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【书籍搬运】16 Accords of Madness, v. XII 16 疯狂纪事, v. XII

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原文:http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:16_Accords_of_Madness,_v._XII
翻译:Loskit

在奥辛纽姆建立之前,兽人种族一直遭受到驱逐流放以及各种迫害,远比他们的后代们在融入现在人们的生活中之后遭受的排挤要严苛得多。于是奥辛莫的英雄们四处游历,拓展足够的疆土,使他们的同胞得以繁衍生息。他们之中的许多人到如今还是人们心中的偶像,他们之中有诅咒军团,秃头的格洛玛,以及贵高贵的Emmeg Gro-Kayra。最后提到的这位战士,倘若不是他被某个迪德拉王子盯上了的关系,他在整个塔姆瑞尔范围内都能享有传奇般的赞誉。

Emmeg Gro-Kayra是一名少女的私生子,母亲因为难产而去世了。然后他被部落的萨满抚养长大,他的部落名叫Grilikamaug,居住在如今被我们称为Normar Heights的群峰之中。在他十五岁时,Emmeg亲手打造了一副华丽的鳞甲,并以此完成了他部落的成人仪式。在一个大风天,他敲进了最后一根铆钉,然后在厚重的盔甲上披上了一件斗篷,然后Emmeg最后一次离开他的部落出发了。有关他的战功的消息常常传回他的老家,他与劫匪战斗保护过路的车队,或者是解救被奴役的兽人同胞。这位高贵的兽人的功绩甚至让布莱顿人也交口称赞,而且时常带有一种畏惧的感觉。

仅仅在成年两年以后,当Gro-Kayra正在某处扎营的时候,一个细微的声音穿透了凝重的夜晚,召唤着他。他听到自己种族的语言从一个明显不属于兽人嗓音的口中说出来,感到十分吃惊。

“Kayra大人”,这个声音说道,“您的事迹在许多人之间口口相传,而且也传到了我的耳中。”Emmeg向黑暗中看去,看到了一个披着斗篷的人影,在模糊的火光照耀下显得脆弱而颤抖。只听声音的话,他本认为这个不速之客是个老巫婆之类的,但是他现在确定这个人是个有着纤细瘦长身材的男人,除此之外他也无法再辨出更多细节。

“那又怎么了,”兽人小心翼翼的回应道,“但是我并不是为了寻求荣誉。你是什么人?”

这位陌生人略过了他的问题,继续说道,“尽管如此,奥斯莫,荣誉找到了你。而且,我带来了一个配得上你的奖品。”他的斗篷轻轻的分开,除了在苍白的月光中隐约闪动的纽扣之外,什么也看不到,然后他掏出了一捆东西,扔到了篝火边上。Emmeg小心的拆开了包裹住这个东西的破布,惊讶的发现它原来是一个有着华丽装饰的剑柄的宽曲刃剑。这把武器不轻,当Emmeg轻轻挥动它的时候,他发现这把剑华丽的剑柄其实只是一个伪装,它有着更实用的设计,保持了使用的敏捷,同时剑身也保有足够的重量能造成杀伤。这把剑在当前的状况下,其实并不是什么很抢眼的东西,不过如果擦去了上面的锈蚀,然后再补上几个宝石,它的确会成为一把很符合英雄人物身份的武器,甚至比英雄本人更有价值。

“她名叫Neb-Crescen”陌生人继续说道,他发现了Gro-Kayra脸上那藏不住的赞赏,“我曾经在一个比这里暖和的国度用一匹马换到了这个武器,可惜现在我已经老了,举都举不起来她了。我觉得把她传给像你这样的一个人会更有意义。不过,拥有她意味着你的命运会被改变,永远的改变。”Emmeg努力的抑制住了自己对这把经过精细磨制的曲刃剑的沉醉,把注意力转回了这个陌生人身上。

“你的话语很友善,老先生,”Emmeg并不掩饰他的怀疑,“但是我并不是个蠢货。你曾经通过交易得到这把武器,而且你今天来也是为了做一场交易的。你想要什么?”陌生人的肩膀一沉,然后Emmeg感到了一种揭穿别人的愉悦。他们坐了下来,最终决定用一叠毛片、美味的食物、以及一把金币来交换这把奇妙的武器。在早晨的时候,陌生人才最终离开。

在Emmeg与这位陌生人遭遇之后的一个星期里,Neb-Crescen一直被插在它的剑鞘里。他在树林里没有遇到任何敌人,他也只是使用弓箭捕猎了一些飞禽和野味。短暂的和平让他很享受,可是在第七天早晨,大雾仍然笼罩在大树的枝桠之间,Emmeg的耳朵捕捉到了一些不祥的脚步声,踩在雪地和落叶上发出咯吱的声音。

Emmeg的鼻孔开始张大,可是他处在上风处,看不见也闻不到任何东西,同时他也知道微风已经将他的气味吹给了来者。Emmeg开始提高警惕,小心的将Neb-Crescen从刀鞘中拔出。其实Emmeg自己也不确定接下来会发生什么事情。

当Emmeg Gro-Kayra拔出Neb-Crescende一刹那,一个生动的场景立刻浮现在他脑中,他幻想这把曲刃剑在他面前舞动,在林地的新鲜落叶上溅满鲜血。接下来他的幻觉带来一种奇怪的狂躁,让他的全身都爬满嗜血的因子,再然后他才看到,被他杀死的人是一名女性兽人,看上去比他小个几岁。她的身体简直就是一张画布,上面画满了恐怖的伤口,足够将一个强壮的男人杀死十次了。

Emmeg的厌恶克服了他的狂躁,然后他有足够的理由松开Neb-Crescen,让它自由的坠落。这把剑回旋着落下,发出不和谐的声音,然后埋在了雪堆里。Emmeg带着前所未有的耻辱和恐惧逃离了这个地方,他将斗篷的帽子拉起来遮住自己的脸,好躲开周围批判的眼神和正在生气的太阳。

Emmeg Gro-Kayra杀死他的同胞的这个场面是十分恐怖的。从脖子往下,尸身被切砍得皮开肉绽,破坏到已经无法辨认,同时完好无损的脸部却始终保持者一种冻僵了的凄惨表情。

就在这的地方,希奥格拉丝举行了一场仪式,召唤出了玛拉凯斯。然后两名迪德拉王子就在这具残破的尸身旁召开了一次会议。

“为什么要让我看这个,你这疯子,”玛拉凯斯先开口了,他很快就从他的愤怒中冷静了下来,“难道你很享受看到我因为我的孩子被残杀而愤怒的样子?”他刺耳的声音轰鸣着,这名奥辛莫的守护神用责怪的眼神盯着他的同仁。

“我的好兄弟,从血缘上来说,她的确是你的孩子,”希奥格拉丝以一种庄严而端正的语气回应道,“但是照她自己的癖好来看,她也是我的孩子。我的悲伤并不比你的少,我的愤怒也并不是虚伪的。”

“我可不这么觉得,”玛拉凯斯嘟囔着说,“我只是想告诉你,对于这次恶行,所有的复仇都应该由我来做,我不允许你来争夺这次机会,你别插手。”当这名令人畏惧的迪德拉王子准备行动的时候,希奥格拉丝又开口了。

“我可不打算拦着你不让你去复仇,而事实上,我是想要帮助你。在这片旷野中有我的奴仆,他们可以帮我们找到我们共同的敌人。我只是想提出一点要求,你要答应使用我挑选的武器。用我的剑刃击伤这个罪犯,然后把他放逐到我的领域中,然后我就可以实施我的惩罚措施了。而在这个世界中,我会将这次进行光荣战斗的机会留给你。”

玛拉凯斯同意了这个条件,从希奥格拉丝手中接过了宽曲刃剑,然后离开了此地。

玛拉凯斯在杀人凶手走过的路径上现身,前方披着斗篷的人影在暴风雪中显得若隐若现。玛拉凯斯拔出了剑,发出一股强烈的邪恶气息,使周围的树木都枯萎了。他快速的向前方的人影靠近,怒从心中起恶向胆边生,他举起剑挥舞出一个平滑的弧形,将他的敌人的头颅利落的削了下来,然后用力的把剑刃插进了他的胸膛,血从他的鳞甲和厚斗篷下喷出来,画出了迅速膨胀的泡沫状血渍。

玛拉凯斯因为事态的激烈发展以及自己弑杀时的愤怒而开始气喘吁吁,他单膝跪地,对方的尸体向后沉重的倒下,头颅凌乱的滚落到了一块平坦的岩石上。接下来发出的声音就像是闪电一般打破了这死寂。

“对……对不起……”Emmeg Gro-Kayra发出模糊的声音。玛拉凯斯睁大了双眼,看到了这颗被砍掉的头还在往外渗着血,不过还保留着生命。它的双眼狂乱的晃动着,想要聚焦在玛拉凯斯的面孔上。曾经荣耀的英雄的双眼被悔恨、痛苦、以及迷惑的泪水所模糊。

这让玛拉凯斯感到工具,他发现他杀死的这个人居然是他自己的子民,而且正是多年前他赐给一名兽人少女的儿子。又过去了很长时间,两人互相注视着,沮丧而又惊愕。

然后,希奥格拉丝像上了油的机械一样安静的漫步来到这片空地里。他掂起Emmeg Gro-Kayra那被砍下的头颅,然后装进了一个小的灰色口袋里。然后他从尸体上收回了Neb-Crescen,扭头走掉。玛拉凯斯想要站起来,却又跪倒下去[sic]。他知道,他将自己的后代罚进了希奥格拉丝的领域中,无可转圜,他为自己的失败感到哀恸,随着他孩子绝望的哀求声缓缓的消失在那冰冻的地平线远方。

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Sixteen Accords of Madness, v. XII
Malacath's Tale


In the days before the Orsinium's founding, the spurned Orc-folk were subjected to ostracism and persecutions even more numerous and harsh than their progeny are accustomed to in our own age. So it was that many champions of the Orsimer traveled, enforcing what borders they could for the proliferation of their own people. Many of these champions are spoken of yet today, among them the Cursed LegionGromma the Hairless, and the noble Emmeg Gro-Kayra. This latter crusader would have certainly risen to legendary status throughout Tamriel, had he not been subject to the attention of certain Daedric Princes.
Emmeg Gro-Kayra was the bastard son of a young maiden who was killed in childbirth. He was raised by the shaman of his tribe, the Grilikamaug in the peaks of what we now call Normar Heights. Late in his fifteenth year, Emmeg forged by hand an ornate suit of scaled armor, a rite of ascension among his tribe. On a blustery day, he pounded the final rivet, and draping a heavy cloak over the bulky mantle, Emmeg set out from his village for the last time. Word of his exploits always returned home, whether defending merchant caravans from brigands or liberating enslaved beast folk. News of the noble Orc crusader began to grace even the lips of Bretons, often with a tinge of fear.
Less than two years after ascending to maturity, Gro-Kayra was making camp when a thin voice called out from the thickening night. He was surprised to hear the language of his people spoken by a tongue that obviously did not belong to an Orc.
'Lord Kayra', said the voice, 'tales of your deeds have crossed the lips of many, and have reached my ears.' Peering into the murk, Emmeg made out the silhouette of a cloaked figure, made wavy and ephemeral by the hazy campfire. From the voice alone he had thought the interloper an old hag, but he now decided that he was in the presence of a man of slight and lanky build, though he could discern no further detail.
'Perhaps,' the wary Orc began, 'but I seek no glory. Who are you?'
Ignoring the question, the stranger continued, 'Despite that, Orsimer, glory finds you, and I bear a gift worthy of it.' The visitor's cloak parted slightly, revealing nothing but faintly glinting buttons in the pale moonlight, and a bundle was withdrawn and tossed to the side of the fire between the two. Emmeg cautiously removed the rags in which the object was swathed, and was dazzled to discover the item to be a wide, curved blade with ornately decorated handle. The weapon had heft, and Emmeg realized on brandishing it that the elaborate pommel disguised the more practical purpose of balancing the considerable weight of the blade itself. It was nothing much to look at in its present condition, thought the Orc, but once the tarnish was cleaned away and a few missing jewels restored, it would indeed be a blade worthy of a champion ten times his own worth.
'Her name is Neb-Crescen' spoke the thin stranger, seeing the appreciation lighting Gro-Kayra's face. 'I got her for a horse and a secret in warmer climes, but in my old age I'd be lucky to even lift such a weapon. It's only proper that I pass her on to one such as yourself. To possess her is to change your life, forever.' Overcoming his initial infatuation with the arc of honed steel, Emmeg turned his attention back to the visitor.
'Your words are fine, old man,' Emmeg said, not masking his suspicion, 'but I'm no fool. You traded for this blade once, and you'll trade for it again tonight. What is it that you want?' The stranger's shoulders slumped, and Emmeg was glad to have unveiled the true purpose of this twilight visit. He sat with him a while, eventually offering a stack of furs, warm food, and a handful of coins in exchange for the exotic weapon. By morning, the stranger was gone.
In the week following Emmeg's encounter with the stranger, Neb-Crescen had not left its scabbard. He had encountered no enemy in the woods, and his meals consisted of fowl and small game caught with bow and arrow. The peace suited him fine, but on the seventh morning, while fog still crept between the low-hanging boughs, Emmeg's ears pricked up at the telltale crunch of a nearby footfall in the dense snow and forest debris.
Emmeg's nostrils flared, but he was upwind. Being unable to see or smell his guest, and knowing that the breeze carried his scent in that direction, Emmeg's guard was up, and he cautiously drew Neb-Crescen from its sheath. Emmeg himself was not entirely sure of all that happened next.
The first moment of conscious memory in Emmeg Gro-Kayra's mind after drawing Neb-Crescen was the image of the curved blade sweeping through the air in front of him, spattering blood over the virginal powder coating the forest floor. The second memory was a feeling of frenzied bloodlust creeping over him, but it was then that he saw for the first time his victim, an Orc woman perhaps a few years younger than himself, her body a canvas of grisly wounds, enough to kill a strong man ten times over.
Emmeg's disgust overwhelmed the madness that had overtaken him, and with all his will enlisted, he released Neb-Crescen from his grip and let the blade sail. With a discordant ringing it spun through the air and was buried in a snowdrift. Emmeg fled the scene in shame and horror, drawing the hood of his cloak up to hide himself from the judging eyes of the rising sun.
The scene where Emmeg Gro-Kayra had murdered one of his own kind was a macabre one. Below the neck, the body was flayed and mutilated almost beyond recognition, but the untouched face was frozen in a permanent expression of abject terror.
It was here that Sheogorath performed certain rites that summoned Malacath, and the two Daedric Lords held court in the presence of the disfigured corpse.
'Why show me this, Mad One?' began Malacath, once he recovered from his initial, wordless outrage. 'Do you take such pleasure in watching me grieve the murder of my children?' His guttural voice rumbled, and the patron of the Orismer [sic] looked upon his counterpart with accusing eyes.
'By birth, she was yours, brother outcast,' began Sheogorath, solemn in aspect and demeanor. 'But she was a daughter of mine by her own habits. My mourning here is no less than your own, my outrage no less great.'
'I am not so sure,' grumbled Malacath, 'but rest assured that vengeance for this crime is mine to reap. I expect no contest from you. Stand aside.' As the fearsome Prince began to push past him, Lord Sheogorath spoke again.
'I have no intention of standing between you and vengeance. In fact, I mean to help you. I have servants in this wilderness, and can tell you just where to find our mutual foe. I ask only that you use a weapon of my choosing. Wound the criminal with my blade, and banish him to my plane, where I can exact my own punishment. The rights of honor-killing here belong to you.'
With that, Malacath agreed, took the wide blade from Sheogorath, and was gone.
Malacath materialized in the path of the murderer, the cloaked figure obscured through a blizzard haze. Bellowing a curse so foul as to wilt the surrounding trees, the blade was drawn and Malacath crossed the distance more quickly than a wild fox. Frothing with rage, he swung the blade in a smooth arc which lopped the head of his foe cleanly off, then plunged the blade up to its hilt in his chest, choking off the spurts of blood into a steady, growing stain of red bubbling from beneath the scaled armor and heavy cloak.
Panting from the unexpected immediacy and fury of his own kill, Malacath rested on a knee as the body before him collapsed heavily backwards and the head landed roughly upon a broad, flat stone. The next sound broke the silence like a bolt.
'I - I'm sorry...' sputtered the voice of Emmeg Gro-Kayra. Malacath's eyes went wide as he looked upon the severed head, seeping blood from its wound, but somehow kept alive. Its eyes wavered about wildly, trying to focus on the aspect of Malacath before it. The once-proud eyes of the champion were choked with tears of grief, pain, and confused recognition.
To his horror, Malacath recognized only now that the man he had killed was not only one of hisOrismer [sic] children, but very literally a son he had blessed an Orc maiden with years hence. For achingly long moments the two looked upon each other, despondent and shocked.
Then, silent as oiled steel, Sheogorath strode into the clearing. He hefted Emmeg Gro-Kayra's disembodied head and bundled it into a small, grey sack. Sheogorath reclaimed Neb-Crescen from the corpse and turned to walk away. Malacath began to stand, but kneeled again, knowing he had irreversibly damned his own offspring to the realm of Sheogorath, and mourned his failure as the sound of his son's hoarse pleas faded into the frozen horizon.

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