Archive for REVIEWED literature

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Miraclestone
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Joined: Fri Jun 09, 2017 4:29 am

Archive for REVIEWED literature

Post by Miraclestone »

This thread will be for storing reviewed books waiting to be merged into Tamriel_Data.esm . Once a book is merged, please edit the post to place the book in a spoiler.

Miraclestone
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Posts: 60
Joined: Fri Jun 09, 2017 4:29 am

Post by Miraclestone »

King Bormic and the Eight Druid Knights

King Bormic sat on his prestigious throne hearing the pleas of his most trusted knights that failed to give him what he had desired.

His words instilled fear, for he who wronged our merciful king shan't live for another year.
“You have come to me empty-handed”, he said with his booming voice that broke branches and rang ears. “I asked for a trophy unrivaled and you brought me the head of a deer!”
“It wasn’t me!” screamed Adwen, lord of hills and hovels, slayer of boars and parakeet. “I hunted down Great-Tusk for you my liege. With his meat we could feast for weeks.”
“Then why is my plate still empty”, Bormic bellowed. “Why haven’t you killed that boar? Answer me or I will eat all of you whole!”

“The fool can’t hit anything with his bow”, answered Celoranne, queen of fishes and boats. “His shots missed the mark, and Great-Tusk fled.”

Violet
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Post by Violet »

Reviewed "Arceigh, He Who Whispered Mortality"
Arceigh, he who whispered mortality

Arceigh, grandson to King Shorn and son to Maire, was curious about all of life’s resplendence. Always eagerly awaiting the tales of honorable warriors and their legendary deeds Maire would tell amongst the forever-hearth. Where she told of honorable warriors of numerous deeds celebrated beyond time. As she told and told around the ever-comforting hearth, the stacks upon stacks of story-packed books grew ever thinner and thinner, until but few remained. A book of black cover stood out amidst the meager piles, a book Maire always tucked away, for it seem to have her much sorrow.

And so when the pile came to an end, Maire briefly left the hearth unattended, so she may gather more stories for the ever-curious Arceigh. Arceigh felt the pull of inquisitiveness drawing him towards the blackened book she had hidden away, a feeling Maire herself had inspired with her stories. With her hearth unattended, Arceigh took the opportunity and seized the book for his own. His hands opened clasps of a book existent before time came into existence. His hands grew cold, but as soon as his eyes touched the page, they read feverishly; every word on every page. His gaze growing ever fixated, but ever so horrified.

As all words stuck to his mind, and all meanings coalesced, his form grew wrinkled, and his body frail. His hair turned white as his mind aged beyond proportion, but grew equally wisened. It was not long before Maire returned and saw to her horror what became of her son, who still held the Book of Death in his spindly hands. Tainted by the very words no one should hear. Not only did Arceigh embody her spirit of life, but he is also now a being which whispered of mortality, and with this, her hearth has lost all warmth.

It was no sooner than Arceigh recited the whispers that others would perceive them. The gods closed their ears, but his words reached nearly all of creation. For those who could only hear those, mortality was recited a thousand-fold and thereafter recited a thousand more.

The Kings and Queen on the surface were dismayed, for he turned their servants mortal. Once, their warriors knew all there was, but they had been reborn, and they had to relearn all that they knew again. For his hubris, he was now indebted to Orel, Magnor, and Kyne.

Where Maire once raised him in the comfort of her hearth, now Orel tutored Arceigh. Orel knew much of the glib tongue, and of the tact of words. Arceigh’s tong now a slippery eel, a duty was instilled upon him, so he may know the responsibility he has on those below.

One day, out of sheer bitterness and grief, mad Shorn opened his doors and plagued the surface with his loyal men. His once servants – now their own Kings and Queen – stood against their old monarch.

It was Orel’s duty to challenge Shorn personally in his halls; for what is a King, if he cannot fight for his own people?
It was Magnor’s duty to stand at the gates, to protect the surface; for what is a King, if he cannot protect his own lands?
It was Kyne’s duty to rally those who would honour the King’s and Queen in battle: for what are the people, without their Queen?

As Orel went to the unwelcome halls, Arceigh watched as Orel’s flamberge wavered and shook before the might of Shorn’s hammer, and was ready to bolt and flee to his palace on the clouds.

Arceigh watched as the first of Shorn’s men battered against the shields of Magnor’s knights. Seeing Orel about to run, Magnor betrayed the cause and sacrificed the few, to save his other knights, as he retreated to the sky-palace.

And so only Warrior-Queen Kyne stood between Shorn’s loyal men and his mighty hammer, and their battle ensued.

The normen clashed against Shorn’s men with might and zeal, but all were now ensnared by the mortal coil, and mighty warriors fell one-by-one.
Arceigh witnessed and saw all, and remembered his duties to Kings and Queen, to those he served and he who mentored him. To those that betrayed the cause, attempting to flee, rather than stand fast against a great enemy, he opened his mouth once more.

Words of mortality that were once like whispers are now like waves. Where once his words could be denied by the gods, now his eel-tongue, curled and coiled with ever-strengthening force, they could fall on deaf ears no longer. Orel and Shorn shrieked as the words shook into them like tolling bells, but the Normen heard Arceigh’s words a thousand times before, and were unphased.

Arceigh’s shriek penetrated the unwelcome halls, and his words bore down like the breath of Winter. The unwelcome halls covered in the rime and cold of death. And so too, it clung to Orel and Shorn, who now stood frozen in place. However, Shorn’s heart still remained, by its loyalty for his servants still bound; his men undeterred.

Kyne suffered a heavy loss, the Normen who went lay still and defeated. But as they lay still, loyalty and duty remained in the fire of their hearts. Arceigh knew it’s comfortable warmth as Maire’s hearth.

And so he took their embers one-by-one as the God between dead and living, and stoked their fire. And so they were reborn once more, and so they stole the heart of Shorn.

The heart was given to Kyne, who kept it in her scattered wind-palace, Arceigh’s debt to her unresolved he continues to serve her dutifully. For the heart must be protected at all cost, for if he reclaims his heart, the surface will meet its demise.

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