Peik

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.

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.’’
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