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Guide To Leyawiin

Author: 
Alessia Ottus

Zenithar, bless all our labors! My name is Alessia Ottus, and I'd like to tell you all about Leyawiin.

Pinned between the savage and uncivilized provinces of Elsweyr and Black Marsh, and guarding the vital passage up the River Niven from Topal Bay to the Imperial City, Leyawiin is a mighty fortress, with tall stone walls and strong garrisons.

Leyawiin is a bright and cheerful, prosperous town in the midst of Blackwood's swampy wildernesses, with wide, bright streets, large, comfortable houses, half-timbered or painted stucco, many of which are colorful and not too dirty or weather-worn. There are trees and flowering shrubs everywhere, and peaceful plazas and ponds for quiet contemplation. Indeed, if it weren't for the raffish rabble of Argonian and Khajiit descent, Leyawiin would be a pleasant and safe place to visit.

Marius Caro is Count Leyawiin, and his recent bride, the lovely and cultivated Alessia Caro, is the daughter of the righteous and reliable Countess Arriana Valga of Chorrol. The Count and Countess are energetic supporters of Imperialization, and they work tirelessly to bring the traditional values of hard-working, chapel-going, and law-abiding Nibenese Heartland Imperial culture to this frontier outpost.

The town itself lies with tall curtain walls on the west bank of the Niben. To the east through two gates lies the inner keep and Castle Leyawiin, straddling the deep channels of the river. The Chapel of Zenithar lies in the northwest, near the West Gate. All the shops, inns, and guildhalls lie south of the chapel, in the western half of town, except for a fine bookstore and general trader north of the road traversing the town east-west from West Gate. The residential part of town runs along a single wide north-south boulevard, backed on the east by deep ponds created by impounding one of the meandering channels of the Niben.

The Chapel of Stendarr and the Count and Countess are partners in attempting to extend the benefits of heartland Nibenese culture to the benighted frontier populations of Blackwood and the Lower Niben. Trade and industry are strong in Leyawiin, thanks to the patronage of Zenithar, and notwithstanding the bandits troubling caravans and travellers along the Green Road through the recently annexed Trans-Niben.

Leyawiin boasts the finest collection of shops and tradesmen in Cyrodiil (outside of the Imperial City, of course). Even the craftsmen and trainers of the Fighters Guild and Mages Guild are of a higher order of quality. Worth special mention is Southern Books -- a bookstore owned by an Orc (!!!), always stocking multiple copies of 'A Children's Annuad', a religious book appropriate for those ignorant of the mysteries of the faith, and adapted to the meanest understanding.

Recently, a new competitor for the Fighters Guild, a mercenary hiring hall called 'The Blackwood Company', has commenced operations here in a striking new building. Despite being staffed almost exclusively by Khajiit and Argonians, the officers are polite, well-spoken, and deferential, and I'm told they aggressively compete with the Fighters Guild for price and service. (This is the Imperial way and pleasing to Zenithar -- to extend prosperity and security through enterprising commercial ventures.)

I'm sorry to say that not all Khajitt and Argonians in Leyawiin are as presentable and industrious as the members of the Black Comapany. Lizardmen and catfolk are to be seen in the streets at all hours, lounging and gossiping. If only these creatures would spend a little more time keeping themselves and their homes clean.

Praise the Nine and turn away from sin!

Guide To The Imperial City

Author: 
Alessia Ottus

Praise Akatosh! Bless the Empire and All Its People!

My name is Alessia Ottus, and I'd like to tell you all about the Imperial City.

* The Imperial City *

Who do you think lives in the Imperial City? Uriel Septim, Emperor of Tamriel, Defender of the Faith, and Descendant of the Sainted Tiber Septim, Lord Talos, the Holy God of State and Law in our Blessed Nine Divines. All know the emperor to be a good and holy man, for he may often be seen in the Temple of the One, making his devotions to the Nine Divines and the Communion of Saints.

And where does he live? In the Imperial Palace, in the center of the Imperial City, in the White Gold Tower which was built many ages ago by the godless, Daedra-loving Ayleids. How fine it is that the stones raised high by this ancient evil empire are now reconsecrated as a monument to Imperial justice and piety.

People who visit the Imperial Palace like to walk among the graves of saints and counts, battlemages and emperors, and gaze with wonder upon White Gold Tower, which can be seen from any place within the City.

The Elder Council Chamber here cannot be entered, and though you may marvel at their curious ancient armors, you will soon want be away from the rude and discourteous Imperial Guards.

* Imperial City Districts *

The Imperial City is divided into ten districts. At the center is the Imperial Palace. The other districts are grouped around the Palace. To the northwest is Elven Gardens, a pleasant residential district.

Continuing widdershins, the Talos District, an exclusive residential area, lies to the west. To the southwest is the Temple District, and beyond it, outside the walls, the filthy and bad-smelling Waterfront District. To the southeast lies the Arboretum, and beyond that, outside the walls, the infamous Arcane University of the Mages Guild. To the east is the notorious Arena District. And last, to the northeast of the Palace lies the Market District, where anything may be bought, and beyond the Market District, outside the city walls, the Imperial Prison.

* The Temple District *

I live in the Temple District of the Imperial City, and it is a very pretty place. You are welcome to visit me, my husband, and daughter when you come to worship at the Temple of the One. This district is very pretty, and only pleasant and well-bred persons live here, though, as in all parts of the city, beggars are a constant problem.

* The Arboretum *

In this beautiful garden you will find the famous Statues of the Nine Divines. In the center you will find the statue of Lord Talos, Emperor Tiber Septim. But is it right, that Talos should have this place of honor rather than Akatosh, king of gods? It is the scheming pride of the Elder Council, who sought favor with the sons of Talos, that is responsible for this shameful error.

* The Market District *

You will find crowds of people waiting outside the doors of the Office of Imperial Commerce to make their complaints about being cheated by some merchant. It is a very dirty place. Piles of crates lie around in untidy heaps, unwholesome toadstools and fungus grow in clumps, and the cobbles are slimy and encrusted with filth. If you may send your servant rather than visit yourself, it would be far better.

* Arcane University *

This place is unspeakably dirty and unkempt, no better than a slum. You will never find the students or wizards outside in the air, for they are squatting in their dark dungeons poring over profane texts and making crabbed scribbles on scrolls.

Within the Arch-Mage's Tower is hidden the Imperial Orrery, which the mages use to study the sky. Such fools! Why do they not look on the glory of Creation itself, and give praise to the Nine as they ought, rather than squat and peer at such a ridiculous and expensive machine?

The Mages are said to have a great library of precious books, but they jealously hoard them for themselves. This is no loss for the righteous, for these books are surely full of wicked nonsense.

* Imperial Waterfront *

This is a terrible place. It is not uncommon to stumble over the bodies of women and children who have been murdered here. There are no more wicked and godless men in Tamriel than merchants and sailors, and they gather here to plot and cheat citizens of their hard-earned gold. Gambling and slaving and skooma-sucking and even more depraved activities take place in warehouses and ships here. And where are the City Watch? Nowhere to be seen.

* Imperial Prison *

The prisons are very cruel and horrible, damp and dirty, with chains and pincers and manacles and instruments of torture on every hand. But did I find any prisoners in these cells? No! For the Watch is so lazy and careless that the cells are all empty!

There are guards everywhere in the Imperial City. They travel in groups, for even they are afraid of the cruel bandits and thieves that lurk everywhere in the City. I do not know why they do not throw the impertinent beggars into prison. Criminals are so bold as to introduce themselves to you on the street. One outlaw was so brazen as to boast that he had stolen his weapons and armor from the Imperial Prison. How careless and idle these Watchmen must be to allow this! They know no shame, for the wicked officers of the Watch are corrupt, and accept gold from the hands of the very people they are supposed to place behind bars.

* The Arena *

I will not tell you about this place, for you have no need to visit it. Only idle or foolish persons come here to throw their money away on games of chance, or to spill their own blood when they would better devote themselves to exterminating the armies of robbers and beggars that swarm in the streets.

May the Nine bless you and keep you!

Guide To Chorrol

Author: 
Alessia Ottus

Praise Stendarr, the Nine, and all the Saints! My name is Alessia Ottus, and I'd like to tell you all about the town of Chorrol.

* Castle Chorrol *

Chorrol is the county seat of County Chorrol, and is ruled by Countess Arriana Valga, a very proper woman, and mother of the beautiful and virtuous Alessia Caro, Countess of Leyawiin.

Countess Arriana is a devout and righteous follower of Akatosh, and sets a fine example for her people by her devotions in the Chapel of Stendarr. Her husband, Count Charus Valga, was a staunch Defender of the Faith and follower of Stendarr, and his death in battle against the heathen Nord clansmen of Skyrim was greatly lamented by his people. Alessia Caro has been a good husband to Count Marius of Leyawiin, and a dutiful daughter, and she is often seen visiting Chorrol and her saintly mother.

I am also pleased to report that the castle mage is a righteous and goodly servant of the Nine (unlike so many wizards who neglect the Chapel and the Faith). Chanel offers magical training for those eager to smite the ungodly, and it would be much better to go to her than to some wicked Mages Guild hedgewizard.

The Countess holds court every day in the fine Great Hall (except on Sundas, of course). She has a very fine herald and steward, and the castle is neat and well-ordered. It also has a strong dungeon jail for evildoers, though I'm sorry to say that the guards are often lax in their duties, and fail to arrest and lock up the various beggars and thieves and gamblers and cheats who idle in the streets.

* Districts of Chorrol *

There are five main districts of Chorrol. When you enter the gate, you find yourself in Fountain Gate, before the fine pool and statue of the Saint of Sancre Tor, in memory of all who died in that great battle. Around the fountain are the two inns, the general store and the smith. One street leads east to the Castle, one north to Great Oak Place, one west to Chapel Street and West Chorrol. Chapel Street leads west to the Chapel, past the book store, and thence to the crude shacks gathered around the well of West Chorrol. Around Great Oak Place are the Mages Guild and Fighters Guild, and many fine houses.

* The Chapel of Stendarr *

The Chapel of Stendarr is beautiful, and perfect for a traveler's mediations and prayer. Every Sundas morning you will find the best citizens gathered with their good countess for worship. You may be surprised to learn that not all people of Chorrol follow the model of their countess, for many are very idle and careless in their devotions. This is certainly the responsibility of the Fighters Guild and the Mages Guild, whose members fail to set a good example for Chorrol's citizens. The elderly priestess of the Chapel, Orag gra-Bagrol, is a kindly, righteous soul, and it would be far better to purchase your spells from her than from the godless heathens of the Mages Guild.

* Chorrol's Guilds *

The Fighters Guild's members, though led by the excellent and honorable Vilena Donton, are dirty and uncouth in their speech, and often to be found lazing about in their chapter house, or wandering the town and engaging in loose talk. How much better it would be if they improved their characters by regular attendance at the Chapel of Stendarr. Their excellent smith is an exception, being often seen at her devotions at the chapel.

The members of the Chorrol Mages Guild are for the most part shiftless scholars and students who spend their time reading, quarreling, and brewing foul concotions. They are well-spoken and well-educated, but what good is such learning if they fail to improve their souls by penitence and prayer? You may purchase spells and potions from these persons, but it will only encourage them in their irreverent amusements and wicked idleness.

* Goods and Services *

The proprietor of Northern Goods and Trade, Seed-Neeus, is an Argonian, but unlike so many of her countrymen, she is clever, honest, and well-spoken. Isn't that remarkable? She is so acccomplished that she offers training in the mercantile arts, but you will not purchase goods from her cheaply.

I am told by those who know that the smith of Fire and Steel, Rasheda the Redguard, is a very fine craftsman, who offers training in her craft, and she is always to be found at Sundas chapel worship, but she is fresh and disrespectful, and her manners and dress leave something to be desired.

Renoit's Books is fairly clean, and has a wide selection of books, but would you believe that I found not a single copy of 'Ten Commands of the Nine Divines', nor have I ever seen the proprietress in the Chapel of Stendarr?

There are only two places where you may purchase food and lodging. One is proper and clean, frequented by decent citizens. The other is rude and dirty, and a meeting place for drunkards, thieves, and Orcs. The one is run by a well-dressed, dignified, and proper matron. The other is run by a careless young woman. The one is called the 'Oak and Crosier'. The other is called 'The Grey Mare'. I'm sure you know which one to visit if you want a clean and safe bed.

* Notable Citizens of Chorrol *

Casta Scribonia, the author, lives in Chorrol. She is a well-educated and well- traveled woman, but she writes books which I cannot recommend, for they are full of romance and gossip and other offensive and wasteful indulgences, and their heroes do not present to our children the proper models of virtue, duty, honor, and reverence that all followers of the Nine Divines must love and hold in our hearts.

* Shameful Features of Chorrol *

You will often see townsfolk gathered in mischief and loose talk around the Great Oak near the Fighters and Mages Guilds. One man, very sly, named Honditar, knows all about the surrounding lands, and he offers to teach skills for a fee, but one nevers sees him in the chapel, and one suspects that he is given to profanity, strong drink, and brawling.

There are many thieves and murderers in Chorrol. They even secretly teach their crafts for fees in their homes, and where is the Chorrol Guard? Nowhere to be seen, I'm sorry to say.

The beggars in Chorrol are dirty, but they are free of disease, cheerful, and polite. You may give a coin to one to ease your soul, but it does little to improve a beggar, for it will soon be squandered on gambling, strong spirits, and other mischief.

Nine gods and nine blessings!

Guide To Cheydinhal

Author: 
Alessia Ottus

Arkay, bless my body and soul! My name is Alessia Ottus, and I'd like to tell you all about Cheydinhal.

The first impression of the visitor to Cheydinhal is of broad green parklands, graceful willows along the banks of the Corbolo, neatly groomed gardens and flowering shrubs. Cheydinhal looks prosperous, with clean, well-trimmed houses and neat stonework, ornamented with striking designs in glass, metal, and wood.

But what lurks beneath this pleasing appearance? Crime! Scandal! Corruption!

Cheydinhal is divided into three districts. To the north, on a hill, is the courtyard and inner keep of Castle Cheydinhal. A road runs east-west below the castle from East Gate to West Gate. The Corbolo River runs roughly north-south from this road, dividing southern Cheydinhal into two districts, Chapel in the east, and Market in the west. In Market District lie all the shops, inns, and guildhalls. In Chapel District are the Chapel itself and Cheydinhal's residences. Bridges span the Corbolo in the north and south, with the south bridges connecting upon a pretty little island park in the middle of the river.

Though Cheydinhal lies in the Nibenean East, its culture is shaped by the Dark Elf immigrants who emigrated here in the past half century from Morrowind. Many of these immigrants were fleeing Morrowind's rigid society and heathen Temple theocracy. In Cyrodiil they hoped to find the stimulating commercial atmosphere inspired by Zenithar's patronage.

One of these immigrants is now Count Cheydinhal. Andel Indarys was of House Hlaalu in Morrowind, but he came to Cheydinhal searching for greater opportunity. His sudden rise into the highest ranks of Cyrodilic nobility is hard to explain, and most old families of Cyrodiil rightly regard him as a presumptuous upstart. However, the discovery of the Count's wife, Lady Llathasa Indarys, badly battered and dead at the foot of the County Hall stairs immediately attracted scandal, and rumors of the Count's dissipation, rages and infidelities suggest a darker mystery behind her death.

The Chapel of Arkay in Cheydinhal is poorly attended. The Count sets a poor example; he never sets foot inside the chapel. But perhaps it is from fear of divine judgement that he avoids placing himself under the eyes of the Nine! Cheydinhal's primate, priest, and healer are goodly people, and staunch professors of the faith, but the most honored and respected of the chapel's clerics is Errandil, the Living Saint of Arkay, a tireless crusader against the wicked practice of necromantic sorcery in the Mages Guild and the Imperial Battle College.

Both of Cheydinhal's inns appear respectable from the outside, but the Newlands Inn is owned by a wicked, profane Dark Elf ruffian, and the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn is owned by a dignified, devout Imperial matron, so I am sure you know which place will serve you good, reasonable food, and which will provide you with a safe, clean bed where you are unlikely to be murdered for your purse. The owner-proprietor of Cheydinhal's bookstore is Mach-Na, an Argonian, and a ruder, more disagreeable creature I have never met. Nonetheless, his selection of books is excellent, and his prices reasonable.

The poorest of Cheydinhal's residences are bright and clean, with well-groomed grounds, and the citizens think it no inconvenience when you step in to admire their furniture and appointments (provided you do this at a decent hour!). However, be warned! Many of these residents seem respectable to all appearances, but no sooner do they open their mouths than they reveal themselves to be evil brutes, shocking and rude, and more likely to murder you and bury you in their basements as to speak a civil word to you. That many of these rough, unpleasant people are Orcs should be no surprise to you.

However, you will not wish to miss the house of Cheydinhal's most notable citizen, the celebrated painter, Rythe Lythandas. He is often hard at work in his studio, and not to be disturbed, but his wife is gracious and hospitable, and may be persuaded to show you those of his paintings which hang on his own walls.

Follow the Nine to Glory!

Guide To Bruma

Author: 
Alessia Ottus

Father Talos, protect us all! My name is Alessia Ottus, and I'd like to tell you all about Bruma.

Bruma is understood to be a Nibenese county, but in truth it is more Nord than Nibenese, on account of its close proximity to the Skyrim border, and on account of the terrible cold and discomfort of its location high in the Jerall Mountains. Bruma is always cold and covered with snow, with braziers kept burning in every quarter to prevent the citizens from freezing to death. Everything is built in wood, since trees are so plentiful in the forests of the Jeralls, and even rich men live here in dark, dirty wooden huts. It is little wonder that Nords are such drunken heathen savages, for life is impossible in such a climate, and one might be tempted to drink into insensibility or sell one's soul to just to find sanctuary from the bitter cold and relentless wind.

Castle Bruma is cold and drafty, carelessly decorated, and dark with soot from the perpetually burning braziers. The smell of smoke and cinders is overpowering. The high ceilings are grand, but impossible to heat, and one is never able to get warm. The ancient layers of soot and filth encrusting the stonework makes it difficult to appreciate the exceptional stonecarving. Except in its stonework and grand scale, the castle is like the log huts of the people -- cold, dark, drafty, and dirty.

Countess Narina Carvain is a Nibenean Heartlander, a dutiful chapelgoer, and a respected ruler, though she is a cunning and ruthless negotiator, and has a reputation for sharp-dealing and treachery. Administration of the county is efficient and well-ordered, and a well- trained and aggressive town watch under command of a hard-nosed Nord captain insures that thieves and beggars are not very troublesome, though Nords are famous for drunkenness and rioting.

Access to the castle is through a gate west from the town into a courtyard. The shops, inns, guilds are located in the north, either on the western terrace near the castle gate, or below the terrace, north of the chapel. The chapel is the central feature of southern Bruma, with houses ranged along the inside of the walls along the east and south. The streets are cramped and barren, since few trees and plants can survive the cold, but the town is compact and quickly explored.

Bruma's Nibenean citizens faithfully observe chapel Sundas rituals, but the lower classes are unregenerate followers of the heathen Nord gods, and they keep to their own secret superstitions and uncivilized practices.

You will not be surprised to find you can purchase good quality weapons and armor here, for Nord smiths are famous for the quality of their wares. But you should not expect to be able to purchase books here, for Nords are ignorant and not fond of reading. The Fighters and Mages Guilds are poor and short-staffed, for no one wants to be posted to such a gray and cold land, but at least the Mages Guild is kept good and warm (though I shrink from imagining what infernal engines are employed to produce and preserve that heat).

May the Nine bless and save you!

Guide To Bravil

Author: 
Alessia Ottus

Mara, Mother Mild! Make us hale and hearty! My name is Alessia Ottus, and I'd like to tell you all about Bravil.

Bravil is the dark grate of the sewer drain where foul and unappetising debris collects. It is the poorest and dirtiest of Cyrodiil's towns, the oldest and shabbiest, the most plagued by criminals, drunkards, and skooma-eaters, and most popular with beastfolk and other foreigners. All Bravil lacks is a coven of Daedra worshippers to make it the perfect pit of villainy... and many rumors suggest that even more evil and depraved worships are practiced in secret by Bravil's wicked heathens.

This town is gray, grim, and depressing. The climate is damp and the atmosphere foul because of the fetid channels of the Larsius River that serve as Bravil's sewers, and because of the rank swamps of the lowland margins of the Niben Bay, where insects and diseases breed in abundance.

The architecture of the town is remarkable for its unequalled ugliness and disorder. The houses, shops, and guilds are built from cracked and splintered timbers soft from rot and green with mold and mildew. It is a pity that they do not fall down, for they might be rebuilt in a more pleasing manner, but rather they continue to grow on top of one another like mounded middens, reaching lofty heights of three and four stories. Beggars and thieves lounge indolently on balconies overhanging the streets and dump their refuse directly upon the unfortunate passers-by. Whole families live in teetering shacks on the tops of the buildings in unimaginable squalor.

Bravil's people are dirty and dishonest. They live little better than goblins in caves, squatting in filthy, tumbledown shacks. The town citizens are divided into two classes: the smugglers, skooma-eaters, bandits, thieves, and murderers, and the wretched beggars and fools that these criminals prey upon.

Bravil is ruled by crimelords, and the town guard lives in the pockets of the skooma kingpins. You will not be surprised to find there are many Argonians and Khajiit in this miserable place, since Elsweyr and Black Marsh are close by, but you may be surprised to find many Orcs here. However, beastfolk are comfortable in the company of other beastfolk, as are thieves and brutes naturally drawn to the company of one another.

Bravil is not organized into orderly districts. However, some landmarks may serve to orient the unfortunate visitor. The castle is approached by rickety bridges over the river to the east. The chapel is to the west. The shops and guilds are arranged in a line with their backs to the east wall and the channels of the river. Between the chapel and the shops and guilds are Bravil's ramshackle slums and tenements.

The castle is the only sturdy, stone-built dwelling in Bravil. It is nowhere as dirty and ill-furnished as the timber shacks of the people, but it is still little better than the houses of the poorest paupers in Anvil or the Imperial City. Count Regulus Terentius, from a respectable family, once a noted tournament champion, is now widely recognized by his people as a drunken wastrel and ne'er-do-well. And his son, Gellius Terentius, is a strutting peacock who cultivates the society of crimelords and skooma-eaters.

The chapel stonework is in poor repair and covered with mold and mildew. The graveyard is surrounded by a ramshackle, unpainted wooden fence, and the graves are untidy and neglected. The primate is a good servant of Mara, but she is unequal to the task of driving sin and wickedness from this Nine-forsaken town. The priestess is wise and well-liked by those few who visit the chapel, but most people never pass once through the chapel's doors, except to beg and steal.

The inns are a disgrace. It is common to step over prostrate drunks and through pools of sick upon entering, and idlers, gamblers, and pickpockets swarm in the darkness and prey upon unwary travelers. A visitor foolish enough to sleep in these places should expect to be murdered in his bed.

The guilds, by contrast, are relatively clean, dry, and quiet, and one forced by necessity to spend a night in Bravil might be justified in joining the Fighters Guild or the Mages Guild, despite their savage and godless ways, simply to be assured of a safe place to sleep.

The shops are no worse than any other feature of Bravil, and you may be more safe in them from assault or murder on account of the prodigious provisions merchants must take to protect themselves from thieves.

If you are forced by circumstances to visit Bravil, you will very soon wish to leave, and you will wish to watch your back as you leave, to be sure you are not followed by parades of bandits and assassins.

Honor the Nine in prayer!

Guide To Anvil

Author: 
Alessia Ottus

Sweet Dibella, Lady of Love! Bless us and our Children!

My name is Alessia Ottus, and I'd like to tell you all about Anvil.

The seat of Anvil County is by the sea, and at first glance, is very pretty, but when you examine it closely, turns out to be quite unpleasant. The water views are charming, but on the docks and in the harbor district outside of town you will find many sailors and tramps and dirty persons of little worth. Castle Anvil is clean and well- ordered, and within the town walls, some houses are bright and cheerful, but others are derelict and abandoned, or shabby and neglected, with plaster fallen in patches from the stonework, and lunatics and drunkards may be encountered everywhere.

* Castle Anvil *

The ruler of Anvil is Countess Millona Umbranox. Her husband, Corvus Umbranox, disappeared many years ago, and most persons would agree that Her Ladyship is better off without him, for he was a light and frivolous person, and given to loose and riotous behavior likely to promote scandal. The Countess herself is a righteous and godly woman, and an excellent ruler, well-loved by the people. If only she could compel her Town Guard to drive the seamen, low-lifes, loafers, and thieves from Anvil's streets, Anvil might be a more tolerable place to live.

* Districts of Anvil *

Consider the five districts of Anvil. Castle Anvil lies outside the town walls, south of town, overlooking the harbor, and is reached by gate from Chapelgate. Within the town walls are three districts: Chapelgate in the east, Westgate in the west, and Guildgate between Chapelgate and Westgate. Harborside lies outside the town walls, south of town, and is reached by gate from Westgate district.

* Chapelgate *

A more beautiful chapel may not be seen in all Cyrodiil. A quiet garden for meditation with a fine statue of Dibella lies between the chapel and the town wall, and across from the chapel is a lovely garden and covered arcade where worshippers are protected from the elements. Regretably, the people of Anvil seem little inclined to appreciate these advantages, and are seldom seen worshipping in the chapel. Whether this is the fault of the primate, who is a vain and shallow woman, or the Countess, who does little to encourage regular chapel worship by her example, I am unable to judge.

* Guildgate *

The most prosperous part of Anvil is entered by Guildgate, or Main Gate, or North Gate. Here side by side may be seen the handsomest and ugliest of Anvil buildings. The guilds are kept clean and in good repair, and both Mages Guild and Fighters Guild are unusually ambitious and industrious by Cyrodiil's common standard. The head of the Mages Guild, Carahil, is a scholar of good reputation and an outspoken enemy of necromancy, summoning, and the dark arts. The Fighters Guild here is well-staffed and active, and shows no sign of the fecklessness and poor morale of chapters elsewhere in Cyrodiil. However, next to the Mages Guild is a ruin, long boarded-up and abandoned, and an prominent eyesore.

* Westgate *

This is the residential district of Anvil. The houses here are shabby and ill-kept. The people are untidy and dull, with the exception of Anvil's famous citizen, the Argonian authoress, Quillweave, who produces wretched books celebrating the misadventures and schemes of the lower and criminal classes. This person does her race no favor by confirming the prejudices of many who consider Argonians to be ungodly, dishonest, and worthless, and little better than beasts.

* Harborside *

The docks are rotten and in ill-repair, and all manner of smells issue forth from the holds of ships and ramshackled warehouses. Shiftless persons gather here to bask in the sun, gossip, chatter, and plot how to beg or steal gold for wine and ale. Here a good woman named Mirabelle Monet runs a house for homeless sailors, but, I'm sorry to say, her mistaken tender-heartedness and charity only encourages malingering and drunkenness. Instead, she should urge these wicked and idle men to improve themselves through industry and the teachings of the Nine. There is, however, a very appealing lighthouse south of the harbor, from which one may contemplate a distant and less-disagreeable view of Anvil's castle, town and its harbor setting.

May the Nine guard and guide you!

Cap'n Dugal's Journal

Author: 
Captain Dugal

3E 286 or thereabouts

I’m findin' it unlikely that anyone will be findin' this journal, but if they do, know that here be written the last words of the great Captain Torradan ap Dugal, Scourge of the Abecean Sea, Terror of the Gold Coast, Cutthroat of Hunding Bay, and Lord Captain of the Red Sabre - the finest band o' buccaneers and pirates e'er to sail Tamriel.

I ain't a man with much use for words -- I ain't never been to no academys, and I ain’t never wrote no books. Words ain't never earned me no gold, so theys worthless to me - that's why ye have quartermasters and first mates. But I'm gonna be settin' my last thoughts down here on paper, cause I ain't got much time left here and it’s ev'ry old man’s right to have his words heard.

Now, me business was fightin', sailin', and lootin'. I became a leader of sailin' men, the most feared in hist'ry, or so they tells me. Now, b'fore ye be gettin ahead o' yerself, let me be warnin ye that me tale does not end well as I’m sure ya can see from wherever ye found me rotten bones in this gods cursed cavern.

I was born in a little town on the north coast o' Skyrim called Dunbarrow. Me mother was a wench and me father was a right bastard. The only thing that either of 'em e'er did fer me was doin' me the favor of sellin' me off to a sea cap'n when I were nine. That cap'n, he taught me e'ry thing I'd e'er need to know about sailin', and a few things about the rest too.

Ye see, he were a smuggler, an' he taught me all about smugglin' and avoidin' the Imperial Navy as he run the skooma route from Daggerfall to Vivec. Shame he were caught and hung. He were as close to a daddy as this ol' pirate e'er knew, closer n' that bastard what sold me off e'er were, that’s fer sure.

After the cap'n were hung, I got around Hammerfell a lot. Fell in with a few crews here an' there, an' after a time got myself hired on as midshipman on Cap'n Kaladas's rig. A' course, Kaladas was a drunkard and the damn fool ran his own ship a'ground in Anvil a'fore we could any real piratin' done. So embarrassed were he that he drank hisself to death in one of the pisshole taverns in this flat little seawater town.

So there I were, in a backwater port when the war against the Usurper broke out. I were out on hire with a rickety tub and her worthless rot of a cap'n when The Imperial Navy stole ev'ry private ship in port to go an' fight their war. We was comin' back in to dock when we heard about it. Now, only a fool doesn’t bite when he smells blood in the water and that cap'n o' ours was gonna hand his rudder over to the Navy. The rest of us, well, we didn’t so much like that.

We cut his throat and tossed his worthless carcass to the depths for Herm'us Mora to feast on. The rest of us put keel to this mudhole and broke for the nearest cove to lay low for a while.

Now, the thing that I learned about war is that it's profit'ble for just about everyone except for the poor bastards that actually have to go an' fight it. While the Navy were busy puttin’ down the rev'lution, they were too busy to worry about a bunch o' pirates runnin' up and down the Gold Coast. And even better for us, the Navy was needin' a stream of supplies up in High Rock to fight and dinna have the ships to escort 'em..

In case you don’t be knowin', cargo vessels without escort is a pirate's best friend.

In just a couple of years, I had ev'ry buccaneer from here to Valenwood flyin' under me flag. We had dozens of ships and crew and more men joined on e'ry day. Soldiers and sailors, castoffs from the war, escaped prisoners -- they were the best cutthroats and sons o' whores that a pirate cap'n could ever wish for. It brings a tear to me eye to think of 'em all.

But even better than the men were the ships: Captured navy cutters. Refitted priv'teer Galleons. Even had a few of them bosmer ships with the funny living sails in my fleet. The finest ship I saved for meself. “The Black Flag”. Ye'll find her rotting hull around here. She don't look like much now, but I can tell ye that in her day, there weren't no vessel she couldn't out run.

All these men and ships, we called ourselves the Red Sabre. The merchant ships called us death on the seas.

We gots to be so feared that most crews jus' abandoned ship when they seen our flag on the horizon. With no Navy to stop us, Captain Torradan ap Dugal and the Red Sabre was known all over the east.

Now, I ain't one to brag, but the empire had a bounty on me of forty thousand coins. Now that’s somthin' to be proud of. A' course, the poor bastards couldn't never collect on it. Anvil being the wretched den that it is - an mos' sailors there worked for me anyhow -- the Legion couldn’t never get no one to give me up.

I wish those days coulda lasted fore'er, but you know how it is, friend. Ain't nothing good can ever last.

I ain't got much time left. Sure, we had plenty of food down here. It lasted for years, but all this time in the wet and the dark, I got somethin' nasty growin' in me. What a terrible way to die -- not on the end of an enemy's cutless, but because of some damned sickness. No seafarin' man should die like this. At least I can still hear the water.

But I was tellin' the story of how I got mine, weren’t I?

I curse the day that the Cameron Usurper died at that war ended, 'cause it was that day that Commodore Fasil Umbranox turned 'is attention to the Red Sabre. A couple of months after the war, that fat pompuss bastard decided to come down here to Anvil and take up port in my town, lookin' to break up the Red Sabre. The Emporer gave him whatev'r he asked for to campaign again' us, despite the coffers bein' empty from the war in High Rock.

When Umbranox couldn't get what he needed from my men in Anvil, he set out lookin' all over the Abecean Sea for the Black Flag. There are hundreds of islands In the Abecean, and he landed a crew on each one. He rooted out my men when he could find them, hung those who weren't willin' to go peacefully and jailed those who laid down arms.

No matter for many ships and men it cost him, he kept comin' with more and more. We couldn't never get ahead of him and we couldn't never mount a counter attack. It took him four years and a hell of a lot of ships, but that sea rat finally tracked me down.

It were me own fault, anyway. If I never made the mistake I made, he'dve died before he found me. But a man has to stand up for his mistakes, no matter if it cost him. Besides, ain't like I’ll be foolin' ye, since yer likely starin' at me bones as yer readin' this.

Umbranox had his main force out of port followin' a lead that I planted. I set sail back to Anvil, hopin' to catch him off guard, capture the boats he left behind, and fight him with his own ships in Anvil Bay. Ha! Can you imagine the look on his pig's face if it'dve worked? I thought I’d finally get the whoreson to show his face in a proper fight. I shoulda known, but he had men waitin' there for me.

We fought like hell, but we were trapped in the bay. The Navy men set the town on fire to keep us from fleeing onto land. I’m sure that the fine citizens of Cyrodiil dinna weep for the torching of a town of thieves.

The main force of Imperial dogs held us until Umbranox showed up in his flagship. Umbranox fought me to the last ship and in the end, the Bay was filled with sunken and burning boats. If I weren’t fightin' for me life, I’dve probably thought it were beautiful. So, the Black Flag and Umbranox’s rickety tub were the only ones that were still floatin' and fightin' when dawn come. So, I did what any pirate with sense would do - I tried to run.

Now understand, I’m a right bastard in me own way. I'm a pirate, a murderer, a thief, and I certainly ain’t never believed in a fair fight. But there's a line and an unspoken code between sailin' men and Umbranox went too far. He had mages on his ship. Mages ain't never been allowed on my boats. They’re no good, bad luck, an' I don’t trust 'em. Turns out, I was right.

I cut across the south side of the bay, along the huge cliff wall that used to be there. I had me helmsman stay as close as he could to the cursed cliff. I could hear those mages from the deck of Umbranox's ship, yellin' some nonsense into the wind. A few rocks fell onto my deck, a few more, and then the whole bloody cliff came crashin’ down on top o' me.

Now, don't you worry, I didn't die just then. The cliff collapsed around the ship, makin' this damned cavern. Better the it just fell on us, but no. It sealed the Black Flag, her crew, and me under tons of rock.

We were buggered.

I seen my own blood more times than I cold ever count, but seein' the ragged mess that just come up out of me lungs just now is the only time I ev'r been afraid of it. I guess I should be gettin' to the last bit o' me story.

Me and me crew were trapped down here, never to see the light again or some rot. We tried diggin' out. We tried blastin' out. We tried callin' to the nines and the daedric princes for help. Nothin' worked. Some o' the men went crazy when we figured out that there were no gettin' out, but most of us just accepted what fate had dealt us. We made the hulk o' the Black Flag into the best home that we could and tried makin' a life of it down here.

We had plenty of stores with us and since most of the crew were killed in the fight, it was more than enough to go around. I will tell you though, that you ain't known suffering until you ate nothin' but hard rations for twenty-some years. All the pain I ever caused anyone has been paid back to me tenfold in havin' to eat the same filth every day for the whole time I been down here.

Then Grim died off.

Grim was the first and one by one, the boys had been droppin' off. They all got the same sickness I ended up with. We buried 'em when we could, threw 'em in the water when we didn't have strength to bury 'em. Finally, we jus' made 'em walk to the far side of the cavern a couple of days before the sickness ran its course.

I'm the last, an' I suppose that makes sense. The great cap'n Dugal, defeated by Fasil Umbranox and buried alive forever. I wonder what became of Anvil. Prob'lly let it burn and swept the ashes into the sea. Umbranox prob'lly went back to the Imperial City to pat himself on the back and be rewarded with lands an' titles.

Like I said way back in the beginnin', I don't expect nobody to ever read this but if by chance someone does find my carcass down here in this pit, do an old seaman a favor. Track down whatever descendents that fat old sack Umbranox may have and tell 'em that Torradan ap Dugal says hello.

The Song of Pelinal

Author: 
Anonymous

[Editor's Note: Volumes 1-6 are taken from the so-called Reman Manuscript located in the Imperial Library. It is a transcription of older fragments collected by an unknown scholar of the early Second Era. Beyond this, little is known of the original sources of these fragments, some of which appear to be from the same period (perhaps even from the same manuscript). But, as no scholarly consensus yet exists on dating these six fragments, no opinions will be offered here.]

That he took the name "Pelinal" was passing strange, no matter his later sobriquets, which were many. That was an Elvish name, and Pelinal was a scourge on that race, and not much given to irony. Pelinal was much too grim for that; even in youth he wore white hair, and trouble followed him. Perhaps his enemies named Pelinal of their own in their tongue, but that is doubtful, for it means "glorious knight", and he was neither to them. Certainly, many others added to that name during his days in Tamriel: he was Pelinal the Whitestrake because of his left hand, made of a killing light; he was Pelinal the Bloody, for he [drank] it in victory; he was Pelinal Insurgent, because he gave the crusades a face; he was Pelinal In Triumph, as the words eventually became synonymous, and men-at-arms gave thanks to the Eight when they saw his banner coming through war; he was Pelinal the Blamer, for he was quick to admonish those allies of his that favored tactics that ran counter to his, that is, sword-theory; and he was Pelinal the Third, though whether this was because some said he was a god guiser, who had incarnated twice before already, or that, simpler, he was the third vision given to Perrif, anon Alessia, in her prayers of liberation before he walked among the quarters of rebellion, is unknown.

[And then] Perrif spoke to the Handmaiden again, eyes to the Heavens which had not known kindness since the beginning of elven rule, and she spoke as a mortal, whose kindle is beloved by the Gods for its strength-in-weakness, a humility that can burn with metaphor and yet break [easily and] always, always doomed to end in death (and this is why those who let their souls burn anyway are beloved of the Dragon and His Kin), and she said: "And this thing I have thought of, I have named it, and I call it freedom. Which I think is just another word for Shezarr Who Goes Missing... [You] made the first rain at his sundering [and that] is what I ask now for our alien masters... [that] we might sunder them fully and repay their cruelty [by] dispersing them to drown in the Topal. Morihaus, your son, mighty and snorting, gore-horned, winged, when next he flies down, let him bring us anger." ... [And then] Kyne granted Perrif another symbol, a diamond soaked red with the blood of elves, [whose] facets could [un-sector and form] into a man whose every angle could cut her jailers and a name: PELIN-EL [which is] "The Star-Made Knight" [and he] was arrayed in armor [from the future time]. And he walked into the jungles of Cyrod already killing, Morihaus stamping at his side froth-bloody and bellowing from excitement because the Pelinal was come... [and Pelinal] came to Perrif's camp of rebels holding a sword and mace, both encrusted with the smashed viscera of elven faces, feathers and magic beads, which were the markings of the Ayleidoon, stuck to the redness that hung from his weapons, and he lifted them, saying: "These were their eastern chieftains, no longer full of their talking."

Pelinal Whitestrake was the enemy of all elfkind that lived in Cyrod in those days. Mainly, though, he took it upon himself to slay the sorcerer-kings of the Ayleids in pre-arranged open combats rather than at war; the fields of rebellion he left to the growing armies of the Paravania and his bull nephew. Pelinal called out Haromir of Copper and Tea into a duel at the Tor, and ate his neck-veins while screaming praise to Reman, a name that no one knew yet. Gordhaur the Shaper's head was smashed upon the goat-faced altar of Ninendava, and in his wisdom Pelinal said a small plague spell to keep that evil from reforming by welkynd-magic. Later that season, Pelinal slew Hadhuul on the granite steps of Ceya-Tar, the Fire King's spears knowing their first refute. For a time, no weapon of the Ayleids could pierce his armor, which Pelinal admitted was unlike any crafted by men, but would say no more even when pressed. When Huna, whom Pelinal raised from grain-slave to hoplite and loved well, took death from an arrowhead made from the beak of Celethelel the Singer, the Whitestrake went on his first Madness. He wrought destruction from Narlemae all the way to Celediil, and erased those lands from the maps of Elves and Men, and all things in them, and Perrif was forced to make sacrifice to the Gods to keep them from leaving the earth in their disgust. And then came the storming of White-Gold, where the Ayleids had made pact with the Aurorans of Meridia, and summoned them, and appointed the terrible and golden-hued "half-Elf" Umaril the Unfeathered as their champion… and, for the first time since his coming, it was Pelinal who was called out to battle by another, for Umaril had the blood of the 'ada and would never know death.

[Pelinal] drove the sorcerer armies past the Niben, claiming all the eastern lands for the rebellion of the Paravania, and Kyne had to send her rain to wash the blood from the villages and forts that no longer flew Ayleid banners, for the armies of Men needed to make camps of them as they went forward. ...[and] he broke the doors open for the prisoners of the Vahtache with the Slave-Queen flying on Morihaus above them, and Men called her Al-Esh for the first time. He entered the Gate at ... to win back the hands of the Thousand-Strong of Sedor (a tribe now unknown but famous in those days), which the Ayleids had stolen in the night, two thousand hands that he brought back in a wagon made of demon-bone, whose wheels trailed the sound of women when ill at heart... [Text lost]... [And after] the first Pogrom, which consolidated the northern holdings for the men-of-'kreath, he stood with white hair gone brown with elfblood at the Bridge of Heldon, where Perrif's falconers had sent for the Nords, and they, looking at him, said that Shor had returned, but he spat at their feet for profaning that name. He led them anyway into the heart of the hinterland west, to drive the Ayleids inward, towards the Tower of White-Gold, a slow retreating circle that could not understand the power of Man’s sudden liberty, and what fury-idea that brought. His mace crushed the Thundernachs that Umaril sent as harriers on the rebellion's long march back south and east, and carried Morihaus-Breath-of-Kyne to Zuathas the Clever-Cutting Man (a nede with a keptu name) for healing when the bull had fallen to a volley of bird beaks. And, of course, at the Council of Skiffs, where all of the Paravania's armies and all of the Nords shook with fear at the storming of White-Gold, so much so that the Al-Esh herself counseled delay, Pelinal grew furious, and made names of Umaril, and made names of what cowards he thought he saw around him, and then made for the Tower by himself, for Pelinal often acted without thought.

It is a solid truth that Morihaus was the son of Kyne, but whether or not Pelinal was indeed the Shezarrine is best left unsaid (for once Plontinu, who favored the short sword, said it, and that night he was smothered by moths). It is famous, though, that the two talked of each other as family, with Morihaus as the lesser, and that Pelinal loved him and called him nephew, but these could be merely the fancies of immortals. Never did Pelinal counsel Morihaus in time of war, for the man-bull fought magnificently, and led men well, and never resorted to Madness, but the Whitestrake did warn against the growing love with Perrif. "We are ada, Mor, and change things through love. We must take care lest we beget more monsters on this earth. If you do not desist, she will take to you, and you will transform all Cyrod if you do this." And to this the bull became shy, for he was a bull, and he felt his form too ugly for the Parvania at all times, especially when she disrobed for him. He snorted, though, and shook his nose-hoop into the light of the Secunda moon and said, "She is like this shine on my nose-hoop here: an accident sometimes, but whenever I move my head at night, she is there. And so you know what you ask is impossible."

[And it is] said that he emerged into the world like a Padomaic, that is, borne by Sithis and all the forces of change therein. Still others, like Fifd of New Teed, say that beneath the Pelinal's star-armor was a chest that gaped open to show no heart, only a red rage shaped diamond-fashion, singing like a mindless dragon, and that this was proof that he was a myth-echo, and that where he trod were shapes of the first urging. Pelinal cared for none of this and killed any who would speak god-logic, except for fair Perrif, who he said, "enacts, rather than talks, as language without exertion is dead witness." When those soldiers who heard him say this stared blankly, he laughed and swung his sword, running into the rain of Kyne to slaughter their Ayleid captives, screaming, "O Aka, for our shared madness I do this! I watch you watching me watching back! Umaril dares call us out, for that is how we made him!" [And it was during] these fits of anger and nonsense that Pelinal would fall into the Madness, where whole swaths of lands were devoured in divine rampage to become Void, and Alessia would have to pray to the Gods for their succor, and they would reach down as one mind and soothe the Whitestrake until he no longer had the will to kill the earth in whole. And Garid of the men-of-ge once saw such a Madness from afar and maneuvered, after it had abated, to drink together with Pelinal, and he asked what such an affliction felt like, to which Pelinal could only answer, "Like when the dream no longer needs its dreamer."

[Editor's Note: This fragment comes from a manuscript recovered from the ruins of the Alessian Order's monastery at Lake Canulus, which dates it to sometime prior to the War of Righteousness (1E 2321). However, textual analysis suggests that this fragment actually preserves a very early form of the Song, perhaps from the mid-sixth century.]

Pelinal battles Umaril

 

[And so after many battles with] Umaril's allies, where dead Aurorans lay like candlelight around the throne, the Pelinal became surrounded by the last Ayleid sorcerer-kings and their demons, each one heavy with varliance. The Whitestrake cracked the floor with his mace and they withdrew, and he said, "Bring me Umaril that called me out!" ... [And] while mighty in his aspect and wicked, deathless-golden Umaril favored ruin-from-afar over close combat and so he tarried in the shadows of the white tower before coming forth. More soldiers were sent against Pelinal to die, and yet they managed to pierce his armor with axes and arrows, for Umaril had wrought each one by long varliance, which he had been hoarding since his first issue [of challenge.]... [Presently] the half-Elf [showed himself] bathed in [Meridian light] ... and he listed his bloodline in the Ayleidoon and spoke of his father, a god of the [previous kalpa's] World-River and taking great delight in the heavy-breathing of Pelinal who had finally bled... [Text lost] ... [And] Umaril was laid low, the angel face of his helm dented into an ugliness which made Pelinal laugh, [and his] unfeathered wings broken off with sword strokes delivered while Pelinal stood [frothing]... above him insulting his ancestry and anyone else that took ship from Old Ehlnofey, [which] angered the other Elvish kings and drove them to a madness of their own... [and they] fell on him [speaking] to their weapons... cutting the Pelinal into eighths while he roared in confusion [which even] the Council of Skiffs [could hear]... [Text lost] ...ran when Mor shook the whole of the tower with mighty bashing from his horns [the next morning], and some were slain-in-overabundance in the Taking, and Men looked for more Ayleids to kill but Pelinal had left none save those kings and demons that had already begun to flee... It was Morihaus who found the Whitestrake's head, which the kings had left to prove their deeds and they spoke and Pelinal said things of regrets... but the rebellion had turned anyway... [and more] words were said between these immortals that even the Paravant would not deign to hear.

[Editor's Note: This is the oldest and most fragmentary of all the existant Pelinal texts. It is, however, likely closest to the original spoken or sung form of the Song, and therefore has great value despite its brevity. Strangely, it appears that Pelinal is present at Alessia's deathbed, although he was killed by Umaril earlier in the saga (years before Alessia's death). Some scholars believe that this fragment is not actually a part of the Song of Pelinal, but most accept its authenticity although there is still much debate as to its significance.]

"... and left you to gather sinew with my other half, who will bring light thereby to that mortal idea that brings [the Gods] great joy, that is, freedom, which even the Heavens do not truly know, [which is] why our Father, the... [Text lost]... in those first [days/spirits/swirls] before Convention... that which we echoed in our earthly madness. [Let us] now take you Up. We will [show] our true faces... [which eat] one another in amnesia each Age."

 

 

The Water-getting Girl and the Inverse Tiger

Author: 
Michael Kirkbride

Part One, Tiber Septim's Favorite Bedtime Story

This is the first part of what is reputedly Tiber Septim’s favorite childhood story. The Emperor’s fascination with tigers has been documented elsewhere, though it is this translator’s belief that it was Orylon’s particular nature that colored that appeal. Such notions may become more apparent in the story’s second installment.


Whoa-ho! Are you listening? Watch me beat my drum and tell no lies; may hard fruit from this tibrol tree fall upon my head if I lie (I will not!)! Come, sit! Or dance with your backsides, for I am beating my drum!

I tell you the tale of Perrif, the water-getting girl, (no, not that Perrif, another Perrif -- this is an old story and in those days most girls were named after the Paravania), and Orlyan the Inverse Tiger of Cyrod, Black with Orange Stripes, Old Stony, Lord of Dark Fleas and Cake Batter, Always Roaring!

Long ago near a river branch of the Topal, a Kothri village sat there very sad: the men were away at skirmish and only the women, girls, and infirm elders were left. They were surrounded by jungle, a great batch of it between their huts and their portion of the river, and tigers were everywhere in those days hide-hissing in the trees. A three-beat for Tigers! Klo! Klo! Klo! So glad you are gone! You ate us! We will make due with pigment drawings! A four beat for their demise! Klo! Klo! Kloppa!

One morning it was Perrif’s turn to go get the water (she was eight or nine or ten, I forget! Forgetting is fine, so nothing will fall on me! Ha!). Everyone warned her not to take too long! “The stripe-cats are out! They did not sleep last night because they can hear better than we can and the skirmish where our men are (while far away to us is cat-senses-close to them) is keeping them up and hungry!”

Little Perrif, though, was very brave putting the jugs all in a row on top of her head and making for the jungle roads. But she was not stupid, so she sang a song to Dibe-Mara-Kin, our mothers in the Around-Us, and with that small blessing felt very, very confident. And she was almost to the water before any tigers found her at all, but they surely did! “Don’t run, little water-getting girl!” they said (there were maybe three or four, I forget!) “We will kill you quick, we promise, but only if you don’t make us run!” Perrif ran so fast that even the tigers went, “Wow, that’s an impressive stride, some forty in two drum beats with five jugs on her head”, and that is how come we use this measurement in our current My Tribe Is Better Than Yours Games! No lie! Klo! Hudda!! Kloppa!

She ran so fast that she was able to find a giant rock to hide behind, hoping the tigers would lope right past her. And they did! “Thank you, three mothers,” she whispered, kneeling and keeping the jugs steady with her hands, and praying some more to DMK just in case. After a while, it all seemed safe, and that is when the giant rock spoke up! (You heard me!)

"Praying is all well and good," the rock said, booming, "But I'm the one who hid you from the tigers! My moss-shade! My stone-bigness! And now you owe me a favor!" And it was true, she did, little Perrif, for in those days as it is now the laws of fancy-story must be kept, and in this case it was courtesy obligation, favor for favor. A three-beat for Favors! Klo! Klo! Klo! (Pay all of yours BACK!)

The rock said, "So now! Roll me to the river and wash me! I'm filthy from the ages!" And now Perrif could kind of make out a face in the rock, but it was covered so much in grub and lichen that there wasn't much to speak of, so she told herself she was thinking nonsense. While she was looking, the stone spoke up again, saying, "Roll me, girl! It’s river-time for me! I'm so dirty I can’t stand myself!"

So Perrif began to push, unearthing the rock from the tangle of the jungle floor, and it seemed very light to her despite its size, but she explained away the ease of the effort by tiger-fear (which was still on her!). It was lots and lots of pushing, and so the stone began to sing:

Roll me down down down to the river that welcomes me
Ge-rulla seb-seb-seb ytri topali ke wel’kyn-ge
I am a Welcome Stone
Ge una Wel’kyn Bal
Just ask anyone of age, little girl, for they remember me
Yn set ghyn aka, ky’naless, synd laru’me ge
I am a Welcome Stone
Ge yni Wel’kyn Bal
Wash me up up up and see! A familiar face! Too long gone!
K’yness-ge bes bes bes ad’soon! Ha’phyn fex! Ald’ald-het!
I am Orlyan, the Long Gone Stone
Ge yni Orlyan, the Ald-Het Bal
The Around-Us will be happy to see me again!
Aurbex lemha je-je ad’soon al-ge!
But it might go, “Wait, you looked different before!”
Hyn detta set, “Ka, g’e lr’khn nymbo!”
I am a Verily Stone!
Ge yni V’arla Bal!
But it might go, “Wait, you looked different before!”
Hyn detta set, “Ka, g’e lr’khn nymbo!”
I am a Verily Stone!
Ge yni V’arla Bal!

(At this point in the story we traditionally get down with the get down! Here comes the drum! Klo! Hudda!! Everyone get down! Klo! Hudda!! Dance with your necks and big asses!)

After a long time of pushing, Perrif finally got the big rock near the river’s edge. She flopped to her backside, wiping off sweat, saying, “Please hold on, mister big rock, we’re almost there. I’m just really tired and somewhere we lost the jugs and that’s going to get me in big trouble, which is going to be even worse if I stay out too late. Which I assume will happen, as I have to wash you still.”

(It was true; the other villagers were getting worried already!)

And then the rock made a wistful-yet-gravelly sound, being so close to the water, saying, “All right, little water-getting girl, rest a bit. I’m content for the moment, just being able to look at the water. Look how silly it is! Water is the silliest thing!” And, at that, the rock started to laugh, O HO! HO HO!, dust and little leaves falling to reveal a face!

Perrif gasped! The rock’s face had a wide nose and heavy-lidded eyes and a mouthful of stony fangs, for all the world looking like a big-assed tiger head! She screamed, “Wait, you looked different before!”

Stone: "No kidding?"

Perrif: "No kidding. What happened? You were just a normal hiding rock and now you look like a stripe-cat!"

Stone: "Ah, well, it must be because Welcome Stones like me absorb some of the thoughts of those that touch us. And you can’t help but imagine a tiger!"

Now by this point little Perrif had become so overcome by tiger-fear that she yelped despite herself, kicking the big rock! And then she yelped again because she hurt her foot, and fell down, and got hurt more, and the Welcome Stone couldn’t help but laugh because she looked so stupid. But when Perrif saw that laugh all she saw was the tiger teeth going up and down GRIND GRIND GRIND, and so she kicked the stone again in panic, this time with both feet. And WHOA did the stone start to roll down the hill going WHOA-HO NOW towards the river but little Perrif didn’t notice because the tiger-fear made her run, run, run!

Stone: "Hey, now waittaminnit! You come back here and wash--"

KER-SPLASH! The stone sunk like a rock.

End of Part One.