Peik

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

@PeikYou have made my Christmas merrier. Grand job.

@POOHEAD189

Danke.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

So I decided to write something a few hours ago and decided it might as well be a little contribution to our game's backstory.

The Death of Fargothur and its Analysis

An insight into 'The Death of Fargothur'

-By Faldan Faidra, Professor of Bosmer Literature in the University of Colovia

---

The Death of Fargothur (or in some translations, Fargoth-Ur), also known as the Barber of Woodhearth, is a text that is estimated to have first originated around 4E 205, based upon the assassination of Fargothur (or as Thalmor resources name him, Fargwithir), the infamous Viceroy of Woodhearth in whose reign the indigenous tribes of Gwiralith and Faraimith were destroyed, causing the deaths of an estimated fifteen thousand native Bosmer. The poem is both a review of historical events, a source of information on the ways of the Fourth Era Bosmer natives, and a cautionary tale to what happens to Bosmer who betray their own kin - and thus become unworthy of death and consumption by their brethren's hands.

According to surviving records, such as the testimony of the barber himself (referred to as 'Sadri Beleth' by Thalmor prison records, and 'Sadari Bwalith' by a Bosmer bill of sale), and a passing reference to in the Tamrielic Gazzette, the event is nowhere as glamorous and self-sacrificial. But this doesn't seem to have stopped insurgent organizations, such as the 'Fangs of the Wild Hunt', to spin the tale to rouse other Bosmer into revolting.

Sadari Bwalith unceremoniously falls out of history upon this event, possibly executed by the Thalmor for his deed. It is also possible that he was amongst those saved from Thalmor custody in the Great Escape of the Seven-Roots Dungeon. It should be noted that some of the surviving journals of Madura Dalas of the Tamrielic Gazzette refer to a crippled Dunmer fighting against the Snow Demons of Kamal in the Siege of Windhelm, and one possible translation of his name is Sadri Beleth. It is unknown if they are the same historical person.

Without further ado, the text is presented below.

‘’Sit down and listen, my boys, listen, by the fire,
Hear what happens to those who earn the Pact’s ire.

It was about a while ago, a decade or maybe more,
Yet despite two centuries, our wounds were still sore.

But the Green God’s patient, his plans unknown,
When they come to pass, and when they’re first sown.

It was by Woodhearth, in a hot, fateful day of summer,
When came out the sea, from amongst the fish, a Dunmer

His fishers were excited to get a taste of such meat,
Quick they took him back, lest the flies and the heat

Would’ve had the Dark Elf quickly rotten and spoiled,
And ruined that for which they had so hardly toiled.

Yet by Arkay’s grace, at night the Dunmer woke,
And mere steps from the cauldron, somehow he spoke,

For their newfound guest, our people cooked deer,
And for his unexpected awakening, the old seer

Said that the Green God had a role for him to play
Perhaps great games to play, perhaps monsters to slay

Yet the Dunmer, half blind in eye and in mind,
Did not take these words upon him all very kind,

Thanking for the deer, by dawn he quickly left,
But he could not get far, with his pockets so bereft,

He looked for a job in the city, hard pressed,
He saw the suffering of our ashamed and oppressed.

Hungry, like us, he put his sleight of hand to use,
And as a barber, from rags to riches, took a cruise

Fargothur, the Kinslayer Tyrant, heard of his fame,
And asked for the barber to serve him, lest in shame

The Dunmer would have been flayed and trampled,
His name, like his body, forgotten and crumpled,

The dinner turned barber knew then what was coming,
And sharpened his razor, very first thing in the morning

He said Fargothur’s hairs were bristle, like of a goat,
For this, the razor pressed hard against his throat,

And a moment saw to a long cut go in too deep,
And like a flooding wild river did tyrant blood seep,

Thus the betrayer of kin, despite all, died under
The hand of not even a fellow Bosmer but a Dunmer.’’

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

<Snipped quote by Peik>

Yea. I was waiting for one of you guys to respond for a while.

@Leidenschaft

Yeah, sorry about that. I've moved countries because of holidays and have been conscripted into a part-time job, so it was kind of hard for me to settle down back into writing.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Also, the Rhasha-Jorwen-Marcel collab is still going on, right?

@Leidenschaft @MiddleEarthRoze

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Her breath caught in her throat, face getting hot all over again, and she choked. She coughed into her fist, stammering in a quiet voice.

@Leidenschaft

b-baka

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

@Peik@Leidenschaft

Can Rhasha get in on this collab? He hasn't had much - if not any - interaction with Jorwen and Marcel.

@MiddleEarthRoze

I can't see why not.

Of course!

@Hank

'Course!

@Dervish

Got a link?

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Likewise, Jorwen is open to collabs.

@Leidenschaft

Titanpad? Docs?

<Snipped quote by Hank>

Aye aye!

@Dervish

Sadri will be staying down to get that door open. A spot for me?

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

<Snipped quote by Peik>

I HAVE SUNDERED THIS CABAL

@Hank

Marcel be like

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Attention: Firewatch Team
Take this small bit of downtime to fraternize and whatnot. Something wicked this way comes.

@Leidenschaft

Mhm. Who wants to have a little bit of banter with the friendly neighborhood Antimage?

Projection

Frau Leppling woke up at 6 AM that day. As was her custom, she washed her face, dressed herself in modest yet comfortable clothing, and woke her seventeen year old daughter up for her to do the same before moving to the kitchen of the house to start working on breakfast. Before she pulled the door behind her, she reminded her daughter to wake up the lodgers at the requested times, and afterwards, she started to brew coffee. In fifteen minutes, Johann from the pastry would leave off her daily order of a dozen croissants, and she would proceed to have a quick breakfast alongside her daughter, Theresa, before beginning to prepare for the day.

Her daughter looked at one of the ledgers on the reception table to check up on the notes of the day, before looking at the mirror to make some minor adjustments to her blonde hair. She gave the mirror a toothy smile (although the way her mouth was, it was hard for her to smile and not bare all of her teeth anyway) before going upstairs to wake up the lodgers who had requested to be waken up at half past 6 the day earlier. Herr Krauss, Herr Feldwald, and a Herr 'Nafizbei'. She let a quiet chuckle as she thought about the name for a moment. She guessed that he was the Turk that her mother had mentioned the day earlier.

Nafiz woke up at 6 AM that day. As was his custom, he washed his face, took off his nightcap, and rolled up the sleeves of his striped pajamas before sitting down on the table to start cleaning his revolver with a makeshift cleaning rod made out of a pencil and a string dipped in grease. In fifteen minutes, Theresa, the meaty, toothy daughter of the landlady would knock on the door, and afterwards he would proceed to dress up, prepare his suitcase, arm himself, and then get downstairs for breakfast alongside the other lodgers before leaving the lodging house.

As usual, the knocking at Nafiz' door came right after he had finished loading five cartridges into his Gasser revolver, leaving a chamber empty, as was his custom. He got up from his seat, cocked the hammer of his revolver, gripped it in his left hand and opened the door with the right, barrel pointing at the doorframe behind the door. As usual, it was not a foreign spy that had come to visit him, but instead the large blonde. He pointed the barrel of his revolver down.

''Herr Nafizbei, it is half past six. You had noted to be woken up at this hour. Breakfast should be ready in thirty minutes,'' Theresa said, leaning on the frame of the door, hanging her torso down in a way that revealed her cleavage. ''Nafiz,'' the large man replied, eyes squinting at her face, and Theresa corrected herself after a moment of being caught off-guard. ''Do you want anything else, sir?'' She asked suggestively, and was replied by a curt no, with a moment of courtesy given for her to leave before the door shut.

Breakfast was quiet and simple. The lodgers were too mentally exhausted to be able to partake in small talk, and most of them either retreated to the grim news that awaited them in the newspapers or went to work afterwards. Nafiz had two breadrolls which he converted to beef on weck sandwiches with the resources available - those being some pickled cucumbers and a small slice of roast beef, a gift from Theresa, if the girl's chuckling upon Nafiz' inspection of the meat with the fork was supposed to be any implication. The Austrians weren't happy about the rationing, it seemed, but for a man who had subsisted on nothing more than small amounts of shoe jerky and grape juice for a week in Gallipoli, the breakfast was more than one could ask for.

The walk to the rendevzous was rather uneventful. Nafiz took the opportunity to sightsee on his way, for Vienna was quite a city. It was not as beautiful as Istanbul (then again, no city was as beautiful as Istanbul, so it was not a fair comparison), but the architecture was still pleasant to the eyes. The people of Vienna also seemed to have fairer looks, which intrigued but also alienated Nafiz, who was by all accounts used to the malnourished, sunken, rickety and sunstruck figures that populated his weary Empire.

At the designated building, Nafiz almost felt a tinge of excitement and nervousness, but instead of feeling things, he instead moved to action by asking for a 'Herr Schwarz'. After the first receptionist he asked mentioned that there were at least three people called 'Herr Schwarz' employed in the building, Nafiz first felt like slapping the man, but remembered that this was Europe, and instead simply leaned over the desk and mentioned that he was called here for a meeting.

''Oh, you're-oh. Herr Schwarz should be awaiting you at the second floor, the Public Information department.''

Nafiz left for the second floor without thanking the receptionist, and upon reaching the second floor after some annoying flights of stairs, he was greeted by a young woman with a funny hat. Nafiz still wasn't very used to the dressing customs of the women here in Europe, admittedly, but such fashions had already begun to spread even in Istanbul. Maybe he was just old fashioned. ''Herr Nafiz? We've been expecting you,'' she mentioned casually, as she offered her hand for a shake. ''Adina Tividar, secretary to Herr Schwarz.''

Nafiz squeezed the woman's hand tight as he shook her hand, although his muscles instinctively relaxed upon seeing her startle from the pressure. ''Yes,'' he replied, solely for affirmation, before asking for directions. To his delight, the woman escorted him to the meeting room, before quietly opening the door and leading him inside, to a cozy room. Immediately striking his attention, aside from the two gnomes, was the American revolver on display. He remembered that the Americans were fighting against them. He made a mental note about the possibility of this Herr Schwarz being an enemy spy as the older gnome in the room offered his hand to Nafiz.

''Hahn Schwarz,'' the man said, and Nafiz felt a tinge of disappointment in having such an unassuming looking man as his superior. He shook the man's hand silently before sitting to the left of the younger gnome. He eyed the man with an evaluating glance, and after a moment's worth of thinking, decided that the man was likely to be worthless. He eyed the copper-haired woman that entered afterwards with a much more inquisitive glance, before questioning the possibility of her also being an enemy spy. Such a woman at such a job was obviously not to be trusted.

Nafiz sat quietly and listened to Herr Schwarz and reevaluated his colleagues as the man skimmed through their folders out loud, only breaking his silence to reply ''Hoşbulduk'' to Schwarz' greeting in his native tongue, as a gesture of goodwill. He simply nodded in affirmation to the man's question about whether he said it correctly or not, and after hearing of the woman's file as well, he felt content in the fact that he was, as usual, right - his field of expertise in mathematics and finance proved that this Stephan fellow was worthless, and he knew better than to trust anyone even tangentially related to the British Isles. Adding the good looks and gender only made his opinion on 'Miss Grey' more concrete.

He did pay any more attention than was necessary to the briefing. Admittedly, he was not used to chemical warfare, neither was he happy about having to pose as a member of the Anglophile Society (he wasn't too happy about the way the man had worded it either - it seemed to him that the man wanted to insult his intelligence and/or knowledge on matters concerning his own very country), so all in all, he wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the job. But a job was a job, even if it were a ploy to get him away from purging the state of enemies, and as the man said, he was handpicked for it. He mentally repeated to himself the instructions on gas mask usage as Schwarz asked whether they had any questions or not. ''No,'' Nafiz replied, before taking a sip of water. This was going to be interesting.