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#Post#: 779--------------------------------------------------
The Wayfarer...
By: McBadgere Date: April 29, 2014, 10:58 pm
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Right, this was a bit I did for my Wayfarer character that I was
playing for a bit on Skyrim...He's based on a Multiplayer
character on Assassin's Creed IV...And all of a sudden this huge
long story rolled out of my head...All I had to do was write
it...
Sadly, I started but never finished for one reason or
another...I think it was around the time of...mALX's vanishing
and all that...
Anyways, what I have, I was quite proud of at the
time...But...Possibly it'll be - like so many other things I've
started since the whole KOTN thing - never finished...So I want
to share what I have, 'cause I think it deserves to be read...
If only for encouragement's sake...
Now, it is 2600 words, I grant you...But there isn't really a
decent split point... ;D ...
So, without further wossnames...
P.S....It's set not long after the Oblivion Crisis btw....
The Wayfarer...
“Oh my!” said the portly Breton with his hands in the air, “Oh
very my!”
“HAH!” exclaimed the leader of the trio that stood with weapons
drawn in front of said Breton’s wagon, “Look boys, we’ve got
ourselfs one o’ them there Gentlemans.” Bennett winced as the
man smiled a grin full of rotten teeth and menace, “There’s not
many of them travels this road no-more.” Bad-Teeth continued.
“Um…But I’m just a poor, humble and weary traveller, good sir!
What can such as I possibly have to give to such fine, obviously
well-heeled gents such as yourselves?” the Breton slowly looked
each of the bandits in the eyes, wincing somewhat as he saw the
leader had only one eye and a mess of scarred flesh where the
other ought to be.
“Ooooh lads! We’re well-heeled now!!” the trio laughed as the
bandit looked at the bottom of his boots. “Well, I will be once
I take yer boots, at least.” Bad-teeth said, mirthlessly.
“Oh my!” Bennett said as he flinched.
“Now-now, calm yer good self, sir.” The leader attempted – and
failed – to adopt a “cultured” accent, though he continued in
the same manner for the remainder of his taunts, “Well then,
what, pray tell good sir, may we call you? Eh?! Eh?!” Bad teeth
smiled and gestured at his companions, “Or at least put on yer
gravestone. Well, I say gravestone, I mean write in piss next to
your well-fed body.” the trio laughed again.
Laughing faintly, partly out of fear of not offending and partly
out of plain fear, the Breton said quietly, “Oh my.”
“Well?”
“Oh…Um…Bennett, Bennett Tydoe.” A note of despondency was
creeping into his voice now.
“Eh? Widow?”
“Tydoe!! Tyd-” Bennett shook his head and dropped his hands
looking incredulous at the highwayman, “How on Nirn did you get
Widow? There’s no Tee in widow, is there?! I mean in the name of
all that is-”
The ominous creak of a bow brought the Breton’s tirade to a
halt.
Bennett’s hands once more pointed towards the sky. “Oh my!” he
said with worry induced steepled eyebrows as he regarded the
arrow pointed at his head.
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A man on the horse looked down the hill at the scene being
played out and sighed.
Knowing that the choice as to whether to get involved was
entirely absent – only the moment he encouraged his horse
forward, and thus the choice to walk or gallop – he kept his
senses augmented so as to take in the details before he
committed himself to the fray.
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“Mr Tydoe,” Bad-teeth bowed his head in mock attempt at
contrition, “If yer’d be so kind as to git down off the wagon,
so that we can take your goods, jewels and monies…That would be
truly marvellous, sir.” The bandit turned to his allies,
laughing at his own humour; the Altmer on his right, smiled and
made the barest attempt to chuckle; the Dunmer to his left had
his eyes – and bow – fixed on Bennett and missed his cue to
laugh. He received a clip to the back of the head, causing the
Breton to yelp and close his eyes quickly.
“You’re going to kill me, one way or the other, so why should I?
Besides, I’ve already told you – ” Bennett – despite his near
crippling terror – concentrated for all he was worth and balled
his fists as he said, “There’s nothing in my wagon.”
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The stranger on the hill felt the sheer weight of the illusion
pulling at him and fought its effects. Flickering between a
wagon full of chests, barrels, tarpaulins and packages and the
empty one that the one who’d called himself Tydoe was fighting
the aetherium to will as reality, the wagon was becoming a
nightmare to look at.
Screwing his eyes shut with a pained “Ach!” the man shook his
head free of the spell. Then he patted the horse, and with a
“Come on girl.” he encouraged the horse down the hill, adding a
little magic of his own.
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“Bardum! Go look at it.” Bad-Teeth yelled at the Altmer and
gestured towards the carriage.
Bennett started to sweat from more than just the heat of the
Elsweyr morning.
The bandit leader looked up at Bennett as he said, “Ah have it
on good authority that your wagon was full when you left
Senchal, so how comes it’s now empty?”
“Looks pretty empty, boss.” The Altmer said as he returned to
Bad-Teeth’s side.
The bandit looked confused, worried. He turned around and began
pacing away, mumbling to himself. Bennett could hear words like,
“How?…” and “He promised…” before the quiet talking would take
the sentences away, not wishing to expend too much concentration
on the man, lest he lose the illusion.
Abruptly, the man turned back, looked darkly at the Breton and
began determinedly walking towards him, drawing a wicked looking
curved sword with his right hand and an ornate dagger with his
left.
“Oh my.”
Then, suddenly, a voice from near the back wheel said,
“Gentlemen.”
Bennett looked backwards, down towards the originator of the
voice. He could see none of the man’s face – the wide brim of
his sun hat obscured everything – and much of what the Breton
could see of the newcomer’s clothes suggested the man was
something like a farmer or a mere drifter – though the wicked
looking weapons said anything but.
Even though it appeared as though all the man was doing was
lounging back against the wheel, Bennett could see tension in
the man’s body, a sort of barely contained kinetic energy.
It put him in mind of a steel trap about to spring.
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“Well lookie here boys, a game’s afoot!” said the bandit leader
as he nudged the Dunmer to cover the newcomer with his bow and
gesturing vaguely that the Altmer should head around the back of
the carriage. “So who do we have here then?”
“Oh,” said the man, his head still looking down at the ground in
front of his feet, “just a traveller, unhappy at what he sees as
unfair odds against this nice man here.” The newcomer raised his
head and turned his piercing blue eyes on the leader, who, for a
moment, looked as if he might think again about the hold-up.
“Though sadly the odds are now unfair the other way, but at
least this fine chap will be on his way in one piece…Which is
more than could be said for you, if you persist.”
“HAH!” the leader laughed loudly, “Ha-ha-ha-haaaaaa!!” the
bandit gestured at his bowman, “Oh, come on! You’re not quicker
than an arrow.”
The newcomer inhaled, exhaled and slowly took ten steps away
from the wagon.
“Ooooh, I’m so scared by the moody pacing.” The leader said.
“You should be.” replied the man.
The leader creased his brow, but then laughed again. “Come on
then, same deal as I gave Mr Tydoe-sounds-like-Widow here – what
do they call you so we can laugh about it with our friends as
the birds pick your carcass clean?”
“You’re mighty fond of your own voice, lad…Have you really got
it in you to back all this talk up?”
“Name…Lad.”
The newcomer smirked and shook his head, “Most people
around-abouts call me Wayfarer.”
The Dunmer drew a hissing breath; the Altmer stood a little
straighter behind the corner of the wagon, but the leader – a
Nord by Imperial descent, Wayfarer had decided – simply shrugged
and said, “Is that supposed to mean something?”
The Dark-Elf turned his head towards the leader with an almost
pleading for him to shut up. “Yes,” he said with traces of
Morrowind still in his accent, “it means that unless we
surrender now, you’re going to die.”
“Oh, come on! That’s not the Wayfarer, that story’s older than I
am…It’s just a man! You’ve got an arrow trained on him; he’s
flanking him with his witchery and I’m actually here fer the
Gods’ sake!” The leader frowned then screamed at the Dunmer.
“GET HIM!!”
The Dark-Elf looked at Wayfarer, over to his Altmer friend,
nodded a tiny amount, turned and promply shot the Nord in his
good eye.
“Right, we’re going.” He said, his hands in the air, “My
profound apologies Mr Tydoe, I – we hope you have a pleasant
stay in Elsweyr.” The Dumner looked at the newcomer, “By your
leave Wayfarer?” he said.
The Elven-looking Imperial fixed the Dark-Elf’s eyes with his
and said, “If I ever see either of you amongst any wrong side
that I run into, you’re dead before your next blink. Am I
clear?”
“Yessir. However, should I be nearabouts and you ever need any
help, my skills are ever yours to command. I thank you for your
leniency. Bardum?” He looked over at the Altmer and nodded a
gesture up the road.
Wayfarer watched them go then sniggered a little and shook his
head. “Illusion.” He said quietly to himself and walked over to
the wagon.
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Bennett watched as the man laughed to himself and turned towards
him.
The newcomer they’d called Wayfarer certainly didn’t look like
he could inspire the sort of terror the bandits had evidenced;
the wide brimmed sun hat was battered, the loose-fit linen shirt
and wide legged trousers, dusty. The leather waistcoat the man
wore looked like it had seen better days, though the boots that
poked out of the bottom of a trouser leg as the man walked
certainly looked fairly new.
Add the minor details of the belted, red cummerbund holding in
check a battered cloak, fingerless gloves and some sort of dark
bracers on his forearms then it looked more farmer-like than
warrior, though the wicked looking metal-tipped war club
dangling from his waist, the sheathed knife on the bandolier
slung across his shoulder and the intimidating look in luminous
blue eyes suggested that livestock markets would have had to be
a far more dangerous proposition than Bennett had ever
considered before.
“I thank you, Sir, for your assistance,” the Breton said with a
slight quaver in his voice, “but if you’re here to rob me
instead, then-”
“Why would I rob you? Besides, could you stop that bloody
illusion stuff now? It’s giving me a hell of a headache.”
“What illusion stuff, Sir?” Bennet said flatly, in what he
thought was an innocent sounding tone.
Wayfarer looked up at him disappointedly, tilted his head and
said, “Really? And will you put your arms down, fer Ashe’s
sake.”
Bennett slumped slightly and dropped his hands.
As he did so, the back of the wagon was once more full of chests
and supplies.
Nodding to himself, Wayfarer looked from the rear storage back
to the Breton, “Better.” He said, “Right, where were you headed,
Mr Tydoe-sounds-like-Widow?”
“Would you mind not calling me that? It’s Tydoe, how hard can it
be?”
The man stared levelly up at the Breton.
“Fine! As you wish!” said Bennett. “I was supposedly heading for
a town along this road – the name of which I currently forget.
But as there must be a town along this road, I’m not sure names
matter really.”
“It matters to thems that live there, I’ll wager.”
“Yes-yes…The point is, that from what Bad-Teeth there said, I’m
not sure I was ever sent to a real town anyway…” The Breton
swallowed a lump in his throat. “Only a destination.”
“Bit overly-dramatic isn’t it?” Wayfarer frowned, “As it happens
there is a town along this road – two actually; though one is
considerably more fun than the other. Don’t be so quick in
suspecting foul play and bad intentions from people where there
was nothing but coincidence and bad luck.”
“Jenny-” Bennett looked away from the man and swallowed hard
again, “Jenny always said I was too trusting though…It’s just
that what with everything lately, and the journey…And then
there’s the saying ‘Don’t look elsewhere when you’re looking in
Elsweyr.’ which tends to come up in conversation about dealing
with a certain type of people. Isn’t that right, Mr Wayfarer?”
The man smiled and laughed once then rubbed the back of his
neck. “Aye, I suppose it’s said of folks down here more often
than most. Just remember that people are people everywhere,
there’s good and bad in all places – even northern Colovia, Mr
Tydoe - and not everyone here will want to have your money off
you as soon as look at you.”
Still stunned from the shock of someone from so far away
recognizing the origin of his accent, all Bennet could manage in
reply was, “Oh my.” and sat down in shock.
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The Wayfarer looked at the Breton and marvelled that the portly
traveller had ever managed to reach the southern tip of Elsweyr
at all, given the seeming naïve way this Tydoe seemed to be
blundering about.
“What brings you to Elsweyr then, Mr Tydoe?” he asked.
There was a flash of fire in the man’s expression as he snapped,
“None of your business; can’t a man just be travelling for the
hell of it?!”
“Yes, he could.” said the Wayfarer, a frown creasing his
forehead, “He could, indeed; and I’ll thank you to not bite my
head off, sir.” He raised his eyebrows in chastisement.
“Oh…Yes. Yes of course, my sincerest apologies.” The Breton
turned his head away and then rubbed his face with both hands
then just sat there, in the same pose for a few moments.
Ah, Thought the Wayfarer, I know that look; and turned his head
away from the wagon.
Circling his finger and thumb and putting them to his mouth, the
man whose given name was Danell Fere whistled his horse.
Obediently trotting out from the large rock a short way away,
the strongly built, mottled grey mare called Puppet snorted and
nodded her head as she approached.
Danell reached a hand up to stroke her cheek and under-jaw.
“Good girl.” he smiled as he spoke.
Over his shoulder the Imperial called back, “Any spare food on
that cart of yours then?”
“What?” was the quick reply, a trace of indignance colouring the
tone.
“I asked, sir, whether you had any food to spare; Say a couple
of apples, or some cheese perhaps?” Danell walked back to the
side of the wagon, “I like to treat the old-girl here when I’ve
had to ride her a bit hard so as to arrive in the nick of time.”
The Wayfarer tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.
The change in the Breton’s was so abrupt that Danell took a step
back as he watched Tydoe jump down on the other side of the
wagon and, with many cries of “Oh my!! Where are my manners?!!”
and then several more “Oh my!” to add to the previous litany, he
almost ran around to the back, where the surprisingly sprightly
portly man proceeded to climb up and rummage around in some
sacks that had been piled up there.
Producing several red apples cupped in his hands, the Breton
practically beamed as he asked, “Do you think she’d let me feed
her?”
The Wayfarer raised his eyebrows and looked up at his horse,
watching Puppet’s head turning minutely as her eyes took in
first, Danell and then the apples in the Breton’s hands.
The Imperial shrugged and the horse took the gesture as
permission. She walked over to the wagon and gently took the
apples into her mouth and crunched merrily until there were none
left.
Danell smiled to himself as Tydoe put one of his now empty hands
out and waited to see if the horse would allow him to pet her.
Which – predictably enough for the old-girl – she allowed, for a
time at least.
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#Post#: 1530--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Wayfarer...
By: treydog Date: May 3, 2014, 7:27 pm
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I loved this story the first time I read it, and time has only
made it better.
The opening sets a tone that carries throughout.
There are moments throughout that I want to quote- here is one
of the standouts:
[quote]“Ooooh, I’m so scared by the moody pacing.” The leader
said.
“You should be.” replied the man.[/quote]
There is SO much more, but... well, no need for me to just
copy-pasta the whole thing- which is what will happen.
#Post#: 2409--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Wayfarer...
By: The_McSister Date: May 9, 2014, 4:00 pm
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McBadgere, I am intrigued. Might I suggest that you continue
this tale of the mysterious Wayfarer???
#Post#: 2448--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Wayfarer...
By: McBadgere Date: May 9, 2014, 9:25 pm
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Thank you, indeed... :) ...I shall add it to the queue of Things
That Need Writing(tm)... :D ...
Nah, the intention is there to Finish Things once these other
things are done...Or when I get stuck or am in need of a scenery
change...
*Inclines head*...My thanks...
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