in hands reach, he went over to the window and grabbed the rickety old chair sitting just underneath it. He propped it against the door, the back of the chair pressing the handle up and making it impossible to press down.
Just in case.
Devin threw himself unto the dusty bed and place the palms of his hands at the back of his head, stared into the ceiling. Him, an old man with grey hair, all alone in the wilds in an inn fully occupied by Dark Elves, and a storm tormenting the outside. Things could be worse, he thought. Even though they couldn’t, they already were as bad as they could get.
Perhaps coming here had been a mistake. Maybe it was all a lie, and his contact wouldn’t show up, and they’d cut his throat when he slept instead. They could try, he thought. Devin Forrester wasn’t about to go out without a fight, so the elves be damned by all the gods.
The crows called me here. What a load of rubbish. Still, the owner did understand what it meant, so perhaps there still was some hope left. Or maybe he just sensed something was off and played along. That’s what Devin would have done himself, so it wasn’t too far fetched.
Whether this was to be his final night alive, or the beginning of a new life, all he could do was wait.
So he waited.
Wither - A Dalmerian Tale
~ Excerpt from the Scroll of Creation - 10A1 ~
In the beginning, all was dark and barren. Nothing lived or breathed, and the world was an empty husk.
Then, She came. Born from the shadows, She emerged into the world.
Night.
She walked a desolate land, and her life was one of sorrow and loneliness. She wept in her solitude, and gathered the tears in her undying hands, and wished and hoped for company, for life and joy.
From her wish, came Day.
The world bathed in light, and Night no longer felt alone, now that Day had come to her aid. Together, they traversed the barren landscape for decades, marveling both in the warm light of Day, and the cradling shadows of Night.
Slowly, they filled the world with the seeds of their creation, the once barren and dead land now teeming with purest green, yet still no life.
And just as Night had done before her, Day felt loneliness seep into her, and she felt a longing she'd never known before. She longed to bring life and happiness to the world, and she wept when Night wasn't watching her.
From her wish, came Sorrow. The first man.
Day and Sorrow fell deeply in love, much to the dismay of Night, who had also taken a liking to the new face among them.
In secret she sated her carnal lusts with Sorrow, and soon found herself with child, much as her friend Day.
They bore sisters, Dusk and Dawn, whom they raised together despite Night's betrayal.
But as the children grew older, Dusk and Dawn came to feel lonely and restless, and they both wished for new playmates.
From their wish came the Apostles.
There was the Apostle of Spring.
The Apostle of Summer.
The Apostle of Fall.
And the Apostle of Winter.
They changed the world at the whim of the children, and they never wanted anymore.
With the aid of the children, the Apostles created new life, beings that could wander freely in the world that they had shaped together, and that life grew and flourished.
But then came a day when Sorrow became weak. Night and Day feared for his life, and their children mourned for the possible future they would face.
Day couldn't stand to see his suffering any longer, and so she created a chalice from her own hair, spun from silk into unbreakable gold. To save her loved one from anymore pain, she sealed his eternal soul within the chalice, where her magic would forever guard him and keep him safe.
She did what she could and tried her best to live her life at peace with her children. She never wished for another man, knowing full well that no man could ever take the place of Sorrow.
Unbeknownst to Day, Night stole away with the chalice, and hid it far away from the world in a place darker than her own shadows.
And there she remained for all eternity, and there she still remains, watching over the soul of the man she loved, but could never have.
